A Promise of Fire (Kingmaker Chronicles, #1)(86)

My eyes find Griffin among the crowd. He’s talking to Egeria when his head snaps up, and he looks toward the woods. Panic wraps icy fingers around my heart, squeezing out a painful, punishing beat. I’m too late.

I shout a warning cry, too far away to be heard. “Go. Go. Go!” I beg Panotii for one last gallop, wincing at the sickening sound that rattles in his chest.

Healers race toward us, running for the city. I see Egeria among them, white-faced and panicked. I tumble off Panotii and grab her.

She shrieks, then recognizes me and falls into my arms. “Cat! Oh my Gods, Cat!”

I push her off me and then shove her onto Panotii’s back, turning him back toward Ios. I send him off with a slap on his rear, yelling hoarsely, “Close the gates! Give my horse food and water!”

“Cat!” Egeria cries, twisting in the saddle.

I run toward the Tarvan tribesmen, snagging a healer by the dress and dragging her with me in case I need her later. Healing magic works on a curve, limited when young and old, and at its peak near middle age. Women are universally stronger. The woman is about forty years old, potentially the most powerful of the fleeing group. She jerks and stumbles at the sudden change in direction, but I keep her with me, either with my momentum, or by sheer force of will. I hardly feel her pushing on my arm, trying to break free.

The Tarvans have maneuvered tactically, coming around Griffin and the others to cut off any chance of their retreating into the city. It doesn’t take a strategic genius to know they’re after the royals, and Griffin in particular. Carver’s an added bonus, and they probably figure they’ll have Egeria soon. Sixty armed men have a good chance of taking an unprepared, weakly fortified city like Ios, and I’m guessing they know it.

What the Tarvans don’t know is that their position now puts them between Beta Team and me, and every last one of them is about to comprehend something vital—that’s the wrong place to be.

I draw in a deep breath and let Sybaris’s deadly magic out on a scorching exhale. Dragon’s Breath surges from my mouth and melts the thirty men closest to me. There isn’t time for them to scream before the skin sloughs from their bones and there’s nothing left but smoking, stinking puddles of melted men, metal, and leather.

For a moment, everything stops. The clanking of arms ceases, and all eyes turn to me. I see only Griffin, and the endless chaotic wrath inside me focuses, turning sharp as a blade. Powerful magic explodes from previously dormant places. My loose hair lifts on a sudden gale. Lightning bursts from my body, splitting the air with cracks of thunder. I advance, my footsteps charring the ground as bolts radiate from my feet, long, jagged, and intensely hot. There’s a tearing pain in my back, along each shoulder blade. I don’t stop to question it, or the lightning, or the wind. I don’t question anything. I am mighty, and I will kill anyone who gets in my way.

“Run.” The command is deep and echoes eerily. It doesn’t sound like me. It hammers my enemies like a storm from Olympus.

Half the remaining Tarvans sprint for the woods. The rest make a stand. Griffin shouts my name, the sound of his voice reaching me through layers and layers of sound-dulling power. My vision wavers like a mirage, everything coated in fiery orange. I’m too close to indiscriminately blast Dragon’s Breath from my mouth without endangering the people I’m here to protect, so I throw a ball of Chimera’s Fire at the Tarvan closest to me instead. He goes up in flames, screaming. I repeat until the Chimera’s Fire wanes—five more fire balls, and then it’s gone.

I still have the healer in my left hand. Her face is stark with fear and shock, but she’s looking at me, not at the Tarvans, or the battle, or the gore. I draw a dagger and throw it at the man charging us. It sticks in his eye, and he crumples without a sound.

Across from me, Beta Team slices through the remaining Tarvans with ferocious efficiency. Two stumble back from their onslaught, trapped between Beta Team and me. The younger one turns my way, cocking back a small throwing ax. Griffin’s knife lands in his kidney before the man can complete the throw.

I stare across the bloody space at Griffin, my eyes telling him I could have handled the tribesman myself.

He stares back, his brilliant, battle-bright eyes telling me he knows.

The last Tarvan sloshes through the liquefied remains of his companions. His frantic eyes dart between us, me on one side, Beta Team on the other. He knows it’s over, the defeat total. Making a placating motion, he goes to lay down his sword. As the leader, Griffin steps forward to accept his surrender, but the man abruptly twists and throws his blade with a quick, powerful snap of muscle. It flies end over end and buries itself in Griffin’s chest.

My scream snuffs out the storm. Silence crashes down as magic collapses back into me. Confusion, disbelief, and the rawest pain I’ve ever felt make me stumble. I lose my grip on the healer, and she runs. I’m slow to move and then waste time chasing her down. I grab her by the hair and jerk her back while Carver sprints toward the fleeing Tarvan, ruthlessly taking his revenge.

Griffin drops to his knees, shock etched across his rapidly paling features. Tarvan swords are short. A skilled warrior can throw one with relative accuracy. It’s not a technique used in Sinta, and no one was expecting it. Griffin grips the hilt and pulls out the blade, his face turning ashen. Blood washes down his front, shiny and dark. Kato and Flynn ease him to the ground while I scramble to his side, dragging the healer down with me. My shadow falls across Griffin’s face.