Page 46 of Great Falls Protector
Shade’s eyes flicker for a moment, but then he pulls away from my touch, steel in his gaze. “You’re not on your own now.” The hardness of his words matches his eyes. “You deserve protection. You and the pups both.”
Thetap tap tapof my pulse spreads indignation through my body until I can barely think over the roaring in my ears. My jaw tightens, the proverbial line in the sand suddenly forming before my feet.“I’m not a relic or prize broodmare to be protected, Shade. With pups or not, I think and act and make decisions for myself. So stop impersonating a doorjamb and step aside.”
Shade’s yellow eyes flash. “Try to get past me, and I’ll truss you up like a calf.”
My hand curls into a fist, my lips pulling back in a snarl. “Magic is loose in the mortal world. The Night Guard are holding hostages in the Great Hall. River is wounded. And you want to argue with me over—”
“I don’t want to argue with you about anything!” Shade’s nostrils flare as he steps toward me. “And I don’t give a bloody damn about what’s loose in the mortal world or who is holding who at sword point. And you shouldn’t either. Your sole concern now should be—”
I’m as surprised as Shade when I bury my knuckles in his jaw and stalk out of the library into the cool chaos beyond.
2
Lera
Itischaos.
Under a sky quickly filling with thick, angry clouds, the smoke still rising from the ruined stadium takes on a queer orange-gray cast. The vast cobblestone yard is covered in white ash and black soot, its hundreds of occupants faring no better—the colorful ceremonial fashions from every corner of the continent have been rendered nearly indistinguishable. The late-afternoon sun has just passed below the rim of stone buildings, deepening the sense of foreboding.
For all that happened in the library since I dragged River there, this milling, frantic mass is a harsh reminder that only moments have passed since Owalin took the Great Hall hostage. A quarter hour at most.
As I skirt the courtyard toward the infirmary, I see that, save for the orders River issued—which account for the well-placed perimeter of guards keeping a large semicircle of clear space in front of the Great Hall entrance—the rest of the courtyard swarms with cadets, competitors, and guests. Family members with loved ones trapped inside shout over each other with demands, sobs, and recommendations of how the situation should be handled.
Standing in the middle of the open semicircle, Headmaster Sage holds a speaking trumpet, sweat running down his pale bald head despite the cool air. If River’s presence, even while he’s injured, instilled a sense of calm and hope, Sage’s has the opposite effect on the crowd, his wheedling, fear-tinged tones only seeming to fuel people’s desperation.
Suddenly, a low chuckle booms over the courtyard, seemingly from the roiling gray clouds themselves. It takes me only a moment to spot the tall figure standing on the edge of the mezzanine balcony, looking down upon the mass of people before him as if surveying an unruly garden in need of weeding. His bloodred cloak whips in the growing wind, the raised hood keeping his face in deep shadow.
The entire courtyard falls silent at once, gasps and screams dying into soft weeping and moans of fear. Right near me, a young blond boy with deep tear tracks running down his soot-blackened face watches Owalin with numb terror, neck craned back on his shoulders.
“I have yet to see any clerks with parchment or remaining mortal kings join me in the Great Hall.” Owalin’s relaxed words echo from the balcony, strands of wind magic magnifying them over the courtyard. “Though I am a generous and fair-minded male, you will discover that I am not one to enjoy repeating myself.”
“We are still looking for everyone, sir.” Sage holds a speaking trumpet to his lips, coughing wetly before continuing. “But I am Sage, the headmaster of Great Falls Academy. Perhaps you and I can come to an understanding.”
“You are useless.” Owalin replies. “But that is all right. I believe that with the right motivation, hamsterscanbe taught obedience.” He turns toward the enclosed mezzanine behind him. “Get the first one.”
Despite the threat, nothing happens for the next several moments, and I continue quickly toward the infirmary, keeping my head down. The Academy—the entire mortal world—needs River to get through this as much as my quint needs him. One look at Sage’s sad attempt at leadership makes the truth plain enough. My heart pounds a quick but steady beat as I reach the edge of the courtyard—just in time to hear a terrified wail of pain sound from the Great Hall.
Twisting around, I mark the open shutters on the mezzanine just in time to watch in terror as a uniformed Prowess athlete is shoved headfirst through the window. The young man flies through the air with a scream, his limbs twisting and scrambling for some purchase. The crack of his neck as he lands is as deafening to my immortal ears. As is the keening howl of a tall, thin man with a crown on his head, trying to get through the guards holding him back.
Stars.A son. That young man was someone’s son. My throat tightens.
A tall woman, elegant even in her soot-stained blue gown, screams with grief, bending over the boy’s broken body.
The young boy to my left is sobbing now, his mother burying his face in her dress.
Owalin stands calmly through it all, watching with a perverted interest—as if the grieving mother and dead son were a pair of rats caught in a trap. “I have three more children from the royal family of Fothom.” Owalin’s voice fills the courtyard once more. “Until his majesty of Fothom—who I see flopping like a fish there—joins me, I will be tossing the darlings out at one-hour intervals. We are having a conference of monarchs here, you see, and it’s very difficult to do so with half our cadre missing.”
He turns to go as the Fothom king fights the guards to get to the Great Hall.
“Wait,” Sage shouts into the speaking trumpet. “How do we know you won’t kill the kings the way you killed the Fothom king’s son?”
“Oh for stars’ sake.” Owalin sounds exasperated as he turns back. “I am not here to murder kings, but toworkwiththem. If I wanted the kings dead, I’d simply have killed them all by now. To demonstrate—”
A flash of sunlight reflecting off an arrowhead in the same mezzanine window makes my heart jump. “Down!” I holler with all my strength just as the bowman looses his arrow.
Sage—not one to be told twice when to hide—throws himself on the ground a moment before the projectile slices the air above his head and lodges itself in a bystander’s calf instead.
Owalin chuckles over the screams. “One hour,” he calls over tolling bells, now marking the time as five o’clock.
