“Okay, they’ve passed. Do your thing,” I whisper.
“Vindati Agni Dipika,”she casts. Little rivulets of red fall from her fingers and descend upon the open warehouse. Then she waits, head tilted. I don’t want to distract her, but after two solid minutes I’m curious. “Can you sense it?”
“Yes, but it’s faint. I—I don’t know.”
“Then we go with plan B.”
With a nod, we climb down the wall, finding handholds in the intricate designs carved into the stone. We drop onto the top of old trading stalls, me to the right, Adraa to the left.
A Vencrin stands ahead of us and I slink up behind him. With my hand over his mouth I cast a sleep spell and my magic dives off my fingers. The jolt of struggle sags instantly and I catch him from thumping onto the dirt. Along the other wall two more Vencrin walk down the aisle—my next targets.
Every few moments I spot Adraa’s shadow gliding along the walls, silently taking down anyone who could alert the other Vencrin. One by one the stragglers fall. I throw a discarded curtain over one of the last wizards when athunkechoes behind me, and a spell veers over my shoulder. The wood overhead cracks and falls. I turn to find Adraa standing over a witch’s body. “You need to watch your back!”
“But you’re doing such a good job.”
“Come on. They probably heard that.”
We run toward the wicker crates. As Adraa cracks open the first one, muffled voices swarm around the corner. Five wizards spill into view. Adraa and I spin to meet them.
“Rings,” I whisper.
Adraa nods. “Rings.”
With a yell, our two groups collide. A blue stream of water fires first and I fall back, knocking it away with half a shield, and it drenches the floor. Adraa breaks through their line and smashes a wizard in the face. Blood flies. It’s chaos, but this time we aren’t dodging through the streets. Spells hit walls, wooden stalls crash to the ground, and draped fabric ignites.
I lean and twist as an array of black spears fly toward me. One snags my kurta. Adraa has moved on to her second Vencrin and they’re dueling with lashes of wind. My next spell nails the spear thrower and I run forward. A wizard takes a punch to the gut with a strength spell and the wind weaver falls. Adraa’s foot presses his throat as she yells questions.
I grab the nearest wizard by the collar. “Tell me about the firelight!” I shout into his face. “Where are you keeping it?”
The wizard panics and I watch his eyes to see whether he’ll give up a location with a flick of nerves. Instead he smiles, the grin splashing across his face in such an unsettling way the back of my neck prickles. Then I place the oddness of the expression. He’s smiling not atme,but at something behind me….
That’s when I turn.
“Red!”
A fireball hurtles toward Adraa. I drop the wizard and cast, calling to the water already on the ground. I’m not fast enough.
Adraa turns and, with hands outstretched and flaming red, grasps the projectile. It’s too much. She flies backward and into a ruined stall. Wood cracks apart and the fire roars.No!
I run through the gaping hole, jumping over splintered beams and sloshing through the water I sent after her. Three aisles over, in the rubble of wood and silk, smoke slinks through the air. No fire.
“Red? Red!”
Shuffling wood off herself, Adraa steps out from the plumes of dust. The glow of her magic still dances through her Touch, her sleeve burned away. Ash dusts her red mask; her hair spirals loose from her braid. But she’s standing. “No one respects fire anymore. It’s all ‘throw it as big and hard as you can without thinking of the consequences,’ ” she says, shoving more planks of wood away.
I grab her into a hug, laughing.Thank Gods!
She pushes at my chest. “Night.”
I turn. As the smoke disperses to reveal the thin barrier I threw up, a gaggle of wizards greets us on the other side. We miscalculated how many Vencrin there are here, because we’re surrounded. They all wear heavy black or gray kurtas, thick boots, and arrogant smiles. Some fake-lunge and create big purple magic weapons to intimidate us. One wizard in front even lets his sword grow to the point where it clanks to the ground, and he frantically tries to pick it up.
“Tell us where you are selling the firelight and no one gets hurt!” Adraa shouts. The wizards cackle as they do the math. Forty, maybe fifty, against two. It doesn’t matter if a few are dense. The odds are bloody awful and we all know it.
Adraa’s arms blaze. “Do you have a plan?” she whispers.
I settle into a fighting stance. “We don’t let them get close.”
Crash!
