The Destiny of Ren Crown (Ren Crown #5)

“It was to drip it through the distribution tube, then walk through the opening like we belonged. But without using magic, the amount of potion we have will never spread that distance. So, Plan B. There’s a flarelizard nest fifty meters from the border on the far side. As soon as the scouts move, you move too.”

We both looked at him like he was insane. Flarelizards spit lava.

“You can’t use magic,” I said. Fighting flarelizards was one thing—I’d seen him fight dozens of things without magic—but mobilizing them? We were going to be a crew of two sooner rather than later.

He shrugged and rolled his shoulders, his own magic tighter than I’d ever seen it. “I’ll be fine.”

“They’ll know we are in the internal field as soon as she opens the seed,” Constantine said, disregarding the imminent death of his roommate and going to the next problem in the plan.

A flash of gold lit the crowd in my peripheral vision, jerking my gaze to the people roaming just inside the external dome. I scanned the crowd, gaze traveling to the right, looking for the source, unease spreading through me. Scientist, settler, two men haggling over some bit of magic, five soldiers sharing a canteen, a small crowd peering at a broadcast, two more scientists, three terrorists, five men in territory clothes...

“They’ll know something is happening, but not exactly what,” Axer said.

Another flash of gold made my gaze jerk to the left of the crowd, search turning more frantic as the boys continued bickering.

“It’s a pretty easy guess.”

“But it will still be speculation. They can’t gain entrance. And every Third Layer faction will try to keep it secret from the other layers. They’ll cite previous problems at the site, if there are any spikes. We’ll make certain there aren’t.”

“You were the one worried about being trapped,” Constantine said languidly, chipped darkness beneath each word. “I’m relieved to see that burden lifted.”

“We won’t be trapped.” Axer was staring at Constantine in challenge as I looked back at them.

I wet my lips. Gold meant only one thing for me in dangerous situations. “Listen, I think—”

Constantine narrowed his eyes at Axer, ignoring me. “You will burn her out.”

“A phoenix burns with new life.”

Subtext underscored their words, but I didn’t care about any of it at the moment. “Seriously, we need—”

Constantine smiled tightly. “Well then, I guess that’s settled. All we need is for you to create a distraction and die with glory.”

“Pirate scum!”

We all whipped our gazes to peer over the dune as voices erupted from the settlement and my unease turned into full blown panic. Five men were fighting in front of the scientist’s tent, and in front of them, the external dome had thinned so significantly as to be a dewy membrane—wobbling on a leaf, waiting to fall.

“Oh, no,” I whispered.

“Someone deactivated two-thirds of the wards in the exterior barrier,” Axer said, eyes narrowed and searching the crowd.

“The recycling magic is still active,” Constantine said, body tight. “But the apprisal spells were turned off.”

My gaze narrowed on a man on the edge of the fight circle gathering outside the scientists’ tent. Hat tipped rakishly low, the brim tilted just enough to let the sun catch the gold cuff hugging his ear. I couldn’t see his eyes, but the edge of his lips curved into a smile, as if he could feel my gaze. A shimmer of a hummingbird rose in the air above his lazily circling hand, then he pivoted and blended into the surging crowd.

Raphael, who was always plotting far in advance.

I murmured the politest swear word I could think of for this situation.

Both boys looked at me. “What?”

“Raphael is here.”

Constantine’s head whipped back in the direction of the fighters.

“You saw him?” Axer asked calmly, his gaze dissecting the surging crowd. He turned the device in his hand up a notch with a flick of his finger. It was indicating all lifeforms within a one-mile perimeter around us and highlighting the details for each life force.

“He’s not a participant, but he started the fight. He disabled the barrier.” I was certain of that.

“He knows you are here.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”

“And he disabled the barrier.” Axer tapped a free finger against his thigh. He looked at Constantine’s magic, then mine, before meeting my gaze again. “Can he enter the interior dome? Once you activate your creation?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t unequivocally say no. He has fewer resources than Stavros, but knows me better. But I haven’t felt a disturbance in the surrounding wards. I’m the only one with the key.” I touched the marble.

Axer’s tapping increased as he surveyed the fight, his body tense—then stopped. He tucked the device into a buckle notch. “We risk it. Let’s go.”

Constantine gaze whipped back. “He’ll try and take Ren.”

Axer tipped his head grimly. “Then you get your chance to do all that you’ve desired.”

Constantine stiffened.

Axer was already moving and I scrambled to follow. “He gave us an opening. We need recovery time and the magic. Even if it’s only for an hour. And we need to contact the others. We’ll deal with Verisetti, if we have to.”

A firework burst, and people began streaming toward the fight from all directions. Guard Rock swung into my hood.

Constantine scooped up the cat, flat gaze on his roommate. “And your proposal—”

“Walk right through the crowd.”

We scrambled over the dune and ran down the slope as if we were scouts joining in. The thin barrier was barely a brush against my skin, but the available magic inside was not, and it called to me. Once in the surge, we began moving sideways. That part was oddly easy. Keep my head down, stay to the edge of the crowd, inch closer to the dome, don’t use magic.

We reached the edge of the interior dome quickly. Under a recycling dome, magic that was not our own was available to use in a way that it hadn’t been in the shift-happy outlands. Axer put his back to us and began skipping tiny devices along the ground and into the crowd. With each flicked device, the emotions of the crowd waved and were manipulated along with the trajectory, focusing the eyes of the crowd to each endpoint. Enough additional mayhem and attention focused elsewhere for twenty seconds, maybe.

Constantine crouched over one of the tracking wards, holding a pair of oddly shaped tweezers I recognized from his lab. He slowly extended the tweezers and carefully scraped the edge of the magic, then quickly repeated the action along a three-foot perimeter.

He tapped the magics into the vial and capped it. Jets of bubbles rolled over the magic, reacting slowly at first, then with more vigor until the only thing left was a chartreuse mixture.

Dipping the rod in the vial, he withdrew it and carefully, but quickly drew a pentagram in the air between the polar points of the three-foot area. The pentagon in the middle of the design flapped inward. We stepped through the flap carefully and quickly and Axer ducked behind us at the last second.

Anne Zoelle's books