Page 137 of A Sword of Ice
Valerio, having more experience with the Fae’s comments, did not take it as personally as Uric did, and merely turned away. Uric wanted to do the same, but he found himself captivated by Weylyn’s gaze and the smirk he wore just below it.
Like he was intimate every thought within Uric’s head.
“We have to find the others,” Valerio snapped. “And then we will find my father. Uric—” His prince turned to him, a pleading in his eyes that had not been there before. “Can you open another portal?” His gaze slid over the wrinkled imperfections marring Uric’s skin.
Uric wanted to cringe away from the stare. Fae were not meant to be this, as fragile-looking as a human. They were proud and beautiful, not blights or marred flesh or weak hands and knees.
As it were, Uric was too weak. His magic barely flared to life within his chest. He should refuse. Hewantedto just to spite his friend and reeled back the thoughts because there were more important things at stake.
Later, he would let the prince suffer for all he had done and said. Later, he would spite him in the cruelest of ways.
For now, Uric found himself too weak to resist as he closed his eyes and opened another portal.
* * *
Shula fellto her knees in the snow, a cry ripping from her throat. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the weakness at bay. It consumed her as surely as her own fire consumed the humans. Yet her magic still sputtered to a stop and her throat closed up as the tinge of ashwood in the air invaded her orifices and started to cripple her.
She was no match for this.
She’d melted iron before, but this seemed even worse than other times because the humans were relentless in their pursuit.
And they were closing in on them.
Fear slid through her body along with the sharp pricks of cold. She couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back. She dropped to all fours, taking in heaving breaths. Blood spit from her nostrils and mouth, staining the snow.
It felt like an omen.
Iona’s ice still battered against their iron, shattering beneath the steel weapons. She wanted to fight, refused to give up, even as her movements became more sluggish. As her feet tripped and she fell forward. She got up every time until she couldn’t.
Then, Julius was next to her, pulling her into his arms and running back into the destroyed remnants of the castle.
Soon Shula felt arms wrap around her waist as well and haul her upright. Familiar hands pressed into her stomach as she was pulled backwards. The titillating press of magic warmed her veins, and she groaned against her mate, feebly pushing his hands away.
“Don’t,” she warned. But it was too late. Energy filled her while at the same time depleted from him. He sagged, his legs wobbled as he walked her backwards. When he stopped, Shula stood, turning and wiping the blood from her face as she went.
Ryker’s face looked haggard, and she glared in the face of his pain.
“It’s useless,” Julius said breathlessly. “We can’t fight them. There are too many.”
Iona growled her displeasure at the words, her body unable to do more than grasp weakly at her mate.
“We have nowhere to go,” Shula argued. Not with death right across the line and gaining on them by the foot.
“The tunnels…” Iona whispered.
“What tunnels?”
Another catapult hitting the castle cut off Julius’ reply. This time, Shula lost her footing from the impact. She fell forward, throwing her palms out to stop he collision against the floor. Instead of hitting the ground like she predicted, a silver mirror appeared before her. Her panicked reflection shone back. Then she was going through it and landing solidly against the waist of the Fae walking out.
She looked up at the same time Prince Valerio looked down at her in that familiar grave expression she’d come to associate with him.
She hated the relief she felt sear through her chest, but it was there.
She dropped her forehead to his stomach for a brief reprieve, taking in a sharp breath before he was helping to pull her to her feet.
Shula stepped back as Valerio stepped out, followed by Weylyn and the cat on his shoulder, Clay, and a haggard-looking Uric, who had more creases on his face than the crumpled up map in her pocket.
Her relief at seeing them all, particularly Clay, had her launching forward and wrapping her arms around her friend.
