Trial of Magic (The Fairy Tale Enchantress #4) - K. M. Shea Page 0,218

blade.

Another Chosen…But how? They couldn’t have arranged for him to just be loitering here on the off chance that I’d discover them and chase them. Does that mean…just how many of the Chosen have infiltrated our ranks?

A female mage joined them—this one a fire mage. When she passed in front of Lazare, a green shield grew around her as well.

“It seems to me, dearie, that perhaps there are more Chosen hanging around than we thought,” Sybilla casually observed. “What say you to the idea of flushing them out?”

Angelique stretched her fingers. “What did you have in mind?”

“Perhaps it is high time you show everyone here at the Conclave just what it is you can do.”

Angelique gritted her teeth as she stared down at the smaller woman. “And give everyone physical proof that I should be feared?”

“Do you really care what the rest of the Conclave thinks of you? Do you really need their favor?”

Snow White’s shy smile, Elle’s mischievous laugh, Odette’s fierce defense of her, and Quinn’s loyal presence at her back drifted through Angelique’s mind. “No.”

Sybilla nodded wisely. “And there you have it. So, what will you do?”

Angelique took a deep breath. When she exhaled, she actively pushed her magic outward. It switched from a purposeful drift to streaks of silvery white as it raced across the ground, dusted the rooftops, and invaded the darkest corners of the Veneno Conclave, racing until it splashed across the protective walls that surrounded the city.

Her mind felt…odd. Her senses were stretched in so many directions as she felt everything from the weapons at the war mage training ground to the needles the alteration and craft mages carried. Knives in kitchens and chipped glasses with sharpened edges brushed the back of her mind. But above it all, Angelique heard the screams.

Something in her twisted.

She might be willing to use her magic, and granted she didn’t really care what any mage thought of her anymore, but she never enjoyed being feared. She wouldn’t revel in the terror she produced with her abilities.

Angelique shut her eyes, as if she could shut the faint screams out just as easily.

“We’ve been found out!”

“Run!”

“Follow the escape protocol!”

Her eyes snapped open, and Angelique’s mind cleared.

She’d been trained for years at Luxi-Domus and had lived at the Conclave.

There was no escape protocol.

Angelique turned, away from the traitorous Council members, and studied the street around them.

It was pandemonium.

Most of the mages wore perplexed looks as they peered up at the weapons hovering in the air, then to Sybilla and Lovelana—who were still holding up a magic shield.

But a fair number of magic users ran. Some of them sported iridescent green shields, which made their sweaty complexions look sickly in the dim, purple light of almost-night.

It wasn’t until they started opening portal gates—all of them using a very familiar magic—that it really dawned on Angelique.

Everyone who was running…those who were panicking…they were Chosen.

No.

With a roar, Angelique turned back to Lazare, Primrose, Galendra, and Crest. She gestured, and with pinpoint accuracy smashed a collection of polearms into their irritating shields. She didn’t know if it was her anger at the realization of just how deeply the Chosen had wormed into the Conclave, or if her near-constant barrage had weakened Nefari’s spelled charms, but the green shields disintegrated.

“We’ve got to flee,” Crest shouted.

“But we can’t abandon our stations,” Primrose shouted.

“She’s going to kill us,” Lazare drawled, infuriatingly collected and sharp-minded, considering he usually acted senile. “Seems like a good reason to consider our covers blown. It’s over, Primrose.”

“It’s not like we didn’t plan in case something like this happened,” Crest added.

Angelique listened to their conversation as she shifted her powers, readying her next move. I can’t let them get away.

Rather than stab them through—which wouldn’t work because she saw the flickers of that wretched green shield recharging; this explained the large project Nefari had alluded to, unfortunately—Angelique arranged the seemingly endless number of weapons into walls of metal and wood.

As she wove them together, her forehead puckered. There aren’t a great deal of war mages. This seems like an excessive number of weapons for only a medium sized classification of mages.

Angelique saw Crest reach into a small pouch on his belt, and she slammed her creations into place.

The walls of interlocking blades snapped shut around the Council Members.

Galendra screamed and didn’t stop as she uselessly tried to push on the metallic wall, then tried to blow it down with a gust of wind.

The weapons stayed anchored in place, a glittering cage of sharp edges