Chapter 33

Kit

The boom from Tavias's power echoes around the grand chamber, even the palace walls trembling in deference. On the mezzanine, the archers scramble to find cover, but not before releasing a volley of arrows aimed at our heads.

Cyril throws up a shield over us, which casts our faces in an ethereal blue light. With all five of us together, the magic pulsing between us is grander than anything I've ever felt. Arrows bounce harmlessly off the semi-luminescent barrier above us, some completely shattering on impact.

Tavias strikes at the pillars holding up the balconies, and the remaining archers careen to the marble floor below along with broken masonry.

"Well shit," Hauck mutters. "If anyone needs a tree grown or something, I'm here too."

Shouts from the remaining guards fill the throne room but I barely mark them over the power pulsing through the five pointed rune etched on my arm. In minutes since we've entered, no less than two dozen of Salazar's warriors have been slain. And we've barely scratched the surface of our collective magic. My head swims with power.

In that moment, I realize that I'm done playing defense. Done negotiating and talking. Done being weak, because I am anything but that.

"I'm ending this," I tell my pack and step forward. The males fall into a V-pattern behind me at once, yielding that critical shot to me.

Do it, Quinton says.

My gaze locks on Salazar's and I take in every ounce of malice that lurks there. If he is concerned about the destruction we've wrecked or the warriors we've killed, he shows none of it. Perhaps he truly feels no concern for anyone but himself, or perhaps—unlike the suddenly pale looking Geoffrey—Salazar is in denial of the reality that's hitting him. At this point, I don't really care.

"I want you gone from my kingdom," I snarl at the false king. Without waiting for Salazar's reply, I extend my palms out and launch a ball of fire directly at Salazar's chest. It is the size of a watermelon and burns so hot that the flame is white around the edges and leaves a streak of singed air in its wake. And it has the power to incinerate Salazar ten times over.

But it doesn't.

My stomach clenches as my fireball hits Salazar's quickly erected shield and not only fails to shatter it, but bounces and curls back on us instead. The barrier Salazar constructed is somehow elastic.

Quinton shoves me behind him and Cyril douses the fire before the flame incinerates us instead. We are not the only ones who've powered up recently. But how? From where is Salazar's power coming? My chest heaves and I survey the throne room with new eyes.

"I am no guardsman for you to taunt, pup," Salazar tells Cyril. "I hope you see that by now."

"You are also alone," Cyril says from behind me. "The reflex shield drains power like a sieve. How many more times do you think you can raise it? You think you can outlast the five of us?" Magic crackles in Cyril's hands as he speaks, as if his own reserves have no such limits. "Stop dragging out the inevitable."

"Yes. Let's stop dragging things out," Salazar replies then turns to Geoffrey. "Bring them."

Geoffrey yanks open a door behind the throne and ushers half a dozen priests of Orion into the room. They are all battered, with blood soaked robes and swollen shut eyes. Geoffrey yanks a rope that binds their feet together. The priests kneel.

Cyril swears.

Geoffrey barks an order and the priests start a chant, their hands moving in unison. Fear spills into my blood. Stars… We might have managed to capture Emric and harness some of the priests' ancient knowledge, but Salazar has done much the same. He might have no scholar like Autumn to make use of the priests' runes directly, but he doesn't need to—not when he can torture any number of captured priests into doing his bidding.

This… can't be good, I send down the bond.

Agreed, Tavias replies.

The five of us move closer together and I feel Cyril and Tavias spiraling down into their power. I do the same.

"Did you know that what we call ‘blight' is actually a permanent rip between our normal world and its dark echo?" Salazar asks into the vibrating silence, as an oval space just above the center of the throne room floor begins to thin and shimmer. Like a window opening into a world leached of color. "They call it the Gloom on the other continent. A fascinating place. Always beneath us, an extension of our world and yet unique to itself. Not unlike a cloak's underlining."

We move together on my mark, Cyril says, issuing orders that will have us attacking Salazar from several angles at once, forcing him to expand energy and attention to wage war on several fronts at once. Once the shields waver, Hauck and Quinton will move to finish the work—and the priests—with swords. Move.

We separate and start our attack, careful to keep the assault vectors from hitting us on rebound. Salazar blocks them all, but his chest heaves. Cyril is right, Salazar won't be able to hold us off indefinitely. But if we don't beat whatever he is summoning, he won't have to.

Again, Cyril calls and we attack.

Salazar blocks us all, but I see his hands shaking. His shields no longer rebound our assaults either. Quinton's sword rises in preparation to attack.

I start to smile, but my budding relief is short lived because just then, a full-sized piranha slithers up through the shimmering air and plops its wormish body onto the polished marble floor. The creature's stars-awful stench fills the air, making me gag.