Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(113)

Even as that last desperate thought filled my mind, I felt a wave of . . . of . . . something pulse out of me. It felt like my immunity, like that cold, hard power that was buried deep down inside my body, only this power wasn’t inside me anymore.

It was outside.

For the last several months, I had thought of my immunity like a gladiator shield, this invisible, malleable barrier that I could wrap around my own body to protect myself. Sometimes, I also thought of my power as a large, hard fist that I could use to crush other people’s magic.

But for the first time, I realized that I could actually feel my power in my hand, just like I could feel the actual dagger clutched in my other fingers. Maybe my immunity could be more than just a shield or a fist.

Maybe it could be a sword—one that I could wield just like I would a gladiator blade.

That strange, slow sensation of being underwater vanished, and everything snapped back to its normal speed.

Even though that magier was still holding on to me, I reached for my immunity and let that cold, hard power fill the palm of my hand. And then I flung that power outward as though it were a sword that I was hurtling at Maeven’s damned purple lighting.

I held my breath, wondering if I had just been imagining the whole thing and had just doomed Sullivan to death.

But it worked.

That invisible sword of my power slammed into Maeven’s lightning, shattering it into a shower of sparks an instant before it would have hit Sullivan.

For a moment, everyone froze. Me, Sullivan, the remaining magiers. Even the man holding me around the waist loosened his grip and staggered away. Everyone looked at me, wondering what had just happened.

Maeven’s eyes widened with shock. “No!” she whispered. “No, it can’t be!”

This time, she reared her hand back and threw her lightning at me. I didn’t even really think about what I was doing. I just lifted my hand and swatted her magic aside, as if it were a fly that was annoying me.

And I realized that I had done the same thing to Libby’s magic when she had tried to kill me in the Seven Spire throne room. Only then, I’d been holding my sword, and I’d thought that the tearstone weapon had deflected most of her power, instead of my own immunity.

Maeven’s eyes widened again, and she did something completely unexpected—she backed away from me.

“Kill her!” she screamed. “Kill her now!”

The magiers whipped back around to me. With a loud, collective roar, they charged forward and threw everything they had at me. Lightning, fire, ice, even their physical swords and daggers in some cases.

And one by one, I overcame them all.

All the lightning, the fire, the ice, the swords and daggers. I snuffed out the magic with my own immunity, dodged the weapons, and used my dagger to cut down my enemies.

I killed one assassin after another, wading through them all to get to Sullivan, who was doing the same thing on the opposite side of the gazebo. We finally met in the middle when there were no more Mortans left to kill.

“Evie! Are you okay?” Sullivan asked, his voice raspy from screaming.

Blood, bruises, and burns covered him from head to toe, but he was alive, which was all that mattered.

“I’m okay. You?” My voice was just as raspy as his was.

He lifted his hand as if to cup my cheek, or maybe even pull me close and kiss me, but at the last second, he thought better of it and dropped his arm back down to his side. I wanted to reach for him too, but this tense, awkward silence fell over us. Now that the danger had passed, I didn’t know what to do, not given all the ugly things we’d said to each other in this very spot less than an hour ago.

Sullivan glanced around. “Wait. Where’s Maeven?”

I looked out over the bodies that littered the gazebo, but hers wasn’t among them. “She’s not here.”

I held back a vicious curse. Of course she wasn’t here. Maeven was like a coral viper who always managed to slither away after she’d bitten you.

A low groan sounded. Sullivan and I both turned around, and I realized that there was one person who hadn’t escaped.

Dahlia.

She was lying where she had fallen beside one of the benches, still clutching that empty vial.

“Mother!” Sullivan yelled.

We both hurried over and dropped to our knees beside her. I could smell the amethyst-eye poison on her breath, sweet lavender that was turning to rot with each passing second.

“What was she doing out here?” Sullivan asked. “And why did she take that poison?”

I opened my mouth, but then I thought better of it.

Dahlia lolled her head to the side and looked up at me with pain-filled eyes. “He’ll figure it out sooner or later. You might as well tell him.”

“Tell me what?” he asked.

I quickly told him everything Dahlia had said about sending Frederich and Gemma to die at the Seven Spire massacre, poisoning Heinrich, and trying to kill Dominic.

The more I talked, the more anguish filled Sullivan’s face. When I finished, he stared at his mother in horror, as if she were some monster he’d never seen before.

“She did all those things just to try to put me on the throne?” Sullivan asked, his voice a dull, ragged whisper.

“Yes.” I didn’t want to cause him any more pain, but I couldn’t deny what Dahlia had done.