Bright Blaze of Magic (Black Blade, #3)(81)

And I realized something important. Even with my transference power, I wasn’t strong enough to absorb his magic, but my black blade was.

And I finally realized how I could steal Victor’s magic—the same way he had stolen everyone else’s, just like my mom had said.

Victor shook off the hard blow, shoved me off him, and scrambled back to his feet. When I got back up onto my feet as well, surprise flickered in his face, as though he’d never expected me to survive for this long. For the first time since I’d known him, Victor actually looked a bit disheveled, his blood-red shirt untucked, his golden hair rumpled, his handsome face streaked with dirt.

Behind him, at the far end of the bridge, Blake and the Draconi guards shifted on their feet, glancing at each other, unease and uncertainty flashing in their eyes. I doubted that anyone had knocked Victor down in years, much less someone from another Family like me.

I risked a quick glance over my shoulder to find the Sinclairs all staring steadily back at me, their hands holding their swords high overhead, just like the Family crest, in a silent show of support. Devon, Felix, Mo, Deah, even Oscar with his pixie sword. All saluting me, all supporting me, all urging me on.

Claudia stepped forward, raised her own sword even higher, and nodded at me. I nodded back, tightened my grip on my sword, and turned to face Victor again.

“I’m sick of you Sterlings!” he hissed. “This is the end of you!”

He reached for his power again, gathering more and more magic around himself until the entire bridge looked like it was in the center of a lightning storm. But this time, instead of cringing or ducking out of the way, I faced Victor and his magic head on.

Don’t be afraid of the lightning, Seleste’s voice whispered in my mind.

And I finally realized what she meant. That magic was magic, no matter what form it was in or who was wielding it. Black blades—bloodiron—didn’t care what magic belonged to which person. All they could do was soak up power. It was the person wielding the weapon that decided what to do with that power. As long as I had my mom’s sword in my hand, I could withstand Victor’s magic.

So that’s what I did.

I stood my ground and held my sword out in front of me even as Victor’s lightning slammed into me again. But this time, instead of shooting into my chest and knocking me back, the lightning went straight into my black blade.

The sword soaked up that initial blast of magic and then all the ones after it, absorbing the magic as fast as Victor could summon it up, like a literal lightning rod in my hand. But my mom’s sword wasn’t the only thing soaking up power. So were the three black blade throwing stars attached to my belt.

And so was I.

That cold burn of magic filled my veins, more intense than ever before. My breath frosted in the air and my entire body became as cold as a blizzard. With every breath, I felt myself growing stronger and stronger, until I was more powerful than I had ever been before. In that moment, I felt like I could do anything—take on every single Draconi, swing my sword at a hundred enemies, even reach down and tear the lochness bridge apart with my bare hands.

I forced all that magic, all that power, out into the cuts, bruises, and burns on my body, using Victor’s own power to repair all the damage he’d done to me with his lightning strikes.

In an instant, my skin smoothed out, my muscles quit twitching, and my breath came easier. So I kept going, channeling the magic through my whole body until I was completely healed, as if I’d never even been injured to start with.

But I was even better than that now—I was even stronger.

I didn’t duck or hide or run from the lightning. Not anymore. Instead, I embraced it in a way that I had never fully embraced my transference power before. I had always kept my Talent hidden for fear that someone would try to take it away from me, would try to cut it out of me, but not anymore, not now. Instead, I became like the black blade in my hand—hungry for magic, eager for every single scrap of power I could soak up.

Slowly, I began to walk toward Victor.

It wasn’t easy—far from it—especially not with the lightning still crackling around my body, trying to drive me back and rip the sword from my hand at every turn. But I channeled the magic in my veins, pushing it out into my hands, arms, and legs, making them rock steady and stronger than ever before, and I held on to my sword and crept toward Victor, one small step at a time. All the while, the black blade in my hand grew colder and colder, and its midnight glow blacker and blacker until it seemed to snuff out Victor’s magic before it even left his hands.

Victor finally realized that I wasn’t burned to a crisp, that I had found a way to endure his magic, and that I was still coming for him. His golden eyes widened and his mouth fell open in surprise.

And he actually stopped.

He dropped his hands to his sides, although the lightning continued to crackle on his fingertips.

“You,” he sputtered. “You’re—you’re not dead yet. You’re not even close to being dead.”

“Now you’re catching on,” I rasped.

His eyes widened again, more shock swirling through his gaze, but the emotion was quickly replaced by cold calculation. He took a step back, looked over his shoulder, and made a sharp motion with his hand.

“Attack!” Victor screamed. “Attack! Kill the Sterling girl! Now!”