in here. There are old protections on these doors to keep the fae out.”
She opened her mouth, prepared to protest. With a quick, lunging step, he caught hold of her shoulder, the edges of his claws just pressing into her skin, sharp enough to make her gasp. He stared down into her face, trying to see her features, trying to get one last look at her. But it was too dark for more than a vague impression.
“Please, Miss Beck,” he said. “Please . . . Nelle. For my sake.”
Before she could say or do anything more, he forced her back several paces, turned, and sprang through the door. He pulled it hard shut behind him, hoping against hope that she would, just this once, listen to him.
The skullars bayed again. They were close now, sniffing out his scent. They would be at the ruined gates in moments.
Squaring his shoulders and reaching inside his robes for the second of his two great spells, Soran strode through the snarling brambles, out to clearer ground where he could make his stand.
Nelle stared at the door, its slam still ringing in her ears. A faint flicker of candlelight danced on the wood slats but only made the darkness around her feel that much heavier, that much closer.
She lifted one hand, her fingertips unconsciously brushing her lips. They still felt warm. Warm where Silveri’s mouth had pressed against hers.
Or was that even real?
She shook her head, blinking hard. It was all so strange, so hazy in her head. Images of thorns and flaming roses danced behind her eyelids but faded swiftly like a dream . . .
The horrifying cry of those skull-dogs shot through her senses again. She clapped her hands to her ears and almost collapsed to her knees. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t fold, she wouldn’t cower and quake. Not when Soran was out there, alone against those monsters.
He would be safe if it weren’t for her. And now . . . and now . . .
The echo of his warnings resounding in her ears, Nelle shoved her hand into her satchel and pulled out her spellbook and the ensorcelled quill. She wouldn’t leave Soran to face those monsters alone. He must think her useless. A petty, foolish girl without a lick of sense in her head. The gods knew she’d given him reason enough!
But if this was the night she died, she spitting sure wasn’t going to do it cowering in some attic.
Using the light of the candle to guide her hand, she set to work crafting the spell she had twice successfully recreated. It came more easily this time, even with the baying of those skull-dogs jolting her concentration every so often. Cursing bitterly, she channeled her fear into energy, pulled raw magic from the quinsatra, and trapped it in written form.
The baying outside turned into snarling. Vicious, bloodthirsty snarls followed by yowls of pain and rage. Nelle looked back over her shoulder at the partially blocked door. The battle had begun: Soran was fighting for his life even now.
She couldn’t hesitate.
Nelle bowed over the spell, jaw clenched, sweat streaming down her forehead with the effort of creation. She dashed off the end of it, her handwriting so imprecise it would surely make any trained Miphato weep. But the energy, the magic—she felt it teeming within those words.
Stuffing her quill back into her satchel, she began to read what she’d written. She spoke aloud, but the hideous sounds from the yard beyond nearly drowned out her voice, and several times she came close to dropping the fragile spell before it could solidify. With an effort of will, she forced her way on until she felt a solid hilt form in her right hand, then continued reading out the strange words until they melded with the magic she’d summoned and became reality.
Bright flame flickered along the spell-sword’s keen blade.
Stuffing the book back in her satchel, Nelle turned to the door. The flaming spell felt oddly comfortable in her hand as she tested its weight. Dread hammered in her temples, but a fierce grin slashed across her face. With quick strides she hastened to the door, yanked the heavy table back, and turned the latch.
The sounds of battle intensified, almost enough to make her rethink her plan. But she had already summoned the spell. She couldn’t very well drop it now.
Nelle sprang out into the snarling brambles, her path illuminated by the sword’s flames. The briar seemed denser, darker than it had been