“She never has,” I said, more gruffly than intended. I didn’t want Elena to hear what lay beneath: the pride, the affection, the sheer gratitude that Meryn had not abandoned me when every other living soul had.
Elena tilted her hooded head, but said no more.
We pressed forward. The streets grew narrower, pressed in with leaning timbered houses whose shutters hung broken and whose doors sagged on their hinges. The scent of stale ale and unwashed bodies clung to the air, overlaying the fainter trace of the mage’s magic.
“He’s flagging,” I muttered, feeling the sharp dips and stutters in his trail. “His spellwork frays when he pushes too hard.”
“He’ll lash out,” Elena said quietly. “Cornered prey always does.”
We turned a corner into a square, long-abandoned. A shattered fountain sat dry in the center, the stone rim cracked and overgrown with weeds. The faint glow of a sigil shimmered at the far end of the square—an echo of the mage’s last spell.
“He’s close,” I murmured.
Elena touched her dagger, her other hand hovering near the chain of her pendant, as though the touchstone of her god could steady her.
A rustle above. Meryn gave her low, warning cry.
The mage appeared in the narrow street opposite us, his cloak billowing though there was no wind. He moved quickly, but his head snapped back once, eyes glinting—a feral, mismatched stare of green and brown. His face was pale, lips pulled tight as he flung out a hand.
Green fire lanced the cobblestones between us. Stone split apart, heat and sulfur blasting into the night. Villagers screamed in the distance at the eruption, though none dared step into the square.
Elena flinched, but did not retreat. Brave. Foolish. Both.
The mage whirled again, bolting for the far side of the square.
“Meryn,” I commanded softly.
She streaked downward, a silent missile of white. She would follow him from above, drive him where I wished. He would not leave this village without us.
We gave chase, Elena at my side.
He flung another spell over his shoulder. A lash of green energy crackled through the air. I threw my shadows up like a shield; they absorbed it, hissing, dissolving the strike before it could reach us.
But then—
A sound that shattered me.
Meryn’s cry. Not warning this time, but pain.
My head snapped upward. She spiraled out of the sky, her white feathers burning green where the mage’s bolt had struck her.
“No,” I breathed.
Her body hit the cobblestones with a sickening thud. Feathers scattered like snow, glowing faintly with corruption, then dulled to ash. She lay still, her wings twitching once before falling limp.
The world narrowed to a pinpoint.
All I could see was the broken bundle of feathers, the one soul who had stayed by my side through the endless, bitter nights—struck down by that worm’s filthy hand.
A sound ripped from my chest, raw and inhuman.
Shadows surged, not at my command but with my very heartbeat, rising in a storm that blotted the moon. The ground trembled beneath us. Windows shattered outward as black tendrils lashed from me, splintering wood and stone.
The mage faltered mid-stride, his head snapping back toward the darkness exploding in the square. He knew—he knew he had awakened something worse than death.
I would tear him apart. Bone by bone.
“Elena,” I growled, though the word came out warped, thick with power. “Stay back.”
