1 Literal definition is “cursed.” It basically means “damn” but with more urgency and a touch of viciousness. Indicates that the individual has been caught off guard. (Uh. . .Darkan. . .objects to the insinuation he is ever caught off guard.)
Chapter
Six
DEATH WITH HONOR
Ihold the line, almost dropping my blade as the icepicks of. . .another mind. . .layer into mine. I instinctively resist before realizing Darkan's intent. It feels as if I'm strapped to a table, struggling while a giant rock presses into me.
“Aerinne,” Juliette hisses. “What’s wrong with you? Numair, cover her.”
Distantly aware of them shifting to stand in front of me, I sift through the deluge of information settling into my brain.
In a moment of clarity, I understand Darkan's lesson. Aggravation nips at my heels. He could have taught me this before now, like say, during training rather than in the middle of a battle.
The middle of a battle presents the most effective incentive for a lazy student to master the lesson.
I ignore the insult. He’s already made known his opinion of my haphazard approach to formal education.I don't have the power to pull it off.
Look deeper. . .very good. Now prove that you should be called Lord.
I grasp Numair's shoulder, requiring the physical anchor. He’s thrown off balance as I absently blot blood at my nostril, the bleeds more common these days, then stiffens when I infiltrate his shield and?—
Link it to mine, nonexistent until moments ago.
You’ve always had,Darkan says,everything you need.
Numair looks worried. “Rinne, what are you doing?”
My mind skips over tedious internal explanations, using mental muscle memory that hadn't existed minutes ago.
Now the next one.Bridge them one by one.
You've been holding out on me,I say.
It is difficult for me to fully grasp what you’ve failed to learn. Like trying to fit a horse into an ant's glove.
That is utter horseshit. What I'm doing now isnotin any standard training.
Besides, the consequences of this kind of teaching. . .
Are what?
Unpleasant, halfling. For you. You'd best hope you do not find out. I’ve seen a locked box open too soon.
I bridge my people one by one, that mind layered on mine, adding those who have shields and extending to those who don’t. Some of my warriors fight when I try to bring them into the strengthening link. Blood drips down my nostrils. I was already hovering at my limit.
What you perceive as your limit.
“What is this?” someone asks. “What's happening?”
“It's me,” I say, bending my knees a little as the weight of the magic settles over me. “Don't fight me!”
“Interesting,” the High Fae male says, halting. “Do you see it?”
“Yes,” his companion says. “But it’s weak.”
Fire rushes toward us, streaming from the hands of the red-haired female. So cliché: a flame-haired fire wielder. I widen my eyes, astonished when the bridged shield holds against the strike. But as the flames lick our defenses, something else comes with it. The male walks forward again.
