Page 61
Go!
A black boot emerged and Lunara squealed, the manic sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a scream as she chucked the toll in with a shaking hand. He was reaching for her, his fingers wrapping around a hank of her hair, when Fern shoved him aside and they leapt through. His power melded with hers in greeting for the briefest instant before they were gone.
Shitting stars, that was too close!
Yes, it bleeding was.
Araxis’s furious, biting curse was still clanging in her ears, scalp stinging where strands of her hair had been ripped free, as they tumbled into the Great Hall in Straelon. It was blessedly devoid of anyone else, Fern’s breathless cackles echoing against the floor to ceiling windows.
Lunara loosed a shaky sigh, willing her nerves to calm. She was safe here. She was fine.
Thank the Sisters for Lyriat and his protection.
No shite. But it didn’t explain what Araxis was doing in the Archives.
Doesn’t it?
Damn it. Fine, then it didn’t explain how he found out where they were, or what his plan was if he got hold of her.
The consequences of avoiding Nachthelliae were going to bite her in the arse eventually. But until she had answers—like what the fuck Araxis was doing with blood magic, what the Council had to say about Malachyr and their inaction both before and after he murdered her parents, and how to heal Brand—she would continue ignoring them.
Lunara had a feeling, though, that Araxis aht Bordoroth, the Blessed Nightmare of the Endless Dark, was going to be absolutely pissed when he finally managed to catch her outside of the Montrealm.
She wasn’t ready to face that either.
“Shall we go pretend you aren’t too tired for the practice field?” Fern asked.
“I’m not too tired.” It took everything Lunara had to stand. “I have a good feeling about today.”
Lunara folded sideways as she ran and dodged the scythe aimed right at her head. The wicked-looking blade was nearly as long as she was tall, its handle just this side of being an entire damned tree. She never should have agreed to it as an option.
Option? It was your idea.
Fine. True. She thought it would mimic a Forgotten’s swinging arm and help her learn how to handle them on her own. To forget the helplessness of looking down and finding claws like razored swords protruding from her abdomen, the choking scent of her own blood staining every breath.
Not that she told any of them her reasoning.
What Lunara hadn’t counted on was Faldir deciding not to hold back. More fool, her.
“Bleeding bastard,” she gasped, skidding to a stop before leaping into the air.
Illamiata flared in her chest, its prismatic light scattering across the practice field. She moved to retaliate, poised to draw from the well within, when the sound of crashing waves beyond the cliff edge snagged her attention.
The Serpent Sea glittered on the horizon, Solyrian brightening its night-blackened depths as it rose, the water doing its best to wake up and match the cloudless, azure sky above.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue,” he answered quickly. “Like the sea on a clear day.”
Lunara swallowed and shook her memory of Brand and his gift of a mountaintop sunset away just in time to avoid another swing, a curl of her hair caught by the blade. The severed length was still floating its way down when he struck again.
“Head out of the clouds, Sorcerit,” Faldir chided.
It was ridiculous, really, how damned graceful he was while wielding the absurd weapon. She was still getting used to her own and they barely weighed anything, only the—
“For fuck’s sake, pay attention!”
She dropped just in time, the scythe whistling above her head. “Shite!”
