I did. I ducked under his arm and ran past him into the hall. Bhaltair stood at one end, and that meant I was going the other way. I’d done this with Cypress. He’d moved me through the shadows. The trick seemed to be to just keep moving. I ran as hard and as fast as I could, finding the hidden stairway that I’d used with Cypress. I raced up the steps, the assassins close behind me. I wasn’t going to get out of here, but at least there might be help up the stairs. I wouldn't be lost in the dungeon, awaiting my doom.
But the scene on the first floor was worse. The guards were fighting, but they weren’t winning. The sheer number of assassins in the room staggered me. I came to an abrupt stop. There was simply nowhere to go.
My father spotted me where he battled, and his eyes widened.
“Daughter,” he shouted and waved his hand. A bolt of power struck me, and I staggered backward. What was that? A second later, I knew. He’d taken off my dampener. I was at full power again. I stared at my hands as they seemed to blur and then come into focus again.
I felt an ancient sort of power rush me. It felt like turning on a faucet. Like releasing a dam. Like feeling the sun on your skin for the first time. It was a rush, but I was powerless to direct it. Trying to make sense and control the sudden flow of unbridled power was like trying to block the sun—impossible.
Vines rushed up from the floor. The room started alternating between hot and cold, as if I couldn’t control the changing of seasons. Steam billowed off fighting men, as if they were burning from the inside out. On the other side of the room, snowflakes fell from the concrete ceiling, and the floor turned to ice. Men slipped and crashed to the ground.
I thrust my hands out in front of me, and thorny vines conjured by my movement burst from the cracks in the wall. Blood splattered as men on both sides of the battle were struck with the sharp points of my plants. I couldn’t control where my powers were going. I was hurting everyone. I cut my gaze toward my mother crouching in terror in the corner. She eyed me with a sense of fear and appreciation.
My father wrapped his hands around a man’s neck and squeezed as tight as he could. Why wasn’t he using his powers?
The night I saved Cypress was painted vividly across my mind. These powers were not meant to be used to kill. Cypress said a Druid could be lost to the violence, but I felt that I had lost myself long ago. And if saving my parents made me evil, then I would embrace it with open arms.
I looked around for my number one enemy, Bhaltair, and cried out when I saw him stalking toward my mother. My helpless mother. He had a spelled sword in his hand, his grip harsh and steady. I urged the crackling power surging through me to protect my mother, but the room simply shook. Bhaltair stumbled only briefly. All I did was prolong the inevitable.
My legs were like concrete as I walked closer to them. Lightning strikes surged from my veins to the ground with every step, making it impossible to run. The wind whipped around my cheeks, and the more I cried, the more the castle turned to ruin.
That was when I saw him. Like he moved with a rush of darkness, Cypress was there. He put himself between my mother and Bhaltair. He surged forward, shoving him backward as two swords appeared at his hands as though he had conjured them. Maybe he had. He struck forward, cutting him, before Bhaltair did the same.
I turned my attention toward my father. For the moment, Bhaltair was contained, but my father was in trouble. He had so little power because he gave so much of it away. I had to help. I pointed my hands at his assailant, and my magic rushed through me. Vines swung out attacking the man who battled my father, wrapping themselves around his neck, and with just the slightest nudge of my fingers, I bled him straight from his throat.
He jerked for a second, as realization must have hit him as to what was happening, although he didn’t have much time to consider it. Not when my vines