Page 113 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

“Let me through!” an authoritative female voice bellows.

Kylantha Wynterliff forces her way through the crowd, her gray eyes stormy. Her gaze lands on her daughter, and she rushes towards us, sobs sounding in her throat.

“Gods above,” she cries. “Lymseia!”

“We need help,” I beg. “It’s magic,” I say, not sure how I know. I still hear Lymseia’s faint life force in the forest of my mind, but she’s just beyond my reach, as if she’s trapped behind a locked door.

“I do not—” Kylantha stammers. “I cannot, I—”

“She will be all right,” Lord Onas, Lymseia’s father, coos, folding his wife into his arms. “Her mate will care for her now. We must trust him to have her best interests at heart.”

Kylantha’s mouth twists into a devastated wince. She opens her mouth as if to protest, but melts into her husband’s embrace, her chest wracked with sobs.

Onas turns to me, his cobalt eyes fierce. “If you believe this is some kind of magic, you will need the best healers in the realm to attend to her.”

I nod, understanding his message. The royal healers are the finest alchemists the kingdom has to offer. “How can I get to Keuron in time?”

Riding by horseback would take a little over a week to reach Keuron. Even if we left now, there’s no way of knowing how much time she has left.

“Are you strong enough to conjure a portal?” Savell asks.

“Maybe,” I tell him. “I’ve never dared to expend that much energy.”

But I have to try.

Worry flickers at Savell’s mouth, his cheeks taut with tension. It’s a good thing he knows better than to argue with me right now. Because nothing, and I mean nothing, matters more to me than my mate.

Savell dips his head, determination setting his jaw. “What do you need?”

Standing in a quiet room holding my mate close to my chest, I close my eyes.

Focused on the weight of my silver dagger strapped to my chest against my skin, and the extra silver items arranged around me that Savell had found—some silverware, candelabras, and plates—I locate my untapped power in my mind. I’ve grown so comfortable conjuring my shadows that there’s no need to envision my magical reserve in my mind’s eye. But for magic like this, it helps me maintain concentration.

With our mate bond in place, the empty nothingness that had once surrounded the lake in my mind is now a lush, dense forest—like those of Lymseia’s home Court. I imagine myself wading into the lake while holding her against my chest, moving farther from the shoreline until the water is higher than my waist. The buoyancy makes her glossy, blue-black hair float, framing her face like a crown.

A dull ache claims my chest when I look at her sleeping face. Gods, I want to—no, I need to—see her open those gray eyes again. I need to hear her voice. To feel her touch.

I need her. Crave her. In the worst fucking way possible.

My intention is firm, like my resolve. There is only one thing I want, in this moment, one thing I need.

To get my mate the help she needs.

With that intention consuming my every thought, every desire, every wish, I draw on my power. The lake responds, water shifting, waves crashing. I feel it seeping from within, molding to my will. The more power I draw, the more it buzzes beneath my skin.

Opening my eyes, I see it humming beneath my fingertips, raw power swirling around them in a deep, forest green. The air crackles and vibrates, the very floor I stand on becoming unsteady, like the lake.

Still, I draw more magic until I scrape the very bottom of the well. There’s so much power within me now, buzzing in my blood, my ears, my teeth. Gods, there so much magic that I feel as though the tethers of my being that bind my soul to my body might fracture at any moment.

There is a reason fae don’t wield this much power.

But I don’t care.

She is the only thing in this entire gods-damned world that matters. I don’t care about what happens to me. There is no me, without her.

And so with one final push, I give way to the magic.

It exits from me in one fell swoop. The air before me bends into an ovular shape, twisting around a central point, like water flowing down a crevice. A flash of light nearly blinds me, and I stagger backward, closing my eyes.

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