The Wizard's Heir (32 page)

Every piece of furniture was shoved against the wall in the ballroom, and Rowan looked around at the circle of wizards he’d chained to the floor. The stonecutter had done well, encasing them all within the spell that fed their power to Rowan.

Even still, he was acutely aware of the drop in magic since Aja’s power had transferred to Tybolt. His exhaustion stirred anger in his belly. He should’ve done this years ago instead of trying to find Alistair. He’d been selfish, and now he paid the price.

No matter, he told himself. When Tybolt died, and he
would
die, the boy’s magic would transfer back to the keeper of the royal power. Right now that was Aja, but not for long. The solstice was upon them, and he had just enough magic left to perform the ceremony. Then, finally, it would all be his.

If he survived.

The survival risk nagged somewhere near the back of his mind. It was not lost on him that this risk had played a part in his delay, but there was no more time to harbor such feelings. Fear was a traitor, and it had nearly cost him everything.

This was now all or nothing. He would take the power and the throne of both Eriroc and Deasroc, or he would die. He set his jaw.

The transferring spell had been hard to decipher. It was woven through several pages and many different spells to prevent wizards from taking magic that wasn’t rightfully theirs. But who decided what was rightfully his? He had not been born to royalty, but that was not to say he should be denied. A great cosmic mistake could and should be undone. The old leader had been undone by a common wizard—was that not proof of Rowan’s worthiness? Surely the magic could feel that he was a suitable, if not preferable, host.

The spell was more dangerous than he’d anticipated when he’d set down this path, and it would surely put him to the gates of hell and back before gifting him with that which he so desperately desired.

The wizards were slumped across the floor, exhausted as he drained power to fuel the Fracture. Except Aja. As the ground shook beneath them and the winds howled, as branches from the trees outside beat upon the windowpanes, Aja sat up on his knees, back straight, glaring. Aja had never fully submitted. Not even when Rowan cut out his tongue.

But he would submit now.

After Rowan was done with him, he would be nothing but an ordinary man, stripped of title, land, and power. A new thought passed through Rowan’s mind, and he smiled. Maybe he wouldn’t kill Aja after all. Maybe he’d let him live to watch the former king struggle as a powerless peasant.

Maybe.

He pulled the book out from under his arm and flipped to the page he needed. He’d chosen the section with the largest piece of the spell and written the missing words around it. Rowan began to read in the ancient dialect of Deasroc. These words were different than those he’d used to bring on the Fracture. They were more powerful.

Aja arched his back, emitting a guttural cry.

A breeze stirred, not from the Fracture, but from the new spell. It rapidly picked up speed until a whirlwind spun, encasing them all within its eye.

The chairs and tables that had been so haphazardly shoved against the walls scooted across the floor, following the path of the tornado. Even with the roar of the wind and the screech of wooden legs against stone, Rowan’s chanting rose above it all.

He could feel the magic working, and then a sharp pain caused him to flinch. He glanced down to see his skin slowly splitting across his collarbone as if someone sliced a dagger across it. Blood welled up and spilled down, soaking his shirt.

The window to his right shattered, and bits of glass joined the whirlwind, glinting as they spun. A tree limb sailed in, smashing into the ground before it was picked up as well. The faint sounds of screams reached his ears from somewhere in the village.

Let them scream. The more terror they felt, the more loyal they would be when he freed them from the fear.

The wind whistled in and rushed around the room, blowing around the fabric that covered the furniture like billowing ghosts.

His skin split near his sternum. It felt as if someone had shoved a knife into him—he could feel the phantom blade bite into bone. He crumbled, then screamed as a slice as long as his forearm opened from sternum to stomach. The book slid to the floor.

The pain was now equal to the indescribable exhaustion that was so all consuming. Even breathing had become a chore. If he were to continue this spell, he would have to end the Fracture.

With Aja at half capacity, there simply wasn’t enough to power both, and he’d been foolish to hope otherwise. It was a small defeat, but there was satisfaction in knowing that he’d surely killed a majority of the Hunters. But despite everything, Tybolt still lived and that infuriated him.

Rowan struggled back to his feet and released the spell for the Fracture. The draw on his magic diminished, and he found the renewed strength he would need to push through this onslaught. The whirlwind still spun around him, and it darkened as he returned to his spell.

Something unseen slashed across his cheek and forehead. He ignored it. He was nearing the end of the incantation. Something hit his chest, hard. A fist, though he couldn’t see it. Fingers pushed through the gash down his middle and gripped his lungs. He coughed, gagged, and continued with a ferocity, spitting out the last words into the wind.

The fingers released and withdrew. Rowan stood, panting, waiting for the power he’d planned and plotted so patiently for. Blue wisps started to rise from Aja, and the former king groaned. The power in its corporal form twisted up like brilliant serpents, acting separately from the currents of the whirlwind. They turned and started to move across the circle, heading for their new master.

It was so beautiful. A surge of emotion rose up, and his chest heaved with a sob made entirely of dreams realized.

Auriella ran through the village. She didn’t know where Tybolt was, which unnerved her. She blocked blow after blow from pathetic half-starved villagers who honestly thought they could stop her. Previously it would’ve made her furious, them going after her like that. But after what Tybolt had shown her, she was struck with compassion—however idiotic their current actions might be. She met each attack with mercy, ensuring her actions eliminated the threat without fatalities.

A house slid off its foundation and careened towards her. She dove to the side—it was all she had time to do. She hit the ground and rolled. When she pulled her head up, she found the peak of the roof inches from her nose.

After everything she’d been through, to almost be killed by a pile of bricks and wood was nearly insulting.

“Auriella!”

The voice was faint over the wind, and she searched for the source.

Asher stood on a rooftop, waving for her to come. His eyes narrowed, and he snatched an arrow, firing in one fluid motion. Auriella followed the shot, and a man dropped who had been sneaking up on her with a dagger glinting in his hand.

“We’re trying to save you, fools!” she shouted to everyone and no one at the same time.

Auriella scrambled to her feet and ran towards Asher, leaping to the first rooftop and then jumping from one to the next. Asher turned before she got there and bolted, leaping several houses over. She followed, watching as he fired at threats she hadn’t even seen yet. He was gifted with the bow, but she’d never realized just how much.

She slid to a stop next to him, and he pointed to the east side of the village.

Fire.

Auriella’s heart stuttered. “Heaven help us.”

Suddenly the Fracture stopped as if it’d never started. The winds dropped to nothing, the rains abated, and the clouds cleared with startling speed to reveal a starry sky.

With the second Fracture seemingly at an end, the unmuted sounds of the village floated up to their rooftop perch. There were wails and screams and the clash of swords. Flames danced across housetops and through windows and doors.

The quakes would’ve caused hearth fires to scatter across the dry and brittle floors, the lack of moisture rendering them incapable of withstanding the embers. The smoke grew thicker, and although the earth had finally stopped its attempt at eradication, the fires threatened to finish the job.

A villager leapt from the alleyway behind Alistair and ran at him with a pitchfork clutched in his bony hands. Asher rose and fired in one fluid motion—the villager collapsed. Alistair whirled in surprise and looked up to Asher, giving him a nod of gratitude. Asher leapt from the roof and landed in a deep crouch. Auriella followed.

“We have to get these fires out!” he shouted to Alistair.

“I know.” The wizard looked around at the lingering storm clouds. “I’d hoped the rains would be enough to stop the spread.”

“It didn’t wet the inside of these houses,” Auriella said. “It’s nothing but tinder. We need more rain.”

Alistair seemed to shrink. “That is beyond my abilities.”

“Beyond your abilities!” Auriella shouted. “That’s not good enough!”

“Tybolt,” Asher said.

“What?”

“Tybolt.” Asher turned and ran for the castle gates without any further explanation.

“Wait!” Alistair shouted.

And then Auriella understood. Tybolt was heir to the throne and therefore heir to the power, the power to bring back the rain. She turned to follow, but Alistair grabbed her arm.

“You have to listen.”

“There’s no time.” She jerked her arm free. “The entire city will be lost if Tybolt can’t generate a miracle.”

“It’s not a miracle, it’s magic,” Alistair shouted after her. “The likes of which he’s never learned how to control before.”

Auriella stopped and turned. “Can you help him?”

He looked immensely uncomfortable. “I think so.”

She sputtered, unable to form words to express her frustration. “You
think
so.”

Griffon ran up, huffing. He leaned over his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Word is spreading amongst the people that you three are here to help. We’re finding more and more loyal to the cause.”

“Good,” Auriella said. “Throw anyone you can’t convince in the Hold.”

“The Hold!”

“You don’t have to gag them!” she snapped. “Just get them safely out of the way until we handle Rowan.”

“You heard her,” Alistair said. “Hurry.”

Griffon bolted down a side street, and Auriella turned her attention back to Alistair. “Thinking isn’t good enough. Can you help him or not?”

“I’ve never called weather—that was Aja’s gift. We spoke about it many times, so I should be able to guide Tybolt but…I’m no expert.”

“You’d better hope you can do something since Aja had his tongue removed. Let’s go.”

Tybolt tried to push open the double doors that led to the ballroom, but they didn’t budge. He threw his shoulder into one and gave it everything he could. The door inched open, releasing a wind that nearly knocked him down. His feet slid and he groaned, pushing harder until there was just enough space for him to dive into the room. The door slammed shut, nipping the tip of his shoes. The scene before him took his breath away.

A whirlwind spun in the center of the room. At its heart, the wizards from the Hold were chained around a stone circle engraved with the markings that allowed Rowan to harness their magic. All were unconscious with the exception of Aja who lay on the ground, fists clenched and every muscle taut in agony.

Rowan looked like a mad man, covered in blood and bathed in a red light that seemed to be coming from the whirlwind itself. The traitor shouted Aja’s name, and blue wisps rose from the old wizard king. They looked like smoke trails, the kind that drifted up after you’d extinguished the campfire, and they seeped from Aja’s skin. The largest wisp rolled and twisted, then paused midair. The top moved this way and that as if it were a head on a neck searching for the right path. It located its new master and headed for him. Rowan reached out with delight. The moment it touched the tip of his finger, he threw his head back and let loose a burst of high-pitched laughter.

A large branch spun past him, encased in the whirlwind. Rowan was completely lost in the moment. Now was Tybolt’s chance. He concentrated and shouted his desire. The log leapt from its prison and flew into the eye of the storm. It struck Rowan hard enough that he flew backwards and landed on one of the chained wizards.