Page 101 of The Bound Mage
“One battle at a time,” Loren said. “Let’s survive this one first.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the first explosion shattered the morning.
A thundercrack split the sky—not lightning, but siege fire, arcing from the Dominion ships in streaks of molten green. Runes ignited along their hulls as spellcasters unleashed destruction, the wind turning acrid with the stench of burning magic.
Release us, Lorendrael,the shadows hissed. Their voices shifted and echoed, layering on top of one another to speak as one.Let us do our duty.
The last time they’d faced battle like this, they had slaughtered everyone—friend and foe, fae and human. They’d shown him themselves—a battlefield engulfed in darkness, consuming fae and human alike. His father, falling to his knees amid the carnage?—
Not this time,they whispered into his ears.Never again, Lorendrael. We swear it.
Loren exhaled slowly. His fingers curled into fists at his side. They had to trust each other—or everything that had happened would be for nothing.
“Go,” he said, releasing his hold on them.
The shadows burst forward around him, tearing down the cliffside. Ribbons of darkness slithered across the sand, racing past startled fae to leap across the waves. One wrapped itself around the leading landing craft, the screams of men rising on the air as wood splintered, spilling them into the waves. Othersstruck like snakes, dragging spellcasters beneath the waves before their incantations could leave their lips.
From the mist, a sixth ship appeared—then a seventh. Not New Dominion vessels, but silver-hulled fae ships, their sails shining white in the morning sun. They cut across the water, sleek and fast, closing in on the New Dominion ships as the heavier vessels struggled to turn and engage. One tried to pivot too sharply, striking its hull on the skeleton of a hidden reef with a shriek of shearing wood.
A cheer went up from the fae on the beach, loud enough to carry over the shouts.
The ships weren’t real. Neither were the fae soldiers swarming onto the decks of the ships, their armor gleaming as they engaged the enemy. Eloria stood above it all, her fingers twitching as she stared down with unblinking eyes, weaving her tapestry of illusion into a force the fae could only have dreamed of gathering.
The shadows hissed their approval, their voices carried to him on the wind as they wreaked havoc on soldiers scrambling to battle foes who didn’t exist.
And still Eloria kept weaving.
Fae warriors leapt from vessel to vessel, luring New Dominion soldiers into the clutches of the shadows. One panicked mage raised his hand, throwing power at a fae soldier only to strike his commander directly in the back. The man crumpled, immediately swallowed by the shadows as they swarmed eagerly forward into the gap Eloria had created for them.
They were winning.
Loren felt it—the shift in the tide, the Dominion forces flailing, illusions twisting their senses, shadows unraveling their formations. For a single heartbeat, they had a chance.
And then Araya’s terror shattered the wall around his mind, coursing through their fragile bond like wildfire.
Loren gasped, pain lancing through his knees as they struck the rocky ground. She was so far away—the bond should’ve been muted and distant, but her fear lanced down his spine like lightning, filling his mouth with ash. Across the battlefield, his shadows faltered. One missed its mark, letting the New Dominion soldier scramble away unscathed. Another curled in place, whipping around as if to stare at him.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
“What is it?” Eloria demanded, her voice tight as she split her focus between him and her illusions. Her fingers twitched, sweat beading on her forehead and soaking the collar of her tunic. “Are you hurt?”
“Not me,” Loren managed, shoving back to his feet. “Araya.”
Eloria’s eyes flew to him, her own illusions wavering for a heartbeat before she fixed her grim stare back on the battle in front of her. “Go to her.”
Loren shook his head, his hands curling into fists. The shadows howled, a wordless cry of rage and grief that echoed his borrowed memory of a much different battlefield. But they didn’t race back to him. They knew too.
“I can’t,” Loren said, his voice hoarse as the world swam before his eyes. “If I leave now, we lose too many. Even if we survive today, we won’t survive what comes next. Not if they tear through us like this.”
But the truth did nothing to dull the screaming pain in his chest. The shadows lashed out, wild and furious as they tore through everything in their path. Their clean precision and careful aim was nothing but a memory, both of them torn between the undeniable urge to protect her and the inescapable mandate to protect their people.
She wasn’t defenseless. She’d gotten better at wielding her power—especially under duress. Veria was with her, all the chaperones—even Eryn would take up arms to defend them, if necessary.
The shadows only snarled in answer, past the point of words. He felt it too—burning in the deep place where his magic lived, older than language, older than logic. Araya was afraid. In danger. And he wasn’t there.
His mother had died like that. Hundreds of miles from the mate who would have done anything to save her. She’d died alone, surrounded by enemies, leaving him with only her bones to grieve over.
Loren fought with everything he had. Striking and reaching with the shadows, his power moving as one with them. Every blow pounded in his blood, driving him forward. Another landing boat capsized under a wave of darkness. A soldier almost made it to the beach, only to be dragged screaming back into the waves.
