Mine to Spell (Mine #2) (36 page)

“
I think it’s time to admit defeat.” My head bobs toward his shoulder. If I could just rest a little longer…

“
No.” His hands wrap around the back of my neck, supporting me, lifting up my head, his face only inches from mine. “Don’t give up. Not now. You’re so close. Where’s that fire? The spark in you I love?”

“
It’s sleeping.”

“
Tell it to wake up. You’re not giving up when you’re so close.”

I glance at the ring I’m to duel at next. The judge is already there, as is my opponent. A well-built younger warlock, feet so firmly planted on the ground it looks as if he’s already won the tournament.

“He’ll have so many points on me in the first ten seconds, I’ll be lucky if I don’t need some major healing afterward.”

“
Though I sure hope not, it’s a possibility.” He softens his voice, drawing my attention back on him. “How will you feel if you don’t even try?”

“
Like I should have never asked Serena to sell me.” I sigh, wishing the sound would drain my exhaustion and not make me want to lay down all the more. “Be prepared to patch me up.”

He gives my arm a squeeze before letting go. “I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

The words fill me with warmth, if not energy, as I stumble on toward the duel ring. There’s still a few minutes before start time, but if I don’t drag myself there now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to force myself to.

The judge pays me no attention, but my opponent looks me over, head to foot, sneer growing with each inch he scrutinizes. “This is the girl everyone’s been talking about.”

The condescension in his voice flickers my magic, stirring it, no matter how small. It dances within me like a dozen mini explosions. “The name is Cynthia, and at least everyone is talking about me.”

“
Only because you are an abomination in the world of men. An enchantress trying to doom us all, not a warlock. Not someone for generations to remember and revere.” Though we’re separated by the entire ring, he straightens and leans forward some as if to loom over me even if it has little effect on my bleary mind. “And everyone is talking about me. The great Saban Wright, future of Chardonia.”

“
Funny. I haven’t heard of you.”

Except the name does sound familiar, as does his voice. Where have I heard it before? Somewhere dark and cold and—oh gross! This is the warlock that relieved himself in the alley. Everyone probably is talking about him, talking about what a flop he is. Except he did make it this far in the tournament. It can’t be without reason.

He must be strong, or perhaps well trained. Whatever it may be, I’m in no condition to beat anyone but the weakest. But the time is here. Soon the judge will start the duel. How can I defeat him without power? There’s nothing.

Enough time to back out. I could do it. Better that than end up dead. I take a step back, but then I think on Lukas’s words. He’s right. If I don’t even try, I’ll always wonder and never forgive myself. Too many years were spent giving in under the pressure of what’s hard. No more.

“Enter,” the judge calls out.

I step in, confidence in my choice bolstering my stride, if not my energy. As least my magic is dancing around again, albeit a soft tap instead of a blaring rhythm. I focus between his hands and eyes, keeping track of what I think his intention is going to be.

The first two spells come with a lazy, dull-yellow. The first one I block with a small grayish shield, but the other shield misses blocking, the spell worming its way to my stomach. Nausea builds, gradually filling me. The churning in my stomach makes me grateful there’s nothing in it.

An orange spell is already coming at me. There’s not enough power to continue blocking and attack. The nausea ripples through me as I send another shield spell, just big enough to block his. I need to throw something at him, but what is there that won’t take the rest of what I have? Only pure magic would do that. That’s it!

The silence attack spell I did before still gave me points. I only need to touch him with spells, they don’t have to do damage. I don’t have to be like them to win. Don't have to hex to gain points.  And it’s within my power. Instantly, I gather what magic I’m not using to block another of his spells, and shoot out my magic in pure rays, like what I showed Serena, only this time they’re white muddied with a dull gray fear.

They zip across, already to him when he throws up a tan shield. The pure magic spells slam against him, covering him in a shower of light. Some hit his shield, but many hit him, gaining me points while not injuring him. He howls in anger, a growling, terrifying sound, or at least it should be. Yet when it means all I need do is block most of his spells and I’ve won, it’s the sound of victory.

The attacking spells he casts come faster and harder. More than I can withstand. I give into my heavy, sick body, and plop down on the ground, curling myself into a ball. Smaller target, less energy. A ruby spell pounds into me, burning my shoulder. A scream rips from me.

With my hand the only thing out of the ball I’ve curled myself into, I envision an impenetrable wall and release my magic. A dome forms around me, a white so thick I can barely see through it.

There’s nothing left of my magic. All of it is depleted. The shield fades until there’s nothing but Saban’s face, glistening with a growing smirk. He lifts his hand, pointing it straight at the heap I’ve become. This is it. The end.

“
Time,” the judge calls out, his voice faint, but clearly distinguishable. “Stephen’s daughter wins.”

Saban howls, hurling a black ball at me, purple glowing within it. I flinch away, but it won’t be enough, it’s streaking straight for me. I try to summon my magic, to pull any last scrap together. Nothing is there. It’s going to hit.

Suddenly a shield appears before me, its dark gray sheen marbled with maroon. The black spell slams against it, purple and black tingeing the gray before both spells dissipate. The noise of the crowd is growing. Saban’s face is contorted with rage, but no longer directed at me. He’s staring at Zade.

“
I believe,” Zade says, “once time has been called, you’re no longer allowed to attack your opponent.”

“
It doesn’t matter. She’s just a woman.”

Zade’s brows lift, and he motions to the crowd. “Think so? Try telling them that.”

I scan the crowd, a huge mass of people, some in their boxes, many sitting or standing wherever they can. Colors from every country greens, reds, white, and even Chardonian orange. All watching the scene with rapt attention. I force myself to sit up but can carry myself no further.

“
I don’t believe the crowd heard who won the duel,” Zade says to the judge.

The judge scowls but says, “Certainly, Chancellor.” His next words boom across the silent field. “Stephen’s daughter is the winner.”

A murmur passes through the crowd, growing louder and louder, but I can’t tell what they’re shouting. Saban scowls a moment and then gives me a fake smile as the sound grows, like he’s trying to pretend he never attacked me.

And the chanting, it’s taking shape into something familiar. It sounds like… like my name. They’re chanting my name. For me, the woman! The chanting boosts me, though it’s doubtful it will last, it’s enough to haul me to my feet. I pump my fist in the air.

“CYNTHIA!” The crowd roars my name, my legs steady before me, my arm firm in the air. This is it. This is everything I was trying for. The crowd knows it. I know it. And the council knows it. The Grand Chancellor. I glance his way, and my fist wants to sink, though I keep it steady in the air and don’t let a trace of fear cross my face. Not even a hint of the chill soaking through me.

The crowd may support me, many from other countries, and even some orange-banded Chardonians. But the Grand Chancellor and Chancellor Ryan look on from their box, eyes boring into me with unrestrained hatred.

Chapter Forty-Three

Serena’s box is crowded, full of guards, Serena, and me but the eyes on us make it feel as if the entire crowd is crammed in the box with us. Many are probably actually staring at the Grand Chancellor’s box directly next to us, just a little higher than ours, but it feels like too much attention is stifling us. Stifling me, sticking to me like a sweltering day as I slouch in my chair.

Except Conrad still isn’t here. What have they done to him? First thing we have to do after this is search for him. We shouldn’t even be here wasting time, but I need to show everyone I'm still here. That I'm a part of Chardonia, especially now that I’m moving on to the last day. As mother so worriedly told me over a year ago the day with the most deaths. Won’t be told to drink any soothing tea through them this year. So far there has been only a handful of deaths. Not as many as last year. Either many are coming today or this year won't be as bad.

It’s all too much to think on. Even with the crowd cheering me on, I’ve no energy left to even sit straight. My magic is muddled, weak, and in need of a long night of sleep to perk it back up. Not to mention food. At least there will be some of that at the feast. I close my eyes only to have to open them again when someone approaches.

“Annabelle is here to see you, if it’s all right?” Serena asks me.

“
It's better than all right.”

I begin to stand, but Annabelle ushers me back into the chair. “Don’t you dare spend any more energy on me when you’ve been working so hard. We’re all so grateful to you.”

My ears perk up even if the rest of me is still melted into my chair. “We?”

She scoots to the side to reveal another female, unmarked though, so not married like Annabelle, probably about my age. Her vivid green eyes stand out against her pale skin and dark hair pulled back in the usual bun.

“This is Nelly, a friend of mine who wanted to meet you.”

Nelly steps forward, a flash of perfect grace they used to always try to press into us at class. “You are amazing. I’m so grateful Councilman Daniel convinced my Father to bring me to the tournament. I will always remember what you’ve done here.”

Heat burns my face so hot, it feels as if I could start the entire box on fire. Praise is not something I think I'll ever grow used to. “I’m glad you were able to be here to see it. You know, this is something most women are capable of if they have magic within them.”

“
Oh no, I couldn’t do such a thing.”

“
Why certainly you could,” Annabelle says, linking arms with her. “It’s something we should all learn to do.”

“
But quietly,” Serena adds.

“
Yes, just not while we are in my house.” She winks. “We should let you rest now, though. And get to our own box before… We should get going.”

We give our good-byes, and they go off, leaving me with a lot to think on. Hearing everyone chant my name was invigorating, having a specific person talk to me like that makes me want to get back out on the field right now and continue showing them what they can all do. Only it’s also paired with worry over failing. Silly thought since I’ve already proven I can do it. Except, what if I do let them all down tomorrow?

I close my eyes and doze while the thoughts continue pulsing through me, Nelly’s sweet face behind them. Sometime later, when I’m not feeling myself, but much more rested, Xyer leans forward from behind Serena and me and says, “There’s someone here that says they know you, a tarnished who’s quite insistent.”

Serena jolts toward the steps before stopping herself and strolls toward the edge of the box. Is it Katherine? I hurry toward the stairs, weaving my way through the guards until I can see a familiar bald head trying to peek over the shoulder of a guard I don’t recognize.

“Let her up,” I call down to him, yawning.

He moves to the side, and Katherine bounces up the stairs, her tattoos glowing a muted orange today. Against the darkening night, the glow is almost eerie.

“A friend came with me. Can he come up?” she says.

“
He?” I give her the most playful smile that can curl my lips. “Of course he’s welcome.” I motion the guards to let him through. A male tarnished comes up the stairs behind her, with his ink glowing orange as well, but a strength about him that makes me wonder if the guards would be any good around him if he were an enemy. Luckily, he seems to be a friend.

I wave Lukas over, introducing him, a grin involuntarily escaping me just at the sight of him.

“Lukas, huh?” She gives me a knowing smile. “It is very, very good to meet you. This is Charles.”

She motions to the tarnished with her, though from the adoring way he watches her, and the protective stance at her side, he seems more than just a friend.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful because I’m thrilled to see you,” I tell her, “but it’s just before the feast when the Grand Chancellor makes his sacrifice.”

“
We know.” Her voice is heavy.

“
They shouldn’t be able to do this.”

Serena nudges me, glancing at the box all too close to our own. The Grand Chancellor and Chancellor Ryan are talking about something, both pairs of eyes flitting to our box.