If any of the Serpents would have bothered looking at the water, they would have noticed the blood flowing upwards.
Towards the dam.
They would have seen the danger and ran for cover.
But they didn’t move, trusting the power of the veil too much.
Their cowardice would be our triumph–if I survived long enough.
The snake kept gushing blood, enough for half an army.
My power latched on it ferociously as the water threatened to dilute it and steal our one chance at survival.
I refused, tightening my jaw until my temples hurt.
Everything hurt.
My veins were on fire, my own blood bitter within them as I gathered the drops into tight, fast streams. Allie’s tears might have mixed in with Geryll’s blood and sprouted the idea, but I needed clean, clear streams for this to work.
Breathing now ragged, it was a wonder I hadn’t fallen to my knees already.
I couldn’t feel anything but the tremor in my limbs. The pressure threatening to rip me from the inside out.
You are so brave, a sweet voice forced its way into my mind.
I clung to those words.
I needed them as I led the blood through the raging stream at the base of the dam.
The water turned merciless, clawing at the blood, asking for its sacrifice.
Sweat pooled at the base of my spine.
Drops fell on top of my lip–had the rain started?
No, it was too viscous, too metallic.
My nose was bleeding.
The pressure was too much.
A little more, that same voice murmured, so at odds with the violent water my power had to wade through.
“We have the powers of three Clans on our side,” Kleonos taunted. “You don’t.”
Three Northern Clans.
Three traitors.
Flesh from my flesh.
The dam’s stones hissed as I guided the blood through their crevices.
Zandyr’s magic fretted against mine.
Faster.
Desperate.
