Page 12 of Fate Promised

The vulk took no mates. And even if Hans had taken one last year, he was different. Hans hadn’t experienced what Juri had—the terror and guilt of those he cared about getting injured simply because they were related to a vulk. Juri pushed the memory aside. He tried not to think about it, even though every time he saw the scars on his mother’s right arm, he relived it.

He watched Triska put her hands out to warm them. Her chestnut hair fell down her back in one long braid except near her temples, where a few locks had gotten free. Her eyes were still the same—almost too large for her face—framed by arching brows and a high sweep of cheekbone.

The protective urge he’d always felt toward her … shifted. His blood heated. A shot of warmth kicked in his stomach. What would it feel like if he ran the back of his knuckle down her sloping cheek? Brushed his thumb across her full, pink lips?

The flare of warmth flamed into full fire. He wanted to caress her more than he wanted his next breath.

He jerked back and shook his head. It was never going to happen. Triska was safer if he stayed far away. She wasn’t really his—childhood promises didn’t count. Especially ones made so long ago.

His chest felt a little colder. Like something vital that lived there had just been hollowed out.

The annual ode to the sea filled the air as the village elders chanted, and the mayor turned and lit the nearest scarecrow. With a whoosh, it ignited.

As the mayor lit the last one down the line, the sour stench of brimstone clouded the air. Juri tensed, and next to him, Kyril pressed up onto the balls of his feet. “Is magic included in this little festival of yours?”

“No.” Juri scanned the beach. No black cloaks. Only smiling, relaxed townspeople. A gust of wind blasted down the beach, spraying sand everywhere. Several people yelped, covering their faces.

The fog, previously clinging to the water, blew in as the winds shifted, blurring everyone down at the beach. A scream rent the air, and the crowd backed away from the flaming scarecrows. Juri’s hackles rose, and a growl erupted low in his throat.

The fog took on a greenish tinge, swirling around the five fires as each scarecrow burned. Kyril snarled. “Look at the smoke.”

The fire on the beach blazed, the flames leaping high into the air, but the smoke billowing off it was a deep, emerald green, and it wasn’t pluming up into the air. It curled down onto the beach, blending with the ocean fog to coat everyone in a thick smog.

People screamed and fanned the air in front of their faces. Juri squinted, scanning the beach. Smoke stung his eyes, and he blinked. He crouched.

The screams grew louder, and people scrambled.

“Come on, we need to get down there,” Juri said. “Those necromancers must be close to be doing this.” Juri sprang forward, and with a snarl, Kyril followed him.

Juri plunged into the swirling fog, scanning for the necromancers. He strained to catch any chanting, but the screaming was too loud. He halted. “They aren’t fleeing the beach.” The townsfolk beat at the fog, but they struggled in place as if stuck. Exactly like the man in the sewer had when he touched the bowl.

Lightning crackled through the roiling mass of smoke in a flash of vivid green. A jolt zapped near Juri, reaching out and connecting with a tall man to his left. The man jerked, and his face went slack. He stopped moving and stared blankly, stuck in place and ready for whatever the necromancers had planned for him.

More flashes and more people around Juri went still as lightning hit them. Juri raced forward, dodging the flashes zipping out of the cloud. Where was Triska? Where were the necromancers? Flashes of red and blue erupted farther down the beach, and ozone burned the air as magic collided and fought. Some Ryba magicwielders were launching a counterattack.

A white glow appeared a few paces away. In the center stood Triska, her hand raised. A silvery shimmer coated her, and the fog curled back on itself away from her. But she wasn’t alone. Hoyt stood in front of her, a portal of swirling air at his back and one hand raised. Juri froze for half a second, his limbs seizing. Hoyt blasted a bolt of green lightning from his fingertips, and it whistled forward. The white light around Triska flashed in answer. Lightning didn’t sink into her chest like it had the others on the beach. Instead there was a loud clang, and ozone rent the air. The lightning fractured into small zapping branches and formed a cage around her.

A golden symbol rose into the air. The one from his childhood. A symbol he’d learned was a rune.

Juri snarled and crouched to spring forward. A hand clutched his arm, wheeling him around.

A small, wizened man with snowy tufts of hair blowing in the wind held him. Juri recognized him—Fergal, the taffy seller—he’d visited him often as a kid. “Wait,” Fergal said. “Spring too soon, and you may kill her. Rune magic is temperamental at best.” He nodded toward Triska. “She’s holding her own.”

5

A bead of sweat dripped down the back of Triska’s neck. What was going on? A magicwielder she’d never seen before had just blasted something at her, and she was holding it off, but she remained tethered to him as his lightning pressed against her. What was he doing? Why was he attacking Ryba? And why was the symbol from her chest flashing above her right now?

Over the magicwielder’s shoulder, she glimpsed Hazel whirling her magic around, flashes of blue beating back the fog, but many villagers stood stock still as if frozen in place.

Her magic skated over her skin, the pale glow shining brighter, pushing the green cage back a few inches.

The magicwielder across from her glanced upward, studying the symbol rotating in the sky. Triska kept her gaze trained on him, watching the symbol in her peripheral vision. Verdant smoke swirled around the magicwielder, and he … inhaled it. His power surged against hers. He smiled slightly, his eyes glossing over for a moment as if he’d experienced something pleasurable.

The hair on her arms stood up, and she shuddered. Whatever this magicwielder was doing was wrong. Panic clawed inside her. Her magic was like water on a flame, dousing anything around her so it couldn’t harm her or anyone else, but this magicwielder had vast stores of magic continuing to surge against her.

He glanced up at the symbol again. “What is this? It’s not what I’m calling forth tonight.” He tilted his head. “But it’s powerful.”

The cage closed, pressing closer. Ice crept through her veins as her magic sucked more of her warmth away. If she kept fighting, eventually she’d collapse from the loss of body heat. It had happened a couple of times when she’d first started learning how to use it.

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