Page 181 of Fortress of Ambrose
“Not a chance,” the Dragunhead says, double fisting the diadem in his hands.
Ominous shadows lingered over the doorpost when I arrived, fingers of darkness stretching inside the room every few moments. Nore rushed to close the door just as her mother joined her side. They haven’t moved since, holding hands.
I have a plan.
But Nore made it better.
The Shadow Cell magic residue Jordan gave Abby wasn’t strong enough on the cloak. But it would be stronger streamingdirectlyfrom the source—Jordan. They weren’t going to put the Sphere’s magic into the Dragunhead. It would still go into the rings as planned.
They were going to saturate his body with enough paralyzing magic to restrain him.
Then Nore was going to stealhisheart—the heart of an immortal with powerful ancient magic—as an offering to her dead.
We can’t kill him.
Making him a prisoner to the dead is our best hope.
With the Pact nullified, they can have his heart and it has no bearing on their House or their magic. Itdoesmean Ambrose has to earn their intellect fair and square, but they wouldn’t be at the mercy of the dead anymore. It is their best shot.
Jordan lies back, and I lean over to kiss him on the forehead, whispering through gritted teeth, “Shadow Cell magic.”
A divot appears between his brows. I haven’t had a chance to tell anyone Nore’s plan. I squeeze his hand, hoping he gets my meaning.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Winkel watches from the perimeter of the room, hands stuffed in the pockets of his gray robes embroidered with blue flowers along the collar. “Our Headmistress has much faith in you.”
Abby turns the handle of Lady Ruby’s dagger. Winkel notices. He whispers, “It may not kill him, but in a pinch, it would slow him down. Good thinking.”
I join Erla between the tables. Jordan reaches for my hand, and I lace my fingers between his. Cold inside me tugs toward him, but I hold still.
“Are we ready?” Erla asks, sliding the box of rings onto the table beside Jordan.
“Sorry, a slight change.” I look at her with a deliberateness that I hope makes what I’mnotsaying clear. “No rings, Erla.” I take the box and pretend to set it aside, blocking the Dragunhead’s view with my body. Carefully, I pour the rings onto the table beside Jordan, out of sight. “The magic goes directly into him.”
Erla grabs her necklace. “What do you mean?”
I glare at her, willing her to understand. “Run wires both ways. His blood will infuse Jordan to keep him from dying. And Jordan’s magic will be siphoned into him.Norings.” I quirk a brow slightly.
“O-oh, alright.” She fidgets.
The Dragunhead hops off the table and snatches the now-empty box of rings from the table. He spots the stack hidden beside Jordan and glares at me. I go cold all over, and it’s not my magic.
“We have a deal, Quell.Allthe magic, tome.” He destroys the rings with sharp sparks of darkness like I’ve never seen. The rings’ gold castings melt into puddles on the floor. The stones crack under the pressure of his strange magic. When he’s done, the collection of rings we worked so hard to get are all gone.
I glance at the dagger in Abby’s hand and swallow. The Dragunhead returns to his table and leans back without fully reclining. He drapes his hands across his body, fingers drumming on stomach.
“Get started.”
I blow out a breath and nod for Erla to start. My mind spirals. Black-tinged blood travels through a tube toward Jordan as the magic moves from the Dragunhead’s body to him. When it reaches Jordan, his chest expands with a deep inhale. Then his breaths grow longer and deeper. I lift his shirt, watching the bruise on his side.Unchanged.
“Jordan, start pushing the magic out of you.”
Erla works the tubing around his fingertips. We meet eyes, and he nods imperceptibly.
Toushana laced with haze fills the tube traveling toward the Dragunhead, who sits erect, watching the magic slink closer with skepticism in his stare. Bystanders watch. Winkel grips his robes, shaking his head as if something is terribly wrong. But when the icy Shadow Cell magic connects with the Dragunhead’s skin, he inhales. So sharply his head tips back, as if he’s taken in a gulp of the freshest breath of air. He lies back on the stone bed with a sublime expression.
I wait, watching, waiting for him to realize.
But he hasn’t yet noticed that the sleek, dark magic funneling into him is laced with a paralyzing haze. Jordan’s bruise on his side begins to fade, the dark red flesh lightening and filling out around his hollowed ribs.
