Page 36 of Sword & Sacrifice

Orange flickered bright enough to see even with his eyes closed. Warmth touched his cheek, the pleasant caress of the spring sun, melting away the ice of Alistair’s winter. After a few seconds, the warmth increased, burning Valerian’s hand and the right side of his face. His eyes snapped open in time to see the flames consume the web.

Then he was falling.

Alistair scrambled out of the way, dignity forgotten in his urgency. His pristine clothes were sullied with dirt and blood. He steadied himself against one of the tree trunks, panting as he looked at the burning web. “What are you doing?”

Valerian pushed himself to his feet. The palm of his hand, red hot with the ember of his magic, smoldered when it touched the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a root slither toward him, trying to catch him unawares. Instead of avoiding it, he grabbed it, pressing the fire directly against it. It writhed in his burning grasp, trying to escape. A headache bloomed behind his right eye. The root was part of his mind, hurting it meant hurting himself. Still, he tightened his grip until it blackened, charred, and turned to ash.

“You’ll burn this whole place down!” Alistair shouted. He’d formed a protective barrier of ice around himself. It was already dripping with condensation, unable to withstand Valerian’s heat.

“And you’ll burn with me.” Valerian lurched forward, flaming hand extended. It melted straight through the barrier, singeing the front of Alistair’s clothes.

The ice closed the gap as fast as Valerian melted it, keeping his wrist pinned in place. Roots wrapped around his legs. The more he burned them, the stronger the headache grew, until his vision went red.

Through his clouded vision, he watched blood stream down Alistair’s face, dying his hair and pale skin pink. The other man desperately threw every ounce of his magic at Valerian, until they came to a stalemate.

If Valerian could have trapped him like that forever, that would be its own kind of victory. But Alistair was older and stronger, and he understood mental magic better than Valerian ever would.

And he wouldn’t have to destroy his own mind to defeat his enemy.

Valerian’s vision darkened from blood red to pitch black. The flames he controlled flickered and snuffed out. He felt himself fall forward into a pair of ice-cold arms, then nothing as the world faded away.

Chapter Seventeen

If the letter had arrived just a few minutes earlier, maybe I wouldn’t have made an ass of myself , Silas thought when the first letter appeared. Proposing in the middle of a committee meeting was neither romantic nor practical. Of course Archer would react poorly when he was blindsided in front of half a dozen witnesses, but Silas hadn’t expected Archer’s look of disgust and horror at the mere idea of marrying him.

When the second letter appeared, a shudder of dread crawled up Silas’ spine, and he realized they had bigger problems than a botched proposal.

The outside of the letter he received contained the message he sent to Adelaide. She’d flipped the parchment over to write on the other side, then sealed it with the crumbling remains of Alistair’s wax. She could have done this to prove the efficacy of the spell, but she had her own supplies, there was no reason for her to rip the letter in two and send the second half to Archer.

They opened their letters at the same time.

Stay in the city and protect Emmaline.

-A

Magic buzzed along Silas’ skin, sharply burrowing under the surface. He reflexively dropped the letter and shook out his hands until the stinging pain faded. The fact Adelaide hadn’t even taken the time to sign her full name did not bode well. Worse, as the shock faded, Silas realized that the missive was an order.

He’d met Adelaide for the first time months ago, when Archer had taken Silas from the palace to find a cure for the illness killing him. At the time, she had offered Silas a deal: “I will break your curse, and I will give you the necessary tools to protect yourself. In exchange, I will give you one order in the future that you must follow.”

An order that would be magically enforced. He wasn’t surprised that she would order him to protect Emmaline—only that she hadn’t explained the most important things: why was Emmaline in danger? What was he protecting her from? How was he supposed to protect her?

He waited a moment to see if the magic would answer him or lead him in a specific direction. Nothing happened. All it did was buzz restlessly under his skin.

“Well?” Griselda asked, looking between Archer and Silas. “What was so urgent she needed to write to you both?”

Silas stared down at his letter, brow furrowed. “She didn’t explain. Just asked me to stay in the city and protect Em.” He’d never told them the details of his deal with Adelaide and now didn’t seem like the time to elaborate.

Archer’s expression darkened as he laid his letter down on the table for them both to see. “She told me to come home.”

Silas’ heart sank as he realized that Adelaide was specifically asking them to separate. “Do you think something’s happened in Arnsveld?”

“What’s the rest say?” Griselda asked, gesturing to the words on the other half of the parchment.

Archer flipped it over to show the fractured sentences of Silas’ message.

“It’s the letter I wrote to her. I wanted to test out the wax remnants on Alistair’s letters,” Silas explained, scraping at the crumbling wax seal. “See if there was any magic left in them.”

Griselda’s lips curled. “You know better than to fuck around with Alistair’s things. What if you triggered a trap?”