Page 120 of Queen of Legends and Lies
“Mist,”I hear Sterling whisper inside my mind. Or maybe my heart.
Holy Ziva, Terro, and Rivlan. Is Sterling in my head? Just like I heard his mother only minutes ago?
“Yes, love,”comes his reply.“We’ll talk about this later. Kinda busy now.”
Weary muscles protesting, I lift my hands and coordinate my movements with his.
Around us, steam rises in a scorching veil fed by Sterling’s water and my fire. The billowing cloud grows thicker and thicker, obscuring everything beyond.
Mist can move through Rafe’s shield.
I have a sudden, better understanding of how to work with the air magic encasing us, and Sterling catches my intention, no explanation needed.
He directs the mist with me, both of us straining as we force it through the faltering air barrier. The mist curls in wisps and tendrils and begins to surround our enemies in a trap they cannot escape.
Will. Not. Escape.
“Now, burn. Nice and slow!”Sterling growls in my mind, his voice rough with rage and sorrow.
I obey, stoking my inner fire hotter and hotter until the world takes on a shimmering red haze that blooms into the mist.
The area beyond the shield flares white-hot in an instant. All the hidden sparks of our merged magic catch on anything and everything solid.
Inside the deadly cloud, Celeste writhes and screams. Clothes and hair ignite.
“Now, from below.”Sterling guides my focus downward.
“Got it.”I follow his lead, reaching out with my senses until I find the tainted well on the other side, that poisonous fount that spawned so much suffering.
Ah, I understand.
Two birds with one stone.
With a burst of fury, I tunnel my power.
The ground rumbles, and with a mighty roar, jets of scalding water explode from the well, searing Moise and Serle. Their skin blisters as they shriek in pain. The evil, traitorous trio are a chorus of anguish.
Rafe staggers and drops to his knees as his air barrier flickers and vanishes, his reserves totally spent.
Leesa and Agnar are ready, tear-tipped arrowheads flashing as they let their shafts fly. The arrows find their marks, sinking deep into Tanwen’s and Chirean’s flesh. The dragons convulse and thrash in pain as they fling Moise and Serle from their backs.
Elijah, Helene, and the others charge forward, weapons glinting.
The traitors’ skin bubbles and oozes as they die. It’s over in moments.
I stare at the blackened, distorted remains of Celeste, Serle, and Moise.
We won. But the cost.
Gods, the cost.
So many people gone way too soon. How can we possibly heal from this? How can anything ever be right again?
A heavy silence blankets the courtyard, broken only by the ragged gasps of the wounded and the soft sobs of the grieving. I lean against Sterling, his arm strong around my waist as we survey the devastation. Scorch marks decorate the palace walls, and the once-lush gardens are reduced to ashes. Even the air is thick and oppressive, weighed down by the stench of death.
“Well, that was fun,” Agnar quips from his perch on the well’s edge, but there’s no humor in his voice, only a bone-deep weariness.
“We won,” someone else murmurs.
