mouth to choke back a sob. But he was alive! And his magic wasn’t entirely used up. Faint traces of the deadly blue spell shimmered in his hands and eyes.
He spat out a glob of blood and grimaced, his teeth stained with blood. “I’ve warned you, Kyriakos,” he panted. “I’ve warned you. King Lodírhal will not take kindly to your invasion of his lawful property, nor to your assault upon one who owes him a lifetime Obligation.”
The fae lord chuckled darkly and waved a dismissive hand. “I have no interest in meddling with Lodírhal or his playthings. I am here for the ibrildian. Don’t try to pretend ignorance. I sensed a spark—a very keen spark, I might add—of ibrildian magic mere moments ago. It’s somewhere near, isn’t it?”
Soran coughed again. With a tremendous effort he pushed up onto his knees and sat back on his heels, his shoulders slumped but his head high. “The denizens of Roseward are protected by the laws of Obliga—” he began.
Before he could finish, Kyriakos took three strides, caught him by the hair atop his head, and yanked his chin back. A knife appeared in the fae’s other hand, a shimmering, magical thing not quite corporeal but deadly sharp. He touched it against Soran’s throat. His smile was cruel and brilliant in the shimmering light of his own illuminated body.
“Enough of this,” he said, his voice smooth as music. “I don’t care for mortals or mortal games. Tell me where the girl is, or I’ll kill you here and now. Let Lodírhal do his worst. Something tells me he won’t care about the loss of one petty mortal magician.”
Quick as thought, Soran raised one hand, the accumulation of magic suddenly gleaming bright. He aimed it at the fae lord’s face. But even as the deadly light bolted from inside him, Kyriakos neatly deflected with one arm, knocking Soran’s aim to one side. The blast shot uselessly up into the sky and disintegrated in a shimmer like a thousand tiny falling stars.
Soran sagged and would have fallen to one side if not for the fae lord’s grip on his hair.
Kyriakos chuckled darkly and trailed the tip of his knife along his captive’s jaw. “You mortals. Such power and yet such weakness. You command more magic in a single spell than most of my folk can imagine . . . but your bodies are too frail to support it! What a curse it must be merely to exist as one such as you.” He bent, bringing his beautiful smile close to Soran’s face. “You’ll thank me, I think, for putting you out of your misery. Then I’ll find the ibrildian at my leisure. If Lodírhal complains, I’ll tell him t’was you who invaded my shore.”
Soran’s mouth worked, the muscles of his jaw tightening. Then, with a sudden spasm, he spat in the fae lord’s face. Kyriakos dropped his hold and withdrew a step, snarling. Then, eyes flashing, he raised his knife, ready to plunge it into Soran’s throat.
Nelle was already in motion.
With a roar she lunged from the briars, and flames erupted brilliant and red across the spell-sword blade. Two of the crouching skull-dogs lurched to their feet and threw themselves in her way, but she swung at them wildly, cutting deep into the shoulder of one, knocking the other along the side of the head. Both withdrew with startled yelps, and Nelle charged on, straight for Kyriakos.
She saw the fae lord’s eyes widen, flashing like a cat’s in the light of her spell. She raised the sword, ready to bring it hewing down straight into his head. Her heart pulsed with a wild, bloodthirsty energy, and she was more fully alive in that one terrible instant than she had ever been before.
Kyriakos’s hand darted out, swift as a snake. Even as she brought her sword swinging down, he caught hold of the hilt, his long fingers wrapped around both her hands. The strength of his arm was vastly greater than all the weight she could put into her blow.
For a moment they stood there, frozen. Nelle stared up into eyes blacker and deeper than the night around them.
Then, with a single flick of his wrist, the fae lord wrenched the sword out of her hand. He swung it in a lazy circle of trailing fire. “What is this?” He turned his gaze from the blade to Nelle and back again. “A pretty piece of spell work, though not very . . . convincing.”
He did something with