Page 11 of Silvercloak

In an ideal world, she’d have plenty of time to stop and consider every potential ramification of her plan. But this was not an ideal world, and hers was not an ideal life, and with all other cadets neutralized, the Bloodmoons turned their attention on her.

The remaining purple panes of glass shattered one by one, and then she was falling.

Her wand-free hand flailed above her, finding purchase on an unexpected solid length. Her enchanted broomstick gradually lowered itself from the ceiling, the levitation potion wearing off.

Hanging on for dear life as she descended, Saff yelled, “Ans vertigloran!” into the chamber below. It struck true on the first try, making her glad for the hundreds of hours of target practice they’d gone through earlier in the semester.

One Bloodmoon staggered and fell to clumsy knees, but the other two wore murderous expressions. The shorter of them fired anothereffigiasspell up at her. It narrowly missed, but the next one likely wouldn’t.

“Ans clyptus,” Saff bellowed.

A shimmering spellshield formed just in time to repel anothereffigias.

The spellshield shuddered and nearly dropped, and Saffron trembled with the effort of keeping it up.

While matter could not be created from nothing, certain Enchanters could use raw magic to maneuver intangible forms, such as illusions and spellshields—a rare sub-class of enchanting known as mattermancy. Thanks to her father’s tutelage, Saffron was the only cadet at the Academy with any sort of grasp on mattermancy, much to Auria’s chagrin.

The mattermantic shield would not protect Saffron from a fist or a sword, but it would repel most charms and curses. It was, however, incredibly costly, and Saff felt her power drain with alarming speed, as though a sinkhole had opened beneath it.

With the spellshield raised, she couldn’t cast another spell at the same time—magic being a well with a single bucket—but it bought her precious seconds in which to think. Should she cast to kill? Conjure an illusion, even though it was likely too late, now that she was mere moments from the ground? Keep firingvertigloranand hurry out the remaining hostages in the confusion?

But now the other two Bloodmoons trained their wands on her, and she couldn’t shield herself from all angles.

“Sen effigias,” bounced and echoed around the chamber, sparks flying, her shield flickering dangerously.

And then she was struck.

The spell grazed her shoulder just as her boots hit the tiles. She sucked in a breath, half preparing to be turned to stone—would she still be conscious, just unable to move?—but of course, it never happened.

Her heart thudded against her ribs like a battering ram.

Everyone would have seen that spell hit her.

Everyone wouldknow.

The lapse in concentration caused the shield to evaporate.

The three Bloodmoons closed around her in a circle formation, one still wobbling from the disorientation spell. The end was nigh. She couldn’t disguisethreespells striking her square in the chest.

“Ans vertigloran,” she shouted, and this one found its target, but while the struck Bloodmoon keeled backward, the other two approached with menacing glares.

Both casteffigiasat once.

Saff pointed her wand at her boots and called, “Et esilan.”

One of her favorite tricks.

The boots leapt from the ground as though on springs, and Saffron sailed forward on the momentum, clearing the Bloodmoons’ heads—and overshooting quite dramatically.

Slamming into the opposite wall, she crumpled to the ground.

Rolling over to face their backs, she raised her wand, but they were already above her, the wordsenhovering on their twisted lips.

Desperation cresting, Saff remembered a rare spell her mother had admitted to using on occasion. It would freeze a scene exactly as it was, if only for a few moments. Mellora sometimes used it to buy herself time when a patient was bleeding out, or if they had precious few seconds in which to diagnose and heal—she said it bought her invaluable thinking space.

Worth a shot.

She raised her wand, unsure what to aim at. “Ans praegelos.”