Evie
Someone had betrayed them.
The realization was like a thick poison curling over Evie’s heart. She held out her hand, and her scar stung as her dagger jumped from the weapons rack into her waiting palm. Holding it high, she stepped out from behind the boss, widening her stance, ready to do battle with anyone who dared cross them. She’d fell these troublesome enemies, and then she’d find the traitor among them.
Two more knights had appeared from the darkness—that made six total. She and Trystan were outnumbered, but they had death magic on their side.
The curling mist spilled out of Trystan’s hands and wrapped around the guards—but not completely. It split in two, one half aiming for the knights, the other swirling in her direction. Circling her ankles.
“Oh dear,” she said. “Shoo!” But no amount of waving her hands into the mist would make it obey as it twisted around her feet like a lap cat. Her boss hadn’t even noticed the power splitting off; he was too busy dispatching the first knight with startling swiftness. “You’re very cute,” she told the mist, “and we can play later—after you kill those men.”
The power splitting was weakening Trystan; she could tell by the way he hunched and the sweat lining his temples as he moved to dispatch another knight. One snuck up from the side and landed a fist to his face, causing him to fall.
“Trystan!” she yelled, glaring at the mist. “Go help him!” But it wouldn’t budge, and when another guard rushed toward her, the mist took on a mind of its own, slicing forward and enveloping the knight completely. The knight didn’t even see the magic coming.
But Trystan did.
His brow furrowed in confusion as he grabbed the first felled knight’s
sword and drove it through the man who had sucker punched him, gaping when he saw the mist still swirling around her even while it swarmed the knight near her. “Sage, don’t panic,” he called carefully.
“Why would I panic? Just because of your weird foggy magic adhering itself to my ankles?” she called back, a note of hysteria in her tone.
The knight beside her screamed, until the mist slipped down his throat and cut off his air. Trystan stalked over to her, taking hold of both her arms, and her dagger slipped from her fingers as he said urgently, perplexed, “I didn’t do that…did you?”
She furiously shook her head. “I didn’t do anything!”
The mist finished choking the life out of the guard. The remaining three gaped in horror at the invisible killer, but her and Trystan’s attention was on the receding gray now playing in the curls of her hair.
“Stop it this instant,” he boomed.
The mist shook like it was chuckling, and Evie put her hand over her mouth to keep her own giggle in.
Trystan glared at her. “Are you laughing?”
She bit her lip. “No. That would be inappropriate.”
But the humor died when a remaining knight aimed an arrow right for Trystan’s heart.
He couldn’t turn fast enough; his magic wouldn’t protect him before the arrow struck true, she realized. Her frantic words died on her lips. Time seemed to slow and then nearly stop as a hundred memories flashed before her eyes.
Trystan offering her a vanilla candy on her first day.
Trystan and his grim, sheepish expression when he apologized for something.
Trystan with his bed full of pillows and his little tornado nightlight.
Trystan keeping her scarf, clean and neatly folded away…like it was precious to him.
Trystan humbling himself, begging Benedict—the man he hated—on his knees to save her life.
There was no time to think, no time to second-guess. She merely did. With a piercing cry, she dove in front of him. As the arrow flew, she held up her hands instinctively, and Trystan let out a low shout of outrage behind her.
The next thing she knew, the dagger was in her hand. It began to glow, as
did her scar—an iridescent shimmer that seemed, in the dark of night, to blaze with a thousand different colors. She felt warmth so strong and powerful it brought tears to her eyes as she fell to her knees, gripping her chest. The arrow had broken in two when it struck her—but it hadn’t even touched her skin.
Well, that was a nice little trick, she thought, suddenly wickedly tired. Her lids drooped, and she fell forward.
