Page 22 of A Dagger of Ice and Intrigue
Fifty-four Protectorate sentinels were marching on the left flank.
Twenty-three on the right.
Honorable, when faced with danger of the Blood Brotherhood Elite.
Useless. But honorable.
I kept my eyes on the ridiculous display of this sham of a union. Most frightened gazes jumped from us toward the altar, like scared children waiting to be told what to do. Not by the pitiful groom or the inexperienced bride, but by the woman standing beside her. Draped in the finest blue silks the Protectorate vaults could buy, she had an unflinching stance that took my warriors years to learn.
People always gave their real leaders away, no matter who wore the crown.
She was the true threat, then. One I had to incapacitate until this entire mess would be over, hopefully without spilling anyone’s blood but Fabrian’s.
The sentinels thundered closer.
I raised my hand, letting my powers loose.
Seeking.
Searching.
My power first found seventy-seven riotous sentinel hearts. Most of them had the sharpness to be scared, others were too young and inexperienced to know who they were truly facing.
I began slowing them down, beat by beat, until they all froze. They would soon crumble to the ground for the next three hours.
They were the lesser danger by far, but I had no time to spare for some misguided show of courage.
The guests who hadn’t bothered with a protective spell got hit next. Under my unseen command, half of the courtyard jolted. Once. And they wouldn’t move again until I allowed it.
The pomp and jewels couldn’t hide the stench of fear, though, no matter how many tense snarls and frightened grimaces they’d thrown our way.
The Serpents looked particularly frightened.
No surprise.
Their vaults were much more powerful than their magic. Always had been, always would be–especially with that heir of theirs.
Fabrian had protective runes etched into his odious snakeskin lapels. A shame. I would have enjoyed freezing him. Maybe grip his lungs enough to make him panic.
He was half-hidden behind his bride’s ridiculous dress, using her stiff spine to hide the fact that he had none.
This is what passed for a husband in the South Clans? Pathetic.
I skipped over the bride–the Lost Daughter who should have remained lost. She needed her wits about her for what came next.
But the other woman at the altar, staring daggers at me and Zandyr…she snagged the edge of my focus and refused to let go.
She wasn’t the bride.
She wasn’t our target.
But I couldn’t move past her without trying to crack that wall of power she’d erected around herself.
Whatever protective spell she’d placed on herself wouldn’t even allow my power near her, let alone inside her. My power circled her like a wolf, but found no entry point.
Like she’d known I was coming and dared me to try. Impossible, of course.
Nobody knew the truth about Blood Brotherhood magic. Especially not mine.
