Page 100

But Jalissa had a sinking feeling that the assassins were not here and even now were on their way to finish what they had started back in Escarland.

She stared down at her hands, coated in blood yet again. Edmund’s blood this time instead of Elspetha’s, but still red and sticky and far too much of it. Had the spies already succeeded in killing Edmund?

Chapter Thirty-One

Farrendel stepped into the quiet of the forest surrounding Lethorel, his skin prickling.

The assassin was here. He could sense it. Taste it on the air. Feel it through his magic.

He faced the forest where he had sensed the assassin cross the line of his magic. That had been a deliberate challenge. The man had to have seen the blue glow. He had to know it was there for a reason.

Farrendel released the shield of his magic around himself and stepped into the clearing next to the lake, making himself a perfect target.

It was time to end this.

“Assassin!” Farrendel shouted, flexing his fingers. “No more shooting at my wife to get at me. You have me now. So take your shot.”

Farrendel waited. The forest remained silent around him.

There. His senses shot a warning down his spine. With a snap, he drew on his magic and blasted it out in a shield around himself.

Not a moment too soon. A bullet slammed into the magic, incinerated before it could go anywhere close to him, the echo of the gunshot coming a heartbeat later.

A savage grin crossed his face. Farrendel had allowed the assassin to take his shot.

But now he knew the assassin’s location based on where the gunshot had come from. It was time to take him down.

Keeping the shield around himself, Farrendel knelt and pressed a hand to the ground. Always eager, his magic surged from him, racing along the forest floor and coating each of the trees.

Weylind had told him to burn the forest down if necessary, but Farrendel kept his magic in check, letting it flow over the trees without scorching so much as a leaf. No need to destroy this place that meant so much to him if he could help it.

He was not the young elfling with too much magic and too little control. Not anymore. He had the heart bond where he could dump any magic that grew too unstable for him to wield. He had Essie’s steady presence, reminding him what he fought for. He had his training with Weylind and Ryfon and his magical studies at Hanford University.

A scrambling sound came from deep within the forest a moment before his magic pooled around a tree, then crawled up it. A shriek, and then Farrendel’s magic was flowing up and over a warm, living body.

Even though Farrendel held his magic in such control that it did not even char the assassin’s clothes, the man screamed like he was on fire. Through the magic, Farrendel could sense the way he was flailing, beating at the magic coating himself as if he could put it out with his hands. The man was going to fall from the tree and break his neck if he kept panicking like that.

As it was, he dropped his gun. It fell to the forest floor, and Farrendel’s magic swallowed it. Still holding the rest of his magic in place, Farrendel let a few tendrils curl around the gun and do their worst, incinerating the gun where it lay. That gun had been used to hurt Essie. There would be nothing left to hurt anyone ever again.

The assassin was now curled on his branch, sobbing.

Farrendel flexed his fingers against the ground, his eyes still squeezed shut as he concentrated on his power.

This man had shot Essie. Had nearly killed Essie and their unborn child.

And now Farrendel held him in the grip of his magic, utterly helpless. All it would take would be a tightening of Farrendel’s power, and this man would never be a threat to anyone ever again.

A hint of his anger shivered through his magic, burning away the assassin’s frightened tears from his cheeks.

Farrendel forced himself to draw in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Years ago, he had given in to his anger. Little more than a boy and devastated by his torture and the death of his father, he had crossed Kostaria, climbed Gror Grar’s wall, and attacked the late troll king in his bed, killing him.

That assassination had stained his soul ever since.

He could not do that again. He was older. Wiser. It was one thing to kill a man in defense of himself or his kingdom. But right now, this Mongavarian spy was weaponless. Helpless.

Farrendel would have to drag the assassin back to Lethorel. They could keep the assassin captive until they received word it was safe to return to Estyra. Then he could hand the spy over to Weylind and Averett, and they could determine what to do with him from there.

That decided, Farrendel tightened the grip of his magic, nudging the man to climb down from the tree.