A Queen of Ice (A Trial of Sorcerers #5)

Chapter 15

15

D ucot snapped a chain off his wrist that whipped out and stiffened into a blade with a swirl of magic. He moved faster than the other knights could even get out yelps of surprise, skewering the knight with the rifle straight through.

Even though shouts and screams were rising. Despite the thundering feet of people running—some to the commotion, and some away. Eira could hear Ducot’s whisper on the wind.

“For Noelle.”

Cullen grabbed her elbow, jolting her back to the present. “We need to hide.”

“We need to fight.” Eira glared at him. Didn’t he see what she just had?

“What happened to no heroes?”

“That bird has flown!” Eira gestured to the knights. Olivin had engaged one of the others, moving around Ducot’s attacks deftly. “It looks like we’re not getting out of here without a fight.”

“Don’t lose sight of the goal,” he cautioned, releasing her.

“All right, then!” Allun shouted over the rising chaos, stuffing a hand into her bag. “I’ve been waiting for just the right chance to break these out.” Throwing out her hand, Allun released small balls—no larger than flash beads—that exploded with pops and fizzles, more distracting than dangerous.

Eira launched forward, joining the fray. Ice crackled around her, ready to overtake the knights with a thought. They went as rigid as wooden training dummies, helpless before Ducot and Olivin’s assault, each wielding their own blade forged from different magics.

The cobblestones vibrated under their deadly dance, pulsing with Alyss’s powers. She kept the knights off-balance and swallowed one whole beneath the earth. Screams were stopped short as a group of knights were stopped mid run, their open mouths eerily silent, gasping soundlessly as their existence was ended by Cullen drawing the air away from them before it could fill their lungs.

Each of them was lethal. Yet, it was unexpectedly difficult to gain ground. With every minute that ticked on, there were more knights. An endless stream of them. Olivin conjured shields of spinning gold light to block their attacks—though they flickered as the explosions from the rifles crashed into them. With pulses of magic, Ducot changed swords into silver ribbons that fell helplessly, or glass that shattered as it slipped through their hands.

“For Noelle,” Eira echoed his words, lost in the thrall of battle.

“For Noelle,” Ducot repeated like a vow.

There wasn’t enough savagery between them—not enough in all the world to satisfy them. The fight was intoxicating. It was liberating. It felt so good that Eira wanted to scream, to weep. Her magic raged unchecked as Eira swung her gaze to a new horde of knights rushing toward them from the central square.

Eira lifted a hand. There was enough power for this. She could stop them all in their tracks and?—

Movement distracted her.

The rooftops .

A man had positioned himself at the roof’s edge, rifle trained on her. Time seemed to slow as her focus narrowed on his hand, thumb gliding over the trigger. In a blink, the roles were reversed. Noelle was holding the rifle, and it was Eira’s chest that was blown through. Vengeance for the way in which Eira had utterly failed her.

Eira’s fingers quivered. Magic didn’t come fast enough as she was distracted by the phantom pain that arced between her ribs.

Why? The inevitable question echoed over the explosion that followed.

A gale tore through the town. It rattled windows, tore off shutters, and slammed doors. Glass shattered, flying through the air like deadly confetti. The man was thrown from the roof before he could take the shot. Eira looked over her shoulder to the entrance of town—the epicenter of the swirling storm conjured out of nowhere on a clear spring day.

There, Cullen stood, radiating power. In the eye of the storm, he was perfectly still, immune to the howling winds that ripped at her hair. Behind him were clear blue skies, an exit out of the array of brutal winds.

In his eyes was a promise: He’d tear down the town, if that’s what it took to save her.

Screams began to rise, louder than the woman’s, than Noelle’s. These people had suffered enough. Eira began to run toward Cullen and the entrance of the town.

On her way, she shouted, “Fall back!”

“We have them!” Ducot snarled.

She grabbed Ducot’s elbow, pulling him with her. “They’ll have more reinforcements before we know it.”

“I’m going to kill them all!”

Eira yanked him to face her, putting both her hands on his cheeks so he knew she was looking right at him when she said, “She’s gone, Ducot. All the blood and vengeance and death in the world won’t be enough of a payment to bring her back.”

Ducot’s face twisted. He opened and shut his mouth, as if he wanted to object but didn’t know how to. A guttural gulp escaped, like a sob cut short.

“I am not losing you to them, too.” The words faded into the wind. Eira’s thumbs stroked his cheeks, wet with tears. Her own might have been wet, too.

Wordlessly, Ducot stepped back. For a breath, Eira thought that he was about to run back to the knights held at bay on the other side of Cullen’s wind. That nothing would satiate his bloodlust until he killed them all—or joined Noelle by their hand.

His lips moved. Eira couldn’t hear the word. But it looked like Goodbye .

Ducot outstretched his hand in Eira’s direction. She took it firmly and turned to run toward Cullen and the rest of their team. Ducot stayed at her side, trusting her to lead him from the swirling magic and chaotic city.

She didn’t make it more than ten paces before a shot rang out. A shout of both surprise and pain ripped through her as her leg gave out. Ducot’s hand fell from hers and Eira tumbled to the ground.