Page 67 of Queen of Legends and Lies
Summoning my own, I take hold of his and merge them together. This time, I focus on something that would be useful against the drachen. My nose wrinkles as I concentrate. Iimagine the raging inferno inside me banking to smoldering embers.
Beside me, Sterling’s breathing slows as he tempers his usually icy magic. I do the same, keeping things balanced. Once again, heated mist begins to swirl around us, but gentler this time.
In the fog, embers flicker like dancing fireflies.
The nearly ethereal sight of the tiny dancing sparks mesmerizes me until one ember lands on my thigh and the fabric starts smoking.
Sterling’s eyes snap open, widening at the sight. “Lark…”
Hastily flexing my power, I snuff out the ember, but others still drift in the magically charged air. Ignoring that one stray spark, hope blooms.
This is something we can use.
If we can form this, we can use it as a distraction. Send it through Flighthaven, wait for the drachen to chase after the mist, then sneak in and find Narc’s body to burn.
The breeze picks up, and to my horror, carries the sparks across the street to the thatched roof of the apothecary. A wisp of smoke curls up from the dried reeds.
“No, no, no…” I try to move the sparking mist, but it’s akin to herding cats.
In a matter of seconds, flames lick at the roof, spreading to the wooden walls. I stop channeling the magic and sprint toward the burning buildings.
People shout in alarm as the fire starts to spread. Sterling skids to a stop beside me, hands already raised, water shooting from his fingertips. Still connected, we use his water magic to douse the fire.
But the damage is done.
The apothecary’s stores are safe, but the flames have devoured the roof. Next door, half the tailor’s roof is a smoking, gaping hole. And a dozen angry, soot-streaked faces glare at us.
My stomach churns with guilt and frustration. I open my mouth to apologize, but what can I say? That in our attempt to save the kingdom, we just set two people’s livelihoods ablaze?
Sterling’s jaw clenches as he surveys the destruction. I can practically taste the waves of self-recrimination rolling off him, mirroring my own.
No matter how hard we try, we just can’t seem to control this volatile merging of our powers. Our concentration wavers, our intentions misalign, and chaos erupts.
Literally.
If we can’t even prevent a few embers from causing such destruction, how can we possibly defeat a madman bent on conquest with a horde of drachen and an ever-growing army of corrupted at his back?
The smoke stings my eyes. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I blink away the moisture gathering in them.
Sighing, I turn to Sterling, noting my own helplessness in the lines of his face. “We should go. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
Nothing except leave a hefty bag of coin to cover the repairs. And pray to the gods that, next time, our merged magic doesn’t incinerate the whole damn city.
In silence, we take to the skies and head back to the palace. My mouth is dry, and my lips are chafed. We’ve already finished one tea-filled waterskin, but I could easily down another.
The palace looms ahead, its spires piercing the twilight sky. Normally, the sight fills me with a sense of homecoming, but today, dread sits heavy in my gut.
Sterling and I land in the courtyard, tucking our wings tight against our backs. Hushed whispers and pointed looks fromthe guards and servants reveal that word of our latest magical mishap has already spread.
Fantastic. We should’ve told those soldiers to keep news of the mist to themselves. The council’s probably chomping at the bit to hand us our asses.
We stride into the Council Tower, and the dread morphs into full-blown anxiety as numerous stern faces swivel toward us. Their expressions range from concern to outright disapproval.
Duchess Breann breaks the tense silence. “Your Highnesses, we’ve received disturbing reports. Destroyed crops, panicked soldiers, a burned apothecary? What in the three hells is going on?”
I lift my chin, trying to project a confidence I don’t have. “As I explained before, we’re working on merging our magic. It’s a process?—”
“A process?” Vicar Moise scoffs, his well-groomed brows furrowing. “Sounds more like a disaster. We’re on the brink of war, and you two are out there playing with fire. Literally.”
