Page 85 of Magick and Lead
When he took his hands away, the skin on the left side of his face was gone, including his eyelid. But there was no blood. And where his eye had been, something glowed, red as a burning coal.
“A golenae,” I gasped. So that was how Kortoi planned to make his peace deal with Admar. He’d taken the president’s body and replaced it with one of his demons from the void—one that would doubtless agree to whatever Kortoi demanded.
It was a horrible, blasphemous thing to do.
It was another reason the prelate should die.
And the time to act was now.
In a blur of motion, I leapt over the table, my dagger streaking for Kortoi’s heart.
The golenae Ramos tried to grab my arm, but I stomp-kicked him in the gut, sending him flying backwards, where his head hit a side table and he fell limp.
Before I could strike Kortoi, the feeling in the air abruptly shifted, and I looked over to see a bluish aura surrounding Hoatan.
Torouman magic was so rarely used that most didn’t know what form it took, and so secretive that I’d never even been able to convince Ollie to tell me about it. Many believed it was a myth. But Hoatan was conjuring something now, and it felt like the whole world tipped on its axis as he summoned his incredible power. I stumbled, almost falling over.
But the gun in Charlie’s hand cracked again, and Hoatan’s left leg buckled in a spray of blood. He cried out, and the feeling of his gathering magic ceased in an instant. Behind us, there were shouts in the hallway. Someone was bashing into the door, the impacts rattling the whole room. Time was running out.
Where are you?I asked Othura.
Close,she said.But not there yet. I… Oh no, I… Essa, something’s wrong.
Her connection with me abruptly cut off.
Dread rose like ice water in my chest. But I had to focus. Whatever was happening to Othura, I couldn’t help her now. There was a task in front of me to finish.
I turned back to Kortoi. He stood gazing at me, a stupefying calm and menace in his dark eyes.
“For my mother,” I snarled, bringing my dagger to his neck.
He summoned no magic, made no move to stop me. He merely said,
“But what of Othura?”
I froze as his lips curled into a slow smile.
“What are you talking about?” I snarled.
“All those rats she was gobbling up below the city… rats carry illness, you know.”
This bastard knew full well that dragons weren’t affected by human or rat diseases.
“What are you talking about?” I snarled.
“One rat in particular,” the prelate examined his long fingernails, “carried an especially horrible malady. The Brotherhood calls it The Dark Finger.”
I felt Othura whimper. She was suffering. In pain. But she was still coming closer.
My eyes narrowed, my teeth grating as I glared at Kortoi. “Youworm.”
“I may be a worm,” he chuckled. “But I am the only worm in the world with the antidote to save your dragon’s life. And we all know what happens to a rider when their dragon dies…”
“He’s bluffing,” Charlie said. “Kill him.”
But Kortoi wasn’t bluffing. The pain I felt radiating from Othura confirmed it.
My fury rose like a gale, and I pressed the blade of my dagger against the prelate’s neck so hard a thin line of crimson appeared. He smiled back at me, the sick, triumphant grin of aman who had control over another person—and loved it. How I longed to take my dagger and hack that smile off his smug face.
