Then she stepped through, sword already in hand as if she’d been waiting for us.
“Little sister,” Zaicha said, those same silver eyes I’d once thought kind, narrowed in taunting. “I truly hoped we could come to an agreement without involving our father.”
Brenton’s smoke curled at my feet, restless and ready. Alastor stood still, the green threads of his magic pulsing like a live wire. And behind us, Eiran’s magic gathered. I tasted the threads of his death magic as if it waited to see which of his daughters it would claim.
But he’d said we were both under his protection.
Zaicha lunged.
The clash of her blade against mine split through the realm. Sparks scattered around the shimmering grass. I barely caught her second swing, twisting my wrist to parry, but she was already gone. Vanished and reappeared behind Brenton. His sword met hers in a burst of gray smoke that singed the air. Alastor came behind her, dagger and sword in tandem, but she spun with predatory ease.
Zaicha moved like lightning. Every strike sang with power, every breath she drew distorted the air in this realm. Her magic poured from her fingers like ribbons, latching onto the threads of Brenton’s and my bond. Intrusive tug after another, insistent and merciless.
Her next blow caught my blade mid-strike and flung me back. The shock jolted me through my trembling arms. While I bit down on a cry, she didn’t stop.
A flick of her wrist sent a lash of shadow to Brenton. He blocked it, but the smoke that guarded and fought evaporated as her magic tangled with his. Twisting, tasting, draining him.
Through the bond, his strain slammed into me.Don’t break,I thought.Don’t you dare break.
Rage burned through my fear. My hand rose, fingers splayed as I dragged death from the pit of my stomach. It tore through my veins, and I threw it at her. The air crackled. A wave of my red threads rushed toward her.
It lashed across Zaicha’s shoulder. She staggered, her concentration faltering as my magic seized and ate at the fabric of her shirt. But even as she hissed, her gaze sharpened.
This time, when she tugged on my magic, I slipped before I closed it. Her threads slid into the gap I’d opened. It felt like claws digging into the center of my chest, ripping the warmth out of Brenton’s and my bond.
I gasped and stumbled back, clawing at my fighting leathers as if I could rip her magic from me. The death magic I’d been able to control only a few beats ago now wavered. Half mine, the other half hers.
My vision blurred with black spots.
“Finley,” Brenton said as he moved toward me.
“So much power,” Zaicha said, her hands tightened around the invisible threads. “You barely know what you hold.”
Pain flared behind my ribs. I slammed my foot against the ground, forcing my magic to snap shut while I breathed with the same control Alastor had taught us.
The connection broke. My heart hammered in my chest, and I could still taste the sourness of her magic on my tongue.
Alastor cut through the haze, his every strike meant to pull Zaicha’s attention away. For a few beats, it worked until she dissolved into nothing and reappeared behind him. With her hands glowing with death, she slammed her palms against his chest. The impact sent him sprawling while his shadows sliced into her. Her magic coiled around them, suffocating them until they fled back to their master.
Brenton lunged again, his smoke trailing him. He swung low, forcing her to block. I joined with my blades colliding so fast the sounds blurred to a single metallic shriek.
But Zaicha’s strength was unnatural.
Each impact threw us back. Her magic pulsed through every strike.
She twisted, and her blade caught Brenton’s shoulder. She pivoted and dragged it across my stomach. Heat seared through the leathers and flesh. I gasped, the sting cutting through everything but the will to stand. To fight. To win.
Zaicha thrust her hand toward the ground. The shimmering soil split apart with a shock wave rippling out. Magic burst. Brenton raised a shield, but it cracked instantly. The wave hit all three of us, knocking us once again to the ground.
Brenton landed first, rolling into a crouch. Alastor caught himself mid-fall, his dagger dissolving before it reappeared in his grip. I landed last, my knees sinking into the scorched grass that no longer shimmered.
“Enough.” Eiran’s voice echoed and trembled.
His shadows wrapped around Zaicha, tightening around her. She angled her head in response, a smirk lifting the edges of her lips.
“Lolli . . .” Brenton’s voice cracked through the bond, his physical voice too ragged to carry.
Although he was still upright, blood darkened his fighting leathers where blood bloomed at his chest.
