The next wind blade nearly breaks through his defenses. Rakos has to dodge as he nullifies it, instinctively pulling Bell with him. Fuck. He’s used to being on dragonback, with more time and distance to see each strike coming.
“On your left!” Bell shouts, just before a thrust of wind arrows into Rakos’s peripheral vision. The warning lets him dissipate the projectile magic before it reaches him.
“Thanks,” Rakos says, panting in relief. “Do you think you could—”
“Your left again!”
They don’t need to communicate any more than that. Bell calls out directions, and Rakos lashes out with Tem magic, nullifying the attacks.
“Above—right—”
Magic trembles through the darkened streets.
The drasgard are trying to wear Rakos down. Even with Bell’s help, the war of attrition just may defeat him. Sweat trickles down Rakos’s back, and his reactions slow just a hair. Just enough. If he could just—
Bell seizes his hand. The instant their bare skin connects, an electric, foreign power jumps into Rakos’s veins.
Light blazes before him.
Waves of orange and silver particles swirl around two figures in the center of the drasgard squad. Silver arcs up, clearly visible long before it manifests into a physical weapon of air. Rakos lashes out to extinguish it. Then the fire mage’s next attack, before it even forms a fireball.
It’s easy. Effortless. Bell’s vision settles into Rakos’s eyes, and he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to. As perfect and right as linking with Sarka, yet completely different.
“Are you okay?” Rakos rasps as he extinguishes another fireball.
Down the block, shouts rise, panicked battle commands, as they realize something is wrong.
“I’m fine,” Bell says, and Rakos trusts him.
Rakos inhales, drawing on all his power. As the drasgard regroup, there’s enough of a pause in the attacks that Rakos can finish this. Shadows spiral around him, darkening, building, until Rakos releases.
Tem magic radiates in a silent explosion, knocking out every enchanted streetlamp. The drasgard mages stagger to their knees, every active particle of their power extinguished. Rakos doesn’t wait to see the results. He’s already dragging Bell down a side alley, then another, as every lamp in the city winks one after another.
Bell stumbles after one block. Again half a block later. Rakos pauses long enough to scoop Bell into his arms. Cradling Bell close, Rakos continues more slowly and carefully towards the caravan.
“You lied to me,” Bell says sleepily, his hair tickling Rakos’s neck. “The labyrinth collapsing was definitely your fault.”
Rakos clutches him tighter. “We’ll discuss that later.”
“Yes, we will.”
His soft words sound like a threat.
***
Later arrives far too soon. Rakos nullifies the caravan’s alarm spell as they slip inside the perimeter, then carries Bell back to their wagon.
He still hasn’t thought of a good explanation.
Bell unwinds from his arms and stumbles into the wagon on his own unsteady feet. Rakos follows him, then pauses in the doorway. “I’ll find water for you.”
“No.” Bell sits down heavily on one of the crates. He’s no more than a thin shadow in the darkness, barely lit by the moonlight emanating through the canvas walls. “We should talk.”
“Later,” Rakos says. “I drew too much magic from you—you aren’t a grail. The backlash is going to be—”
“We’re talkingnow,” Bell snaps. “Not about my magic. I knew what I was doing, and that was just sight-sharing, not power-sharing. You didn’t drain me of anything.”
Rakos exhales, heart pounding with adrenaline little different from the experience of narrowly avoiding a fireball. He drops to his knees in front of Bell, looking up at him through the shadows. “I’m sorry. I’ve been unfair to you.”
