Page 51 of Children of Fallen Gods

A shudder ran over my skin. For a moment, I thought I could see it — a shadow looming, a silhouette with their face turned to me, far beneath the layers of magic.

Consciousness seeped away, the world fading back into my dreams.

And the last thing I heard was Nura’s voice. “The real fight,” she murmured, “has barely begun.”

Chapter Fifteen

Max

We were on Antedale’s doorstep when I received word of the attack on Korvius. The letter was nothing more and nothing less than a military report, the entire ordeal reduced to staid, factual words on a page. As if such bland words could capture Tisaanah’s incredible performance, and brilliant — stupid —brilliantbravery.

It was almost funny, to read it written so plainly:

Tisaanah Vytezic collapsed the cliffs and shielded the city with an illusion of wings. The display of power was enough to spur the Kazarans to retreat.

Oh, I didn’t doubt it.

The memory of her voice caressed my ear:We will find a way,she’d whispered. And she had. She used the weapon she knew best, the weapon of a perfect performance, to win a bloodless battle.

Brilliant.

But that moment of pride lasted only for a second. The report ended with tallies of military losses and damaged property. I flipped it over to find nothing but a blank page. There was no information on Tisaanah, or her state. A knot formed in my stomach.

I knew too well the toll that Reshaye’s magic demanded. And what was described here? It could have been enough to kill her.

I read the report again. Put it down. Then withdrew a plain sheet of parchment and a pen. I hesitated — what would I write? What would I ask? I struggled with words at the best of times, and now, I had too many of them to capture in a stroke of ink.

Finally, I wrote:

Tisaanah,

Tell me you’re alright, you wonderful idiot.

Max.

I stared at the page. Then, I wedged one additional word in between the lines:

Tisaanah,

Tell me you’re alright, you wonderful idiot.

Love,

Max.

It would win no poetry awards. And the words were far too weak to describe what I felt. But I folded the letter up anyway, scribbled a Stratagram, and sent it away.

* * *

The cityof Antedale was heavily fortified, surrounded by tall stone walls that were lined with golden spires. A wolf, the crest of the Gridot family, loomed over the gates. It was a disgustingly gaudy thing, large enough to be seen even from nearly a mile away, and polished with such verve that it gleamed beneath the waning late-afternoon light.

Gridot, it seemed, had been well aware we were on our way to pry his title from his hands. When we reached the city, we found that the standing army of Antedale was already waiting for us, lines of soldiers surrounding the gates.

Wonderful.

We halted, just far enough away to avoid being an immediate threat while making it very clear that we greatly overpowered them. That much was obvious even at a glance — our numbers were evenly matched, but I had hundreds of skilled Wielders behind me, while the Antedale forces were mostly volunteer militiamen.

This was not a comfort to me.

---