Page 120 of Frost Like Night
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Ceridwen
CERIDWEN KNEW SOMETHINGhad changed only because Angra’s manic glee lurched through his connection to the magic in her like a rider yanking back on his horse’s reins.
Something had happened.
There was nothing controlled about his power now—it flowed from him in desperate surges of strength and magic and hatred, every need multiplied by a sudden pulsing thought.
No one will take this from me.
As Ceridwen thrashed against the Summerians holding her, fighting to keep from killing them and fightingtokill them—flame, she wanted nothing more than to scratch every piece of flesh from their bones, to sink her fingers into their hearts andobliterate them—she watched Angra, standing high over his army.
He lowered his arms, the tendrils of black magic ceasing.Angra swayed but caught himself.
No one will take this from me.
He might have stopped pumping out magic, but that did not mean his hold had been broken. Like seeds buried warm and deep in the earth, the darkness would continue to grow in everyone he had infected, even after the sun set.
And set it did.
Angra grabbed someone next to him—Theron, whose gaze reflected the furious, livid hatred that Ceridwen felt burning in her own eyes—and together, they vanished without a final glance at the doomed battle. Theron cried out as the magic latched onto him in ways it wasn’t meant for.
Few others noticed Angra’s disappearance. Soldiers shouted, charging against Caspar’s remaining infantry, swords trailing blood through the air. Their frenzy drove them to fight as they never had before, not just Spring and Ventrallans now but Autumnians and Yakimians too. Most Summerians had managed to resist Angra’s magic and attempted to form lines of defense.
But they were so outnumbered, victory was impossible now. People they knew, former allies, now tore at them with desperation, eyes narrowed in tortured hatred. All around were nothing but enemies, weapons, death—from where Ceridwen stood, bound in the middle of Caspar’s group, she couldn’t find even one speck of hope in the carnage.
If Angra had left, it had to be to go after Meira.
If he found her, they had failed.
But the darkness in Ceridwen spiked with joy.She will not take away this power. No one will take this from me.
“Lekan,” Ceridwen croaked, her body going limp against the soldiers who held her.
Lekan and Caspar conferred mere paces away, both streaked with blood and gashes and the telltale signs of men beaten by war. But Lekan swung to her. His eyes brightened, the light he reserved for Amelie when she asked if they would ever have a permanent home outside the refugee camp. The light of lying.
He knelt before her as the soldiers let her sink to the ground.
“Cerie—”
“I’m sorry,” she panted. “I’m sorry . . . I let him in . . . I’m sorry . . . I—”
There was a wail from nearby as the lines of Angra’s soldiers pressed closer, tearing down their defenses with the magic he had given them.
Kaleo would never forgive her if she let Lekan die.
And Jesse . . .
This was why she had married him. Because she knew her life would be too short.
Lekan put his hand on her shoulder. One squeeze, a wordless offering of comfort.
I’m here. I’m with you.
She met his eyes. It was all she could do.
An explosion punctuated the war cries in a sharp burst—cannons, all firing in rapid, deliberate succession from the Winter side of the valley. Dozens, at least. Had Angra’s soldiers brought that many? Ceridwen moaned, braced for a cannon to come tearing through their group at any moment.
