Page 114 of Kingdom of Dance

Obsidian stepped back, one arm stretched out toward Zinnia, but a flash of movement caught his eye. He whipped his head around to see Lorne dashing out from the crowd, the glint of steel in his hand and his eyes fixed on the bride and groom.

The guards, focused on Zinnia and Obsidian, didn’t seem to have noticed him. With a cry of warning, Obsidian leaped into the other enchanter’s path, scooping up one of his own blades from the floor as he did so.

He raised the weapon just as Lorne reached him, the fugitive’s dagger flashing so quickly that Obsidian barely blocked it in time. The two men slammed bodily together, each grabbing the other’s blade arm and grappling with one another as they struggled unsuccessfully to score a hit. Guards were converging on them, but Lorne found a moment to snarl, “Your mother will pay for your defection, soldier.”

With the words, he released a blast of pure power.

Obsidian’s cry of rage was lost as he was blown backward, along with all the guards. He slammed into a row full of terrified guests, but all he felt was relief. Whatever Lorne’s later intentions, that particular magic didn’t seem to have been directed toward Obsidian’s mother.

Obsidian struggled to his feet. Zinnia was being restrained by two Fernedellian royal guards, her siblings shoving their way through the press of people toward her. Lorne, however, was using his magic to hold the guards at bay as he sprinted up the aisle toward the dais.

Obsidian started after him as an old man hurried forward from the crowd to stand in the fugitive’s path. He looked frail, but Obsidian wasn’t deceived—the power pulsing vibrantly inside him marked him as a senior enchanter. The old man hastened to construct an invisible shield in the air before him. But Lorne still had an excess of power, provided by Idric no doubt. He raised his hands, letting out a twisted stream of magic that latched on to the shield and began to rip it apart.

Obsidian had almost reached Lorne when the enchanter seemed to sense him, turning rapidly and holding out a hand. Obsidian felt magic slam into him, throwing him backward once again. Before he could move, he saw the last person he’d expected to wade into the fight.

Princess Penny of Bansford let out a shout, her hand raised before her and her eyes narrowed as they fixed on Lorne. The enchanter suddenly flew into the air, limbs flailing as he was suspended impossibly, as though someone invisible was grabbing his tunic from above.

The princess’s eyes passed to Obsidian, who stood frozen, marveling at the sheer magnitude of the power that glowed within her. She might be the strongest enchantress he’d ever encountered. Apparently determining that he was no threat, her gaze moved on from him, sweeping across the chaotic scene.

Sensing a gathering of power, Obsidian gave a cry of warning, his eyes flicking up to Lorne just as Princess Penny’s did. Both of them raised their hands, urging their magic to encompass Lorne, to hold back the tide he was preparing to unleash. A hand appeared on Princess Penny’s shoulder, and she leaned back into her pale-faced husband, grunting with concentration as she lowered Lorne slowly to the ground, all the while continuing to pummel the fugitive with her raw magic.

Guards were running toward Lorne, but Obsidian sprang into action, determined to get there first. The malicious look in the enchanter’s eye as he sought Obsidian told the soldier exactly what he intended to do. Lorne, seeming to accept his inevitable capture, started to stretch his hand out.

Before he could complete whatever gesture he was attempting, Obsidian fell on him, bringing the hilt of his dagger down hard on the other man’s head. Without even a cry, Lorne crumpled to the ground.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Princess Penny panted as the guards seized both Obsidian and Lorne’s limp form. “I had him contained.”

“I know,” Obsidian said grimly. “But he has my mother somewhere. Her life is tethered to him, and if he performs a key action, she’ll die.” The princess’s eyes widened in horror, but Obsidian was already turning to King Bern, who was descending on the group with wrath on his face. “Your Majesty, please don’t kill this vile excuse for a human, at least not yet. If he dies, so does my mother.”

“Enough.” The gravelly voice caused every human to freeze, all eyes turning to the dragons. “Come what must, Tanin, I can no longer stand by.” The yellow dragon, Rekavidur, forced his head and shoulders all the way through one of the open doorways, his orb-like eyes fixed on Lorne.

“Does he truly have such a hold on your mother?” he asked Obsidian.

Obsidian bowed to the dragon as best he could while in the grip of four armed guards. “Greetings, Mighty Beast,” he said formally, in spite of his heaving chest. “That is what he told me, and I know he wasn’t lying. I have the ability to detect deception.”

“A noble gift,” said the dragon solemnly, as Zinnia spluttered from where she was being held nearby.

“You do?”

Obsidian threw her a look that was half-apology, half-smirk. “I forgot to mention that, didn’t I?”

“Forgot?” Zinnia grumbled in evident disbelief. Obsidian could almost see her mind racing, going back over all their conversations in light of this new information.

“I can sense the thread of magic going out from him,” said Rekavidur, ignoring their exchange. His eyes were thoughtful as they rested on Lorne’s unconscious form. “The power in use for the enchantment is strong, but not unlimited. The subject would need to be nearby.”

“Really?” Obsidian tensed. His mother was here somewhere? “Can you identify where?” he asked eagerly.

The dragon eyed him a little coolly. “Certainly Ican,” he said.

Obsidian swallowed his impatience with difficulty. “Would you please be so gracious as to do so?” he asked in his most polite voice.

“I will.”

Rekavidur pushed farther into the room, his scaled side splintering the wood of the doorframe as he squeezed through a space that should have been too small for him. A nervous murmuring passed through the wide-eyed crowd, those closest to the dragon’s entry point sprinting out of the way with a total disregard for dignity. The purple dragon, Dannsair, followed calmly through the hole Rekavidur had made in the wall.

With a few carefully placed steps, Rekavidur managed to reach the doorway leading from the ballroom into the corridor beyond without squishing anyone underfoot. “There,” he said, inclining his head. “A short distance that way.”

Obsidian was still tightly held, but at a curt order from King Bern, several guards trotted nervously past the dragon, disappearing from Obsidian’s sight. He heard a muffled shout, and a minute later they reappeared, carrying an unconscious form between them.

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