Page 235 of Children of Fallen Gods

Something in the air shifted violently, all at once, like the world was suddenly inverted. I felt sick. I feltwrong.

I tried to close my eyelids — close myself off from this soured piece of magic — but it was running too hot, too fast. Something beyond me, stronger than me, was pushing it forward. If the magic was water, then this felt like a monster had reached up from the murky depths, grabbed my ankle, and yanked me under.

One second, I was about to declare victory. The next, I was drowning.

There you are,a voice whispered, just as I lost my grip on the world.

Chapter Eighty-One

Tisaanah

Ariadnea charged towards Sammerin. Her movements were odd and choppy, but just as skilled. A split second, and that spear would have been buried in Sammerin’s chest. But he was fast, too. His hands went up, and Ariadnea’s body locked, twitching and fighting against his magic.

“Ariadnea…” The tone of his voice alone said everything we were both thinking —what the hell is wrong with you?

Neither of us had time to ruminate on that question.

The others lunged for us.

Sammerin reacted fast. But there were five of them, too many for his magic alone to stop all at once. Two dove for me. Sammerin flung his magic out to them, made them stumble just long enough for me to evade.

On instinct, I tried to use my own magic, but it sputtered weakly at my fingertips. Useless.

The tip of Anserra’s spear sliced my arm. I dodged clumsily, then grabbed Ariadnea’s weapon, which she still clutched with hands locked-up from Sammerin’s paralysis.

Sammerin’s attention faltered as another Syrizen struck him.

Shit.

I dodged another blow and gave the spear a powerful tug. Ariadnea released it just in time for me to swing it back around, use it to block Anserra’s strike. But I was off-balance. I stumbled. My back hit the ground. Anserra fell over me, blocked only by the spear braced in my hands.

She was so close now that I could see in vivid detail the dark veins around her eyes. Gods, had they spread further even in these last seconds?

“Who are you?” I demanded.

Because I knew, implicitly, that this was not Anserra. Not anymore.

She did not answer. Her face remained blank. Instead her body lurched, hand reaching for the knife at her hip — preparing to stab my unprotected midsection. But a hundred sparring sessions with Nura had taught me how to respond to such a move. I countered, throwing my weight over her. A second later, and our positions were reversed.

She thrust.

I grabbed her wrist.

It could have gone either way as we pushed against each other.

Then I tore the knife from her. Still expressionless, she moved to strike again, but I was faster. My blade met her throat, opening a river of blood down the front of her black jacket.

Anserra’s body went limp all at once, and for a moment, expression flooded back over her face, doll-like stillness giving way to a twisted gasp of dismay. She fell over me.

I acted next on nothing more than instinct.

I had no magic of my own. But I had managed to take it from Irene, and from Max — even from Stratagram ink. The Syrizen drew from deep levels, just as I did. Could I steal Anserra’s magic, too? I didn’t know. It was a ridiculous guess.

Still, it was the only one I had.

I sliced my hand, and pressed it to the wound of Anserra’s opened throat.

She let out a sickening, gargling moan. Her magic flooded me. Ithurt, burning my veins. She went slack. When I pulled my hand away, black rot consumed her throat…and I had magic, even if only a fragment stolen from someone else’s life.

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