Smolder (Crown of Fae #3) - Sharon Ashwood Page 0,27

but she closed her mind just in time. It worked, but frustration seared Leena. It was impossible to heal with her defenses up so high.

I know you. You are the dancer who battled me before. The whisper slithered through her thoughts, spreading terror like trickling acid.

So much for pretending to be Elodie.

Twice you have defied me. I could destroy you in an instant. We both know that.

You won’t, Leena replied. I am your key to the Flame. I’m the only one here who can summon it.

Not forever. There will be much bigger game once we reach Tymeera.

Then she would die. There was no need for him to say it.

Time passed—how much was unclear—in that tug of war. Juradoc’s hunger gathered like a condensing mist. Despite her best efforts, tendrils of power wormed their way past Leena’s shields. She kept healing, giving of herself along with the sacred fire, but her efforts dwindled as exhaustion won. The dance flagged, the earth gradually weighing on her limbs.

Alarm seeped through her like poison. Juradoc was gathering his power for another attack. This time, she would not have the strength to hold him back. He would tear the Flame from her protection and control.

Leena stumbled to one knee, her sudden fear bright as the fire itself.

Morran exploded from his chair with a roar, snatching up one of the torches that had been thrust into the sandy earth and brandishing it like a spear. The bond of magic he’d shared with Leena snapped like a frayed rope, hurling her to the ground.

Unmoored power rolled outward from the circle in a punishing wave, flattening Shades and soldiers like corn in a gale. Tents collapsed. Mules and horses bolted. Morran hurled the spear, skewering a Shade.

Juradoc screamed in frustration.

Rough hands hauled Leena to her feet. It was Fionn.

“Run,” he said. “Go back to your wagon and stay there. You’ll be safer there than anyplace else.”

“What about you?” she asked.

Fionn shrugged. He looked more like himself, as if the Flame had restored him a little, too. “There’s nothing you can do. I’ll be safer if you’re out of the way.”

Leena took one glance back. Morran was hurling his chair at the Shades, big muscles straining as the wood shattered in his hands. With a yell, he smashed Juradoc’s chair, too.

He was out of control, filled with unfocused, destructive rage. She could feel its echoes through the remnants of their bond. It was a repeat of the scene in the banquet hall.

“Go,” Fionn repeated, sounding less friendly now.

Leena’s legs didn’t want to move, but she forced herself into a run, roots and rocks bruising her bare soles.

She’d tried. She’d given everything to the ritual, yet Morran had sunk back into mindless violence. A hope she’d barely acknowledged died within her. That kiss would never be anything more.

When she reached her wagon, she scrambled inside, pulling the canvas flaps closed behind her. Leena shut her eyes, too tired to even summon tears. Failure clung to her spirit like sticky slime.

Kifi slunk out of the darkness. “What happened?”

“Nothing good,” Leena replied, scooping the cat into her arms. She sank her fingers into the warm fur, grateful for the small, solid body. An aftershock of emotion passed through her, making her tremble hard enough that her teeth chattered. “I can’t see a way forward. Not with the magic I’ve got.”

“What will you do?”

“We could run.” But where to? She would need supplies and a plan before crossing the desert alone.

“The general will expect panic. Don’t give it to him. Brazen this out like a cat.”

“What do you think he’ll consider a fitting punishment for defiance? A whipping? Utter annihilation?”

Kifi put a paw against her cheek, the pads soft and cool. “Perhaps it’s time to bring stronger players to the game.”

The cat was right. Though it was a long shot because of the great distance, she should contact the Mother.

It took several hours for the camp to quiet, but no one came to her wagon. When it finally seemed safe, Leena dug in her bundle to find the objects she required. Fatigue and reluctance made her fingers clumsy, but she soon had everything assembled—a small brass bowl, a tiny box of incense, and her mother’s chatelaine.

The last was her most prized possession. A central ring was meant to hang on a chain or belt, and from that were strung keys and small useful objects a housewife might require. Leena picked it up, taking comfort in the familiar sound of the metal objects clinking