I gripped her arm, halting her.
“Selvina and Nishanth,” I corrected her.
She frowned. Kellan appeared around the corner, his brows drawn.
“Well, yes, but?—”
“I’m taking them first,” I cut in. “We’ll need their healing powers. And the Embodied are afteryou.”
Lyvia’s hands clapped around her arms as she crossed them. Her lips fell open as if I’d slapped her. I tilted my head and forced my features to soften in empathy.
“Think. We need to be smart about this,” I replied.
Her hands balled into fists as she dropped them to her sides.
“Tiberius and I are not going to stay behind while the rest of you fight! And what about the Obscura? We need as many Bellators as we can to fight against them.”
Her hand movements were calm, but I could tell her voice had risen by the strong movements of her jaw. Astraeus’s hand appeared on her arm as he stepped forward. His dark eyes cut to mine in cautious understanding.
“You don’t need to stay behind,” he cut in, dropping his hand from her arm. “But we need to be careful. Ganmira and Renova picked up on your power as soon as you used the Transcindiel last time. They’ll know you’re in Lotrennia the second your shield forms. Let the others go, scope out the situation, and we’ll bring you and Tiberius back.”
My lips drew back in a grimace. Though it wasn’t a bad plan, I had a terrible feeling something was going to happen to Lyvia.
“What of Lord Pavel and the fleets? We have Votruvian and Sultiran ships at our disposal. Should we send them to Lotrennia?” Lyvia asked.
I looked to Astraeus, whose brows had narrowed in thought. He ran a hand through his hair.
“If war is coming to Lotrennia, we should be there,” he answered, staring out to the Crimson Sea in the distance. “But it will take weeks for them to arrive.”
A belt of inadequacy wrapped itself around my chest, and my shoulders tensed as I recalled Olienna’s words from MountTelum last year. She said Faron, the last Bellator to wield the Advetis, could transportentire armiesacross time and space. I could barely make it with a few extra bodies…
Lyvia’s hand appeared on my arm. Her brows angled upward in concern, and I quickly zipped up the crack that allowed my emotions to flood down the bond to her. I pulled my gaze away before her empathy made it worse.
“We don’t know how long this war will last,” Astraeus cut in, “and if it’s starting in Lotrennia, Votruvian ships will make their way there. I’d wager Pavel’s fleet will join.”
I nodded, crossing my arms.
“Selvina is with Mother Eghan in the healer’s quarters,” Lyvia said, releasing her hand from my arm.
“I’ll send for the rings and will meet you by the stables with as many rubellines as we can manage,” Astraeus signed before turning in the opposite direction at the wide stairs.
The tiny bitsof matter that formed my physical body screamed in protest as I forced four bodies through time and space. My mind split against the overwhelming squeeze of the shift. My arms shook as I maintained my grip, Astraeus’s large hand clamped over mine as his sharp power zapped through me, fueling the drastic drain of the Advetis.
Pink evening light glowed against the horizon and met with a line of dark red treetops as we arrived above the elven city of Ayla and the Gilded Fortress. Nishanth’s snowy white wings splayed wide, pumping against a northern gust. I loosened my grip around Selvina’s strong waist, and my fingers unraveled from her caeluma’s thick feathers.
We soared over the treetops, Selvina signing with one hand what Aquila now relayed to Nishanth, the two hawks communicating in their own way.
“North of here!”
A blast of brilliant white light erupted where a line of trees unraveled gold and red leaves, and Nishanth banked. She dropped Astraeus and me before a group of War Slayers arming themselves to the teeth. They gave us a quick update as we dropped a load of rubelline arrows and spear tips.
Astraeus gripped my hand, and a moment later, we were inside the Living Library. I frantically scanned the fifth-floor stacks for Isla and the master of spells.
Khato looked up, his tawny eyes alert and fierce despite the deep worry lines etched in his dark skin.
“They’re heading for Ayla,” I relayed as I rushed in.
Isla’s face popped around the corner as I handed Khato a múritinne ring. He held the ring between two fingers and adjusted his spectacles, nodding briefly before slipping it on his finger.
