Page 48 of Ties of Frost

Yet I hesitated. I might kill the elf, and with both our magics between us, the assassin likely couldn’t see me, either. I’d be killing a bound, sightless opponent.

Iskyr, guide my blade, and forgive me should I kill unjustly.

I stabbed downward.

Nineteen

Zidra

Just as Kyrundar slammed the point of his sword downward, a vine of shadow whipped out of the churning maelstrom and collided with his chest. He flew backward and skidded across the ground. My entire body went cold. I should have been focused on the assassin, but instead I took a faltering step toward Kyrundar. His swords lay beside him.

He wasn’t moving.

It would take more than a single hit to take down Kyrundar Ilifir. Even as I told myself that, I couldn’t take my eyes off his still form sprawled over the grass.

If Kyrundar was dead, forget the curse. I would shift and the assassin would be dead before the curse took me down. It would be worth it.

The heartbond!

I seized the bond, and a gasp wrenched out of me as I realized it was still there—hewas still there. Kyrundar yet lived.

The assassin would not be so fortunate.

Snarling, I spun back to our attacker.

Moonlight shone on trampled grass and provided dim illumination to the sloping sides of the glen. No unnatural shadows amassed nearby, nor did ice magic wrestle with the night elf’s any longer.

The assassin had fled.

Perhaps I should have been relieved, even pleased. Instead, I smothered my dragon fire once more and swung my sword uselessly at the grass. The assassin should not live to hurt anyone else.

Had I been able to shift, I could have hunted him down. Even now, I could smell him, so I could track him. But night elves could use the shadows to help themselves travel faster, and their natural elf agility and speed was increased by moonlight and starlight. Without at least a partial shift, I’d never catch up with him.

Feeling useless, I stomped over to Kyrundar and knelt beside him. Before I spoke, he groaned and sat up. Rubbing the back of his head, he looked around, then focused on me.

“Did you defeat him?”

I looked away. “He escaped.”

Kyrundar muttered an imprecation. “Not entirely surprised. He’s strong.”

“Unusually strong?” I tilted my head.

“Perhaps not.” He shrugged. “None of the other elf-kind like to admit it, but our night elf brethren have the most powerful magic, at least at night. Rumor says they make formidable assassins, but the night elves keep to themselves and mostly stay within the borders of Nyksia. I haven’t heard of a night elf assassin in my lifetime.” He frowned. “Do you think he’s a member of the league the shifters mentioned? Or perhaps someone they hired?”

“I wish I could ask him.”

He winced. “I’m sorry—”

“Whatever for?” I tightened my hold on the grip of my sword to hide how my hands were shaking. “If you hadn’t emerged from your shelter when you did, I’d be dead.”

Yet that wasn’t the reason for my trembling hands.

I’d been prepared to shift, fully aware of the consequences, just so I could burn the assassin to avenge Kyrundar. Thoughts of enacting justice, protecting the empire, honoring my vows, saving myself—they had all fled, replaced by the frantic need to see to it that the person who had taken Kyrundar’s life would never take another.

Just like at Grivolen, caring about Kyrundar had affected my judgment in battle. First I’d lost the ability to shift. Then I’d let an assassin escape. All because I’d been more concerned about Kyrundar than my enemy. While in the past I’d have argued I was worried because I didn’t trust or believe in him, the lie no longer carried much weight.

It didn’t matter what I told myself, my reaction told the truth. I cared about Kyrundar, more than I did aboutanyone else, and I had for some time. More than I should. Perhaps I even…

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