Page 25 of Sons of Sorrow
Sylvain held a hand over his eyes, as if shielding them from the glow of the alleged fireworks. The leaves adorning his body rustled with every movement. He’d resorted to clothing himself in nearly full suits of leafy armor for our excursions. It worked perfectly for when we ended up in situations or places with little to no plant life, just like this oriel, where the trees grew fire instead of leaves.
“What an exceptionally warm welcome,” Sylvain said. “Ah, they must have known that a prince was coming. Very kind of them, though all this fanfare truly is so unnecessary.”
I could tell that he was half joking, but Luna snorted before I could answer.
She leaned toward Evander, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear. “The eidolon. Is he always this much of a buffoon?”
Evander chuckled and stage-whispered right back. “I mean, heisbuff. You have to give him that.”
I clenched my teeth, my hand balling up into a fist. I could think about clapping their obnoxious heads together with my bare hands later. We had other problems to deal with. These supposed fireworks certainly looked lovely, their brilliant colors reflecting on the gleam of the metal city below.
But there was one little detail the others seemed to be overlooking.
“They aren’t fading,” I said, frowning at the sky. “They’re supposed to be fading.”
Bruna backed up a step, one hand already searching through the potions strapped to her belt. “Those aren’t fireworks.”
Fireworks were supposed to dissipate after their initial detonation, after dispensing their pretty payloads into the sky. They weren’t supposed to zigzag through the clouds in tight formations.
They weren’t supposed to fly screaming toward us in tens, in dozens, in the staggering hundreds.
12
The approachingspecks of light reminded me of rocket fire, something out of a war movie. We watched those sometimes at the Wispwood, out in the common areas with the other students, or as part of our electives on studies of human history and culture.
What unsettled me most was the aftermath of something like this. Dismemberment, scorched earth, charred flesh. In Hollywood, as I’d learned, these were accomplished through something called special effects. They were the illusions that humans could make, their so-called movie magic.
I knew for a fact that there was nothing illusory about these speeding missiles, these hundreds of fireballs heading straight toward us.
“Defenses,” I shouted at the others. It was too late to escape, and we couldn’t outrun these things if we tried.
“Eww,” Luna said. “Who died and made you the leader?”
The beginnings of an insult took shape inside my head, but Luna touched a finger to each of her earrings. I completely forgot what I was planning to throw at her in answer. Each of the earrings pulsed with a flash of silver. When the light cleared, Luna was suddenly armed and armored.
In one hand, a sword in the shape of a crescent, a stylized scimitar. In the other, a silver shield, worn and pockmarked with craters, resembling a full moon. I could talk shit about the Iron College as much as I wanted, but their battle-magics were not simply the stuff of fantasy.
Evander summoned his butterflies, arranging them into a matrix before us, a screen of fuchsia wings to served as a force field. Not to be outdone, Sylvain unleashed the leaves from his torso, adding a second layer to the barrier. Bruna stood by with an ice-blue potion in her hand, the bottle frosty with condensation.
I reached for the Wilde grimoire, my mind a whirl as I riffled through its pages, scrambling for a solution. But what would I even accomplish by calling on my minor eidolons, or even one of the guardians?
“We’ll be okay,” Satchel stammered, maybe for his own benefit, to convince himself. “We’ll be fine.”
And he would be, his talent allowing him to zip away at a moment’s notice, take shelter in a pocket dimension. Hopefully our defenses would hold and it wouldn’t come to that.
My eyes closed, I channeled arcane essence into the grimoire instead, intending to use it as a mobile shield. I could hang back and rely on the others for their superior defenses for now, save my energies for later.
I opened my eyes, bracing for impact. The fireballs were closer now, each as large as an apple. No, bigger. A coconut. A burning coconut. Like little meteorites, each on fire, each no doubt packing a serious punch.
My instincts were correct. The shield of leaves and butterflies shuddered with every collision. The air filled with stifling heat as the fireballs struck, each one exploding like a tiny bomb, a thumping hail of crashes and bangs.
I held my hand out, the Wilde grimoire levitating wherever I indicated, prepared to protect myself if the barrier went down. Not that it would do much good, but better a reinforced magic book than nothing.
“Luna,” Bruna shouted. “No!”
Our visitor from the Iron College was more than eager to demonstrate her alma mater’s rumored propensity for pain. She smashed with both her sword and shield with terrifying rhythm and precision, batting away the burning bombs, deflecting them straight into the line of fire, forcing them to detonate when they met in midair.
“She’s going to be the death of me,” Bruna said, lobbing her phial over the barrier.
