Page 18 of Burn Her They Said
“Focus,” Malin reminds us, speaking low without moving his lips.
Weakness descends over my muscles, and I lock them tight to remain upright. Trying to keep Hendry, or His Majesty, from noticing as so many emotions wind from the citizens’ bodies to my own, seeping from their beings out into the ether, only to be drawn to my power where it slams into my form. Forcing me to experience all that they are feeling, mimicking their every whim and worry I wish I could more effectively ward against.
The energy in the room shifts, as if some unnamable change has taken place in the world around us, and we are trapped here, absorbing its effects.
Something tugs from within my ribs as I yearn for the power I once wielded. Those days when I could maintain my magic and its hold on the Emperor, all while manipulating others and warding myself. I could scream for the loss of power that once allowed me to soothe this entire room full of beings for hours without trouble.
Time passes slowly, until the thirtieth citizen His Majesty has deigned to speak with approaches the dais. Wearing a uniform made from a lower-quality Imperial black fabric than that of our Imperial servants.
Suspicion prickles beneath my skin when the sorcerer raises his hand, and the ink in his sigil tattoo is too dark—too new. The deep black ink should have faded, as our sorcerers receive this mark upon becoming full citizens at the age of eighteen. My magic reaches for him when his eyes rise to greet mine, and I halt my power mid-air between us, because no citizen seeking the Emperor’s council would dare make eye contact with the Imperial Grand Witch.
“Shield her!” Malin cries as purple ribbons of his magic fly from him to restrain the sorcerer’s limbs.
Force magic billows from his chest as he sneers in my direction, sending a black spear-shaped portion of it aimed directly at my heart.
Hendry’s vibrant orange force-shield rises just in time, colliding with the tip of the magical weapon.
I take in a deep breath of gratitude for my Lead Guard’s timing, while Malin uses his to drag the sorcerer down to his knees, where the purple shackles he’s conjured secure the sorcerer to the stage floor.
Hendry’s force-shield rises to form a wall between myself and the sorcerer before condensing around his form, entrapping him so he cannot harm anyone but himself.
Strong arms wrap around me from behind, slamming my back flush with Lars’ chest as he spins me to face him, filling my senses with his pine-scented uniform. He tightens his grip as he speeds us away, coloring our surroundings in the bright red blur of his magical signature.
His palm spans the length of my cheek as he braces my head to his chest, using his heightened senses to avoid any obstacles, juking around corners and other beings until we come to an abrupt halt once we are safely within the walls of the safe room, which was built for this express purpose, one we have needed to use far too often in recent months.
Lars relaxes his hold, and I grab onto his shoulders, waiting for the plain room to stop swirling. Once my eyes have finally focused on the stone wall behind him, I pat his chest in thanks before lowering myself to the ground, allowing Lars to fold forward.
I stifle a laugh now that I can make out the outline of his broad frame bent in half, grasping his knees while sucking in air.
“I think we’d all benefit from you practicing coming to a more gentle stop.”
Lars chuckles before covering a cough with a tightly held fist.
“Let’s see you improve coming to a gentler pause while carrying another being at that speed.” His bright blue eyes twinkle as he stares back.
“We all know Tasch is the slowest of all of us,” Fray says, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the top of the arched doorframe as he flies in, carrying Cirrin.
A light gray mist drifts behind them as they lower to the ground, then step apart.
“Hush, or I’ll make you.” I lift my hands in the air like a child play-acting the casting of the types of spells said to be used in far-off lands.
Fray feigns a look of terror with his eyes wide and his hands flying up in defense.
“Where is Malin?” Lars’ voice is thick with worry.
He clears his throat while lifting his brows in question. The color drains from his face the longer Cirrin and Fray take to answer him.
I huff out a breath and send them each a tendril of urgency.
“He should be here any minute,” Fray claims.
“He was restraining the assailant until the Emperor’s telekinetic Guard took over,” Cirrin explains.
Lars releases a breath, allowing my muscles to relax as I drop back against the cold stone wall for support.
The door swings open and Malin walks in, not a hair out of place, though his dark brow quirks in confusion as his eyes scan around to all of us.
Fray’s eyes widen again as he digs beneath his collar to pull on a black leather cord until a small green vial at the end is freed from inside his uniform. His eyes fall closed in relief as he smooths his pale fingers over the Dragon scale impression adorning the sides.
