Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,206

the two adepts springing for us through the air.

And, okay, this was not how I’d assumed the Pythian Court did their training sessions! I understood the concept of live fire training. Human armed forces used it all the time, because otherwise, soldiers might freak out the first time they had real ammo coming at them. But this was insane.

Seriously, what the hell? I thought, as the force of my shift sent the bound girl flying sideways into the two acolytes, blowing them off their feet and into the warded will-kill-you-if-you-touch-it barrier, because this arena of horrors wasn’t bad enough on its own.

They hit, the ward flashed, and their bodies burst into a haze of ash. I could feel it on my skin, taste it on my tongue, gagged on it as it caught in my throat. I tried to avoid losing my lunch, which thankfully I hadn’t eaten much of anyway, and mostly succeeded.

Mostly. “Guns, knives, and magical snares allow you to dispose of or trap an opponent without using up your reserve of strength,” Gertie’s voice continued, as if nothing had happened. “But they can also give away your position and thus leave you vulnerable for a moment—and a moment is all it takes.”

No shit, I thought, and then screamed as a bunch of fiery arrows flew at my head. I didn’t see who’d sent them; didn’t care. I just threw a time bubble that aged the wood to nothing, using up all their fuel. Which left little puffs of fire going off all around me, like silent fireworks. It was disorienting, but not as much as the spell that hit me right afterward.

Goddamn it!

The ballroom, where we were having our little afternoon in hell, suddenly tilted wildly. I was standing on the ground, or to be more precise, I was crouching behind a sofa, but that’s not what it felt like. It felt like I’d just gotten shoved out of a 747 cruising at 35,000 feet, without a parachute.

I screamed again, but not because of the spell. But because I knew what was coming. Jo had already acquainted me with what it felt like to get stabbed in the chest, and I could really do without a repeat. Or being electrocuted by the barrier. Or being garroted by the big acolyte, who I’d been told was only sixteen but who could have linebacked for any pro football team. Hell, she was bigger than some of the war mages, and she loved her little bit of string.

I loved keeping my head on my body, so I wasn’t real thrilled to see her heading my way.

“The Pythian power is inexhaustible. You are not,” Gertie intoned, because that was all I needed. “Reserve your strength at all costs; it may be what saves your life.”

No, what would save my life is getting out of here, I thought viciously. But since that wasn’t possible, I shifted to the grand piano, which looked like a Picasso drawing, thanks to my wonky head. Or maybe that was the angle, because my shifting abilities had also been screwed up by the disorienting spell, and I was a little off target.

Like maybe twelve feet in the air off, before I dropped like a stone to smash into the delicate wooden bench seat. I hit the ground in the midst of a pile of carved wooden shards, one of which had stabbed my calf—thank you, Gertie! And all of which I shifted blindly, not being able to tell what was happening, just that a large blur was headed for me at a run.

My vision cleared a moment later, I didn’t know why. And then I did, when the blur resolved itself into five acolytes who had been running and were now sliding across the marble floor on rivers of their own blood. Because I’d just shifted the equivalency of a couple dozen wooden stakes into their bodies.

They slid at me, their eyes going glassy, their hands still outreached, while the spell one of them had used on me died along with the caster.

I didn’t scream this time; I didn’t make any sound at all. One of the girls slid straight into me, and all I could do was to scramble back, my nose running, my eyes watering, and vile-tasting stomach acid dribbling down my chin. She was the blonde from the previous night, the nosy one with the pretty curtsy.

Never learned how to curtsy properly, I thought dazedly, although my governess had tried her best to teach