Though Will works hard to keep his chin up, even in my periphery, his face falls as they double-knot our weapons away. I catch Will’s eye, trying to convey that he’s ready. That he can call magic without his stone. I firmly believe both Will and Sofie can be a vessel without aid or a crutch. Agnata, maybe not yet, thanks to her deception, but I’ll protect her anyway.
Finished, they line us up for the door. Some guards holster their pistols, but not all. The patrons begin mumbling again, glasses scraping against tables. The shock and danger seemingly worn off—they can go back to discussing the show my father is putting on outside. Some shoulder on hoods, deciding it might be time to close up the tab and slosh home.
“Wait, that møgkœlling took my ring.” Møller holds up his frostbitten hand, a spiderweb of blackened decay, and points a finger at Sofie.
The leader of the Øldenburg guards seems to recognize Møller. “Retrieve it, but make it quick.”
Møller stumbles forward toward Sofie. She fights him, but his strength pries her palms open.
“Ah—there it is.”
I make a whispered decision. We must act now.“Frijøsa.”
I reach for the magic, now at the tips of my fingers, giving it no room for error. My shackles freeze and shatter. I hold still, hoping the guard at my side notices nothing amiss.
Møller goes to yank it off, but Sofie whirls on him, the guard slow to stop her. She clenches her fist tightly again, keeping the ring safe. Møller reaches for it again, his eyes now a bloody shade of red. His forearms bracket her waist, blindly reaching for her fists held behind her back.
“Don’t touch me.” Sofie wrenches away and spits in his face, chin held komtesse high and dignified.
Møller wipes a forearm across his chin before lunging for the closest guard’s pistol. He steals it with his good hand, and in a blink, he’s got it pressed to her sternum.
I dive for the man’s arm, pushing it up and away. As the bullet bursts out of the barrel, I scream,“Skjoldr!”My shield bursts out, covering the length of my body as I try my very best to protect Sofie and anyone else in its trajectory.
The bullet bounces off the shield, and with the range so close, it has nowhere to go but straight back at Møller, connecting with that puffed-out chest.
The man stumbles backward, just as Sofie and Will call their wildfire. Their arms flare, and a thrill moves up my spine as I get to my feet. Their shackles melt off and their hands come out front and free. Agnata sinks into acrouch. Without ink or stones, she’s still stuck in her binds, her wildfire not as practiced or strong.
For one stunning moment, the room is silent again—every face agape at the flames dancing purple across Sofie’s and Will’s arms. Jaws drop open; glasses drop, too, with a clink and crash. The guards are stunned still.
“Run!” I screech. I grab Agnata by her bindings, freezing them off with a single word, and we make a beeline for the back door, Will and Sofie ahead of us.
We follow them down the alley, past the backs of the other shops in the row. The water is knee-deep here and running river strong, climbing inch by inch. Father will have it rise to crest Lille Bjerg Pass before the night is out.
“What’s the plan?” Sofie screams at me as we thunder toward the end of the row.
“We have to get the ring to the sea witch!” Will answers over the pounding rain.
“The sea witch?” Agnata screeches. “She’s real? You have to be kidding me!”
“Shut up, Agnata!” Sofie yanks the ring off her thumb and hands it to me as we reach the end of the alley.
Behind us, a set of guards bursts from the vœrtshus’s back door, spotting us. Their pistols are already out, and the shooting starts as soon as our heads snap in their direction. Agnata decides that’s the time to run—she’ll take her chances away from us, declaring her innocence to anyone who will listen.
We don’t stop her. Instead, we send our shields up and sprint around the corner as best we can through the streaming water. Dead fish have collected against the side of the building in a silt pile, and the ground beneath our feet is growing less solid by the moment, the grass giving way to the dirt below as it turns to mud.
Ahead, Agnata speeds into what used to be the street, shouting at the guards that she did nothing wrong. Reminding them that she worked with them after her release from the castle. Arguing that she’s unarmed.
They bind her anyway. Two guards rush forth with new lengths of rope as she thrashes against them, kicking water and words at them.
If only she had stayed with us.
“I’ve got her,” Sofie says, and I’m pretty sure there’s an eye roll in it.
We follow Sofie into the street, arms raised and shields out. There’s immediate fire, nervous fingers jumpy on ready triggers.
The sheeting rain, howling wind, and cloud-soaked moon make it impossible to tell which guards are which. Øldenburg or Holsten, it matters not. All wish us dead for what they assume and what they’ve seen. Such is a witch’s life.
Sofie tackles the two guards handling Agnata, wildfire igniting instantly as she plows a palm into each of their faces, leaving her handprint burned into the writhing men’sfeatures. They fall back and away, and she grabs Agnata, setting her burning hands to her new binds. They fall off in a burst of ash.
