Page 103

Glass turns nearly to dust, and we are thrown back. We land in the garden that Ren tended to so dutifully. The force scatters a rain of leaves from the lone tree that shades the courtyard. Fire and ice dance within the hollow windowpanes, a battle unfolding inside.

A deep ache sears my side. Ears ringing, I pry myself from the wet ground. A tugging in my abdomen is followed by a sickening pop. My hand moves on instinct and comes away stained crimson. I was thrown onto one of the small iron fences that line the flower beds.

More magic flares within the house. I blink, trying to get my eyes to focus as my head spins. Heal yourself. Queen of Cups. I cast the card with a thought, and my flesh knits.

“Silas.” I work my way to standing, tugging on his elbow.

He’s in even more of a daze than I was. Judging from the trail of blood running down the side of his face, he struck his head on the pavers.

The physical wound is small, and the Queen of Cups can’t do anything for ailments of the mind.

He’s barely able to sit before he doubles over and empties the contents of his stomach.

Not good.

The back door to the courtyard being thrown open draws my attention from Silas.

At the same time, there’s movement in the window frame that leads to the lounge.

Drab brown combines with flashes of silver on green.

Now I’m the one about to throw up. Halazar guards and city enforcers.

Here. No doubt hunting me. Brought to my friends’ doorstep because of me.

I release Silas and step forward. Cards fly from my deck. My assailants’ eyes turn to me and there are no words. Only magic.

One of my cards disintegrates midair. I don’t see who used the Ten of Swords, but it tells me there are powerful Arcanists among my enemies.

I let other cards fly with reckless abandon.

A fiery explosion bursts from my Ace of Wands.

I follow it up with the Seven of Wands—the card splits into seven tongues of flame that surround me.

Another twitch of my fingers, and a brief moment of second-guessing myself.

The Nine of Wands disintegrates into glowing stardust that coats my skin. I’m now on a timer. For nine minutes, I won’t feel pain or fatigue…but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

I launch myself forward.

“She’s here!” one of the enforcers shouts.

The Eight of Wands falls from my deck, sparking around my boots.

My speed is enhanced for the next eight minutes.

With a flick of my wrist at the same time, I summon a trusty blade with the Five of Swords.

The enforcer barely has time to look at me before I skewer him on the weapon, clean through the chest.

Fire pops at my side. One of the seven tongues of flame fizzles out,blocking a spear of ice lobbed at me by a guard. I twist, shifting my focus to the next, dispatching him with the aid of the Four of Cups.

I cast aside all caution and reason. My body will feel like it’s been torn apart after this much card work. But there won’t be anything left of my enemies at that point—it won’t matter how exhausted I am.

Another burst of flame—another protective shield disappears from the air around me. I shift, faster than the next enforcer can follow. My blade glides across his throat. I spin, instantly slaying the next through the door.

There’s a seemingly endless stream of guards and enforcers. But the layout of the townhome funnels them, preventing too many from getting outside at a time. That doesn’t stop one guard from jumping through the remnants of a window in an attempt to flank me.

As soon as he does, ten tongues of cold flame descend on him and he falls to the ground with an audible slam, as if an invisible box of bricks were dropped on his head. The man twitches, eyes rolling back in his head. He doesn’t get up again.

My attention darts back to Silas. He leans against the tree for support. One hand clutches his head, as if the exertion of using the Ten of Wands nearly tore him in two.

“Clara!” Bristara shouts from within. There’s a flare of magic that simultaneously draws my attention back. She’s at the far end of the hall, by the front door, fending off others trying to get inside. “Go!”

The hidden door she opened earlier is currently being held by Jura. She’s assisting Bristara in trying to keep additional enforcers from getting in without leaving her post. When Jura catches my eye, she makes a beckoning motion.

I look back to Bristara. “But—”

“Go!” she repeats. No sooner has Bristara said it than an enforcer nearly overruns her, getting in a solid attack that leaves Bristara burned and staggering.

I turn around and rush to Silas, grabbing him by the wrist. His eyes still lack focus, his movements jerky. “We have to run.”

“It’s too late,” Silas murmurs as he hobbles alongside me, a far cry from the run I’d been hoping for. “He knows…he knows…”

“We have a way out. They won’t catch us.”

“Too late,” he whispers over and over. “My name…my name…”

I ignore him. Fear, panic, and head trauma aren’t the best mix for confidence. I’m going to get him out of here. I pass Silas to Jura.

“Take him and go.”

“Clara—” Jura starts to object.

“I’m getting Bristara and will be right behind you.” The shadows of the rest of them are deeper in the passageway. Jura is about to object, but another burst of magic has her flinching. I give a confident nod.

She wraps an arm around Silas and pulls him inside.

“Wait, no. What about Clara?” Silas looks over his shoulder as Jura pulls him farther into the darkness of the stairwell.

“She’ll catch up,” Jura says.

“No. Clara.” Silas twists. “You don’t understand. It doesn’t matter. Ravin will kill me now!”

Gregor emerges from down the stairs, physically manhandling Silas away.

Holding out my hand, I look at the faint sheen still covering it. The magic from the Nine of Wands is nearly faded. But I have a few minutes left. It’ll be enough time.

Every movement is purposeful. No wasted energy.

Cards rise from my ever-thinning deck, fanning out around me and the last two remaining shields from the Seven of Wands that hover over my shoulders, illuminating my face.

I imagine myself to be some winged creature of fire and shadow—destruction wrought from magic and given the form of a woman.

Luck is on my side. It always has been. It always will be.

I launch myself into the fray.

“What’re you doing?” Bristara barks.

“I’m not leaving you.” I drop the sword I’d summoned in the courtyard and immediately call upon another.

It’s my last Five of Swords in my deck. Two short daggers appear in my hands, much better suited for close-quarters combat.

I swipe for an enforcer. He blocks me with his forearm, casting a Four of Cups.

One of my remaining two shields of flame consumes the haze before it draws me to slumber.

I take the opportunity to swipe with my other blade, catching his chest. He tries for another card.

I follow up with a stab, and that does it.

Bristara grabs my arm as I round for the next one. She jerks me toward her. “ You are far more important than me. With Arina gone, you are the last one who knows the ancient inking. You must—”

“Is that so?” A voice, cold and cruel, cuts through the chaos.

For a second, everyone stills. Ravin stands beyond the open door, flanked by Stellis.

I vaguely recognize one from earlier tonight in the back halls.

“Excellent. I suspected you were the last loose end, but the confirmation is much appreciated.”

“Go.” Bristara pushes me back.

Everything happens in a second.

It feels like an eternity.

I stumble, recovering quickly. But Ravin is too fast. Eight blades of swirling light and shadow pin Bristara in place.

Ravin’s eyes are alight with something that I can only describe as pure evil.

Another card rises. Bristara strains against the magic, her own deck shuddering in its holster—the cards refuse to move; they’re just as pinned by Ravin’s magic as she is.

He’s going to kill her.

But then his attention shifts to me. The card hovering in the air over Ravin’s shoulder is silver. Bristara screams. She can see what it is better than I can since she’s closer. But even from where I’ve stumbled, I make out the card’s design. I know it all too well.

Because it’s identical to the card pressed against my side.

A knight stands among a field of white roses. Half coated in armor. The other half is nothing but exposed bone. On his flesh and blood, the roses wither. But they thrive on the opposite side—vining up the femur and trellising through the exposed rib cage.

Death.

I let out a shout and the only card I can think of that might help. A Major against a Major. Turn the wheel, I beg fate and fortune. The last time I called upon this power, it destroyed another Major card. Let it happen again.

“Clara Daygar.” His card bursts with a flash of light, radiant and terrible.

At the same time, my own card spins, faster and faster.

Time itself seems to sputter. A strange, mechanical ticking sound resonates in the back of my mind.

The world blurs at its edges, and it feels as if the ground moves underneath me, just enough that I’m forced to take a step to stabilize myself.

The light fades, exposing Ravin’s scowl. I destroyed his card. Kaelis told me that non-Majors can use Major cards only once with the blessing of the Hierophant. Ravin wasted his use.

This is my chance.

I reach for Bristara, and, right as I do, she falls back into my arms. I catch her clumsily, staggering. We tumble to the ground. Her body in my arms. Limp. Deadweight.

“No…” I whisper. “No, this wasn’t…Bristara.” I shake her. “Bristara!”

The world is still, save for my shuddering breath. The Stellis at Ravin’s sides are poised. Unflinching. The reinforcements clamor to a stop behind him.