Page 164 of Kingdoms of Night

They were surrounded and yet still apart. Idalno jumped out of the way of a hound. Skidding around the urn, she thrust her hand back into the dry soil. “Honina, tinlore wobwi twi sulspi kuwal!”

The energy hesitated and choked, then exploded out in a steamy white arc, turning gold as it soared into another and spread within the first. It billowed like a sparkling net in both. The topiary blossomed with brilliant white fragrant flowers and thick green needles.

“Boll weevils!” she screamed, balling her fists up. Her fingernails cut into her palms.

“Aranea, Pulvere!” a booming voice commanded. “Destroy her!” Two riders charged in, swords raised.

With a deafening howl, Feron slid in front of her. He spread his arms, snarling, his amber eyes glowing. The late-afternoon sunlight glistened on his long black claws.

Maybe that incident with the topiary wasn’t what she’d asked for, but it was better than nothing! She fed energy to the blossoming topiaries, sending a swath of branches in the path of one rider. Wood caged him and his horse, binding them both in creeping restraints.

Feron lunged to meet the other rider at speed, ducking his head before sweeping the horse aside, like a storm uprooting a tree. Horse and rider tumbled together across the courtyard.

“Are you hurt?” Feron bit out, a low wolf’s growl. He shielded her with his body.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Stay behind me,” he whispered, chest heaving. “I’ll protect you.” His face contorted.

“I’ve got your back,” she said softly. “You don’t have to do this alone. Neither of us do.”

If they were about to die, it would be together. But she prayed the Creator didn’t plan for them to end like this.

The riders made way as one of them, wearing a golden winged helmet matched to gleaming plate armor, rode in from the air to the wide stairs seamlessly. Heavy hooves clopped on the stone steps as the rider urged the immaculate white stallion upward, its muscles bunching and rippling with power.

The spear the rider carried had its own distinct presence. Golden, inlaid with cobalt, it appeared more ceremonial than functional, and yet sunlight reflected its gleam off a razor-sharp edge.

Idalno suppressed a shudder, that uncomfortable and unusual sense of dread intensifying. Ripples of unease passed through her. Her instincts had told her Feron was a good man at his core, angry perhaps, sharp at points, and obviously traumatized, but good.

But this person, whoever they were, they were trouble.

Leaning against the railing above, Oberon sipped from his goblet. Did this happen somewhat regularly? He sighed as if inconvenienced, then glanced to the left, and rolled his eyes as if in response to a statement. His gaze returned to the topiaries behind her, then back to her, narrowing as if intrigued.

The golden rider urged her horse to speed, agile, bolting to flank Idalno.

She flexed her hands, reaching out again to summon another plant—for all the good it would do against that wicked spear. She could feel the blade’s urge to kill, even from this far away.

In a blur, the razor-sharp spear cut through the air, right toward her. She desperately pulled at the vines, but there wasn’t—

Leaping in front of her, Feron slashed out. Metal screamed against claw, sparks flashing, as he just barely diverted it.

The spear screeched against the courtyard’s stone, burying itself deep into the tiles.

A feral roar rent the air. “I’ll kill you, all of you, any who try—”

“Impossible,” the golden rider murmured. “Gungnir does not miss.”

Oberon clapped his hands together, the sound far greater than the motion. The silver embroidery on his garments glowed as he stretched his hands up.

A ball of energy shot up, and storm clouds gathered. Lightning cracked with the thunder. Everyone halted, including the hounds.

“Now, now,” Oberon said. “We may be outside, but this is still part of the castle and still under my control. You know the rules.”

What was this? Was Oberon defending them?

“Very well. Let us speak.” The rider forged ahead, up the steps, but stopped one level below Oberon. Directly in front of Feron.

The rider’s stallion tossed its head, its silky white mane flowing, and shifted its weight. The rider, in a fluid motion, removed the elegant helmet. A thick shock of crimson hair tumbled free, shimmering with golden sunshine.

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