It’s clear by the feel of Bell’s body against Rakos’s that Bell isn’t a fighter. Just a few inches shorter than Rakos, but weak. If they stick together, Bell will only slow Rakos down. Best to part ways as soon as possible, for Bell’s own sake.
But Bell did remove the sleep collar. Rakos owes him for that.
He leans down and says into Bell’s ear, “My name is Rakos. Thank you for waking me up.”
Bell tenses against him. “Rakos—like the dragonrider?”
Oh, fuck.
Still sleep-muddled and stressed, Rakos makes a snap decision. “No. Not like the dragonrider.”
Rakos doesn’t know what’s happened in the past five days. Until he figures out who his enemies are, it’s safer to be discreet. At least Rakos is a common enough name in Draskora.
“Can you fight?” Rakos asks, as the voices outside get closer.
Bell moves, soft hair brushing Rakos’s cheek. “I can try.”
“So, that’s a no.” Rakos’s barebones plan settles in his head, little more than organized instincts. “I’ll get us out of here, but you need to follow me. If you fall behind, that’s not my problem. But if you can keep up, I’ll keep you safe. Understood?”
“Understood.” Bell says hesitantly. “Only, you didn’t say you weren’t a blood mage.”
“For fuck’s sake, I’m—”
The hall outside illuminates. A man pounds on the cell door and barks, “Hey, minstrel! Back against the wall, where we can see you.”
“Go,” Rakos whispers, releasing his grip on Bell. He still can’t get a good look at him, just a glimpse of brown hair and a green coat brushing past him towards the back wall. Rakos waits out of sight, ready to pounce. By the sound of it, there are only two people outside.
This should be easy.
Unprompted, Bell yells out, “Let me out of here! Please! I didn’t do anything.” His voice lowers, feigning fear. “I think the other man in here is dead. He’s completely cold.”
If he weren’t silently lurking in wait, Rakos would give Bell a round of applause. Great improvisation. Must be a minstrel’s natural performance talent.
“Fuck,” a woman swears, and the firelight brightens outside—a mage, then. Fun. “Kaspar, check on him. I’ll cover you.”
As soon as the door cracks open outward, Rakos lunges.
His brutal shove sends stocky Kaspar into the doorframe. Rakos leaves him there, not wasting time eliminating him. In the sky or on the ground, Rakos’s first rule of combat is always the same: take out the mage first.
The woman’s eyes widen, and Rakos recognizes her as one of Vana’s drasgard—Zuzana. Fire spirals from her fingertips, quick despite her shock. Her reflexes are good.
Rakos’s are better.
His power surges as he goes for her throat. An artless, undirected pulse of magic, but he doesn’t need finesse for this. Every flame from Zuzana’s fingers casts shadows behind them. Under Rakos’s power, the shadows darken, sharpen, and lance up to meet the flames.
When their magics meet, the flames disperse into harmless smoke.
“Indra!” Zuzana bellows, scrambling backwards. “Problem down here!”
House Tem’s hereditary magic isn’t flashy. Not like House Dire’s storms or House Komar’s earth-sundering. But there’s a reason the other houses drove Rakos’s family into impoverished obscurity generations ago, when they failed to breed the power into their own lines. Tem magic earned Rakos the nicknameShadow of Draskoraafter his first real battle.
He can nullify other magic.
Zuzana’s quick reflexes are her undoing. Clearly unused to fighting without her magic, she lashes out with flames again. They disperse into smoke, and before she can regroup, Rakos is on her.
He needs to finish this fast, before Kaspar stabs him in the back. What’s taking so long?
Flames vanish as quickly as they appear. Rakos blocks Zuzana’s wild punch and catches her throat. Slams her against the wall. Twice.
