“No!” I yelled as a spear flashed into my hand. One pointed not at the fey, who had scrambled back out of the way, but at his prize. I had a split second to hear the girl scream, to see the spear light reflected in her widened eyes, to feel my borrowed muscles bunch.
And then I threw us to the side—stupidly, because I wasn’t in charge here. I was just an observer, using someone else’s eyes to see. But it didn’t matter; I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t just watch through a murderer’s eyes as he—
And I wasn’t. The ground exploded in front of me, cutting off the view, while the blast from the spear sent me stumbling back into the soldier behind me. We went down, but through the rain of flying earth I glimpsed the girl, snatching up her tattered clothes and staggering to her feet, before abruptly bolting off into the night.
Because the fey’s attack . . .
Had missed.
Chapter Fifty-seven
A moment later, I was back in flickering darkness, thrown there by what felt like an earthquake. And forced to grab for what my mind seemed to have decided was the floor, although it felt more like a bucking bronco. Because the quakes kept coming.
I didn’t know why, and couldn’t even seem to concentrate on the question. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything, probably because I’d been away from my body too long and was getting fuzzy-brained. I needed to get back—soon—but there was something telling me not to. Something I’d just seen, but couldn’t currently remember. Something . . . damn it!
I looked away, over to one side where the images were fewer, trying to clear my head.
And got caught up instead with what some witches were doing.
It looked like they were trying to cast a ward around the arena, to protect their sisters inside. But they hadn’t finished, and they were too close, way too close. Because I only saw through Svarestri eyes, and that meant—
“No!” I yelled, stretching out a hand as a dozen women were blasted with a line of those energy spears, so hard that they were launched into the air still burning. The rest of the Svarestri reinforcements appeared on the plain a moment later, dropping the glamourie they’d been using so quickly and so uniformly that it looked like they’d stepped out of thin air. And I’d been right.
There were thousands.
“Say again.”
My head came up as someone’s voice echoed in the space around me.
“Say again. We didn’t hear that, sir.”
Sir?
For a moment, I just lay there, uncomprehending. Before noticing that a few of my outstretched fingers had slipped inside the image. Like dipping my hands into a pool. Only it wasn’t a pool, was it?
Like these weren’t TVs.
They were minds.
Svarestri minds, linked through some kind of spell. A communications spell, because they had to coordinate the attack someway, didn’t they? And their king was kind of busy right now.
Unlike their captain, I thought, staring around.
“Sir? Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I rasped. “Yes, I can hear you. Pull back.”
“Sir?”
“Pull back! The king—the king has another plan.”
“Sir . . .” It was the voice’s turn to sound confused. “We’re under attack. Can you confirm—”
“It’s confirmed! Pull back!”
Something rocked the image, leaving me unsure whether the convulsion was on my end or theirs. Or both, I thought, as I was jolted around at almost the same time that the ground erupted under the fey, enough to throw them and the remaining witches off their feet. And causing the Svarestri to look to their leader for instructions.
“Damn you, pull back!” I yelled. “Now, now, now—”
“Pull back,” the fey in charge started yelling. “Pull back! Pull back! Pull—”
The voice cut out and I was snatched violently out of the image, and up to a face I couldn’t see, because it was made out of shadow. But I didn’t need to see it. There was only one spirit in here besides me, the one whose body I’d hijacked. And it looked like he’d figured out that he still had company.
Probably about the time I started yelling orders.
And then agony tore through me.
I staggered and went down, my vision blurring, my hearing fading in and out. And wondered if the fey had just made a killing blow. And maybe he had, but the severity of the attack was also my salvation. A glittering cloud of my power flooded the air, blazingly bright in the darkness, causing the fey to stumble back in surprise.
And giving me a chance to tear away.
I scuttled under some nearby images, power still gushing out of me because I didn’t know how to stop it. I was panting in pain and fear, ducking and dodging, trying to find a path through the constantly moving images, to see a pattern in their movement. But if there was one, I couldn’t tell.
Until I focused a little too long on one off to the left, where I thought I saw a familiar face. Only to have it suddenly speed toward me, like a freight train. No, I thought desperately. Not now—
And then it grabbed me.
*
“What happened?”
It was Rosier’s voice, harsher than I’d ever heard it.
I opened my eyes, and got an odd glimpse of a room, like I was lying on the floor with people’s feet scurrying in front of me.
Maybe because I was lying on the floor with people’s feet scurrying in front of me. My hair was in my face, and this time it was brown. This body was annoyed by that. It wished it had enough strength to remove the glamourie. It didn’t want to die with brown hair.
Or in a female guise. What if the glamourie was too good? What if no one came back for him? What if they left his essence to be absorbed by such a place, always alone, always searching, always trying to connect to what he could never hope to see—
Someone kicked me.
“This one.” It was the older, redheaded witch I’d met at Nimue’s. She looked like she’d like to kill me again, only I was already pretty close. She must have thought so, too, because she didn’t waste the energy.
“One of your own?” Rosier asked, looking confused.
“No. Svarestri.” In her mouth, the name sounded like a curse. “His kind gutted him and slapped a glamourie on him, so we’d think one of ours had been wounded. We had this place locked down while we tried to break Nimue’s spell and get the princess out. But you know how she is. A healer won’t refuse help to the injured.”
“And now that she is the one injured?”
The redhead’s lips all but disappeared, and she didn’t answer. But she shook her head. For a moment, no one spoke.
“And Emrys?” Rosier rasped.
“He showed up just after everything went to hell. Got caught up in the fighting one floor down, or he might have seen it. Glad he didn’t.”
“Where is he now?”
The redhead looked defensive. “We told him. We had to. The damn Svarestri came after her as soon as Aeslinn sprang his trap. They knew she was a threat, but they don’t know about him. Don’t even know he’s her son. She hid him well.”
“Hid?”
The redhead opened her mouth, but someone else made a sound. And Rosier turned away. To where Morgaine was resting by the fire.
I thought that was odd. Why was she on the floor? Sure, she had blankets around her and a pillow between her and the wall, but still . . .