Lincoln shakes his head, his eyes unfocused. “What happened?”
Fresh panic jangles through my nervous system. How many igni did I lose? “I’ll explain in a minute.” I rush over to my father’s cabinet, the one where he stores the Bloodstone Amulet. I open the drawer, pull out the red disc, and set the chain around my neck.
Bit by bit, the front of the amulet transforms into the image of two dragons, just like it had before. I turn the disc over and watch the back. Again, the entwined tails form a spiral accented with numerals, from one to ten. The level starts at ten, pauses for a moment, and then starts to fall. Nine, eight, seven, six…
Please let some of them have stayed.
Five, four, three, two. The level finally becomes steady. One.
I’m torn between wanting to cheer and weep. I have hardly any igni left. Certainly not enough to perform an iconigration. But a new plan has begun forming in my mind. This amount of igni may not be much, but they may get the job done. Still, it’s a last-ditch option, only if all else fails.
Although, with the way my luck has been going, all else will fail.
Chapter Eighteen
Connor, Octavia, Lincoln, my parents, and I all sit around my kitchen table. Walker and Cissy are off planning the big iconigration tomorrow, assuming I can get my powers back to do it. After my battle with Adair, I don’t have nearly enough igni. I tried, too. I can barely get a few dozen to appear around my arms.
I try to wrap my head around this turn of events, but my mind’s numb with shock. Only two hours ago, I was the Great Scala at my very own Ball of Welcome in Arx Hall. Lincoln was about to introduce me to his nobility as their future Queen. Now, one hundred and twenty minutes later, I’ve hardly any powers left.
It’s a flat-out disaster.
I inspect the faces around the kitchen table, and a spark of hope lights up in my chest. My parents, Lincoln, and I have spent the last two hours coming up with a kick-ass plan for a special ops mission into Antrum where we’ll take down Adair and get my powers returned. Hopefully, we can use this time with Lincoln’s parents to convince them into helping us make it work. A shiver rolls up my back. I don’t want to think about what happens if the special ops idea hits the dust. My secret back-up plan is wicked unpleasant.
Lincoln eyes his father carefully for a time. “How did the pair of you get to Purgatory so quickly?”
Connor smiles as if Adair possessing his subjects happens every week. “Oh, Adair calmed down once you left. She’s a high-spirited girl.”
What the what? High-spirited? How about insane? I ball my hands into angry fists and thunk them onto the tabletop, ready to tell Connor exactly what I think of his casual take on Adair.
“Myla.” Mom shoots me a warning look. She and I talked about this before. Until we know if Lincoln’s parents can help us, I need to keep a lid on my temper, especially where Connor is concerned. Still, it’s everything I can do not to punch him in the head.
If Connor notices my rage, he doesn’t show it. “Adair’s fine. We had no problem getting a transfer platform.”
“And what of our nobility?” asks Lincoln.
I know what he’s worried about. Two hours ago, Adair possessed the minds of all the thrax at the Ball of Welcome, turning them demon-eyed. Assuming she’s released them, they shouldn’t remember a thing about what happened.
But before that? Not so much.
“Lincoln whipped the helmet off a Dungeon Knight,” I explain. “The whole crowd saw the guy’s demon eyes, and they were freaked out with a capital F. How are the people handling that fact?” By this point, there could be mass panic in Antrum.
“The people remember the Knight’s eyes turning demon-red, surely enough,” says Octavia. “But I’m afraid Adair’s saying that was your handiwork, Myla. The people seem to believe her explanation.”
I punch my leg in frustration. Stupid thrax. “Why am I not surprised?”
Connor laughs a little too loudly at my sarcasm. “True, true. Adair’s a slippery one.”
Lincoln fixes him with an icy stare. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Father. What Adair did tonight is treason of the highest order. And the insult to Myla? Outrageous.”
“Yes, my son,” says Connor quickly. “Most serious.” He turns his attention to me. “Heartfelt apologies for how things went this evening. The House of Acca make fearsome enemies.”
I choose my words carefully. “I’m not afraid of them.” Unlike some people I know.
“You’ve every right to be upset,” says Octavia. “We ended up cancelling your Ball of Welcome, much to my chagrin. Everyone went home, safe and sound, which is the only happy side in this sorry turn of events.” Her words are clearly pointed at Connor. As in, stop pretending this is no big deal.