can’t work magic past myself.”
Fyrsil’s smirk widened. “Perhaps not. But I can.” He glanced at the gates looming before them. Twyli were beginning to gather on the city walls. “We’d better retreat for a while and come up with a plan.”
Adaryn reached for Aaric’s hand. He grasped it and helped her stand, smiling at her. “Fyrsil’s right,” he said. “We need to find a way to get into the city without all these eyes on us.”
Adaryn cast one last, agonized look back at the gates before following them. Aaric thought he knew how she felt. The thought of the silent, wide-eyed child being killed made him sick to his stomach. He glanced over his shoulders at the city wall, wishing the magic gave Adaryn the ability to fly. A sudden thought struck him, and he smiled. He couldn’t make her fly, but almost.
17
Adaryn
“ S o, who’s going to go in?” Fyrsil asked. The four of us huddled around a small fire behind a particularly large boulder about a quarter mile away from the depression where the city nestled.
“I am,” Aaric and I spoke at the same time. We smiled, but then eyed each other dubiously.
“Think of the baby, Adaryn,” Aaric said gently. “You can’t overtax yourself.”
“You’re not a magic user,” I countered. “If you’re captured, they’ll kill you.”
“They could do the same to you,” he argued. “It’s not safe.”
“It’s not going to be safe for anyone,” Fyrsil interrupted. “We need to decide who’s more likely to come out alive.”
He stared in the direction of the city, his face twisted in distaste. “I will go. I’ve been curious about this city ever since arriving.” He looked at me, his dark blue eyes compelling. “You will come, too.”
“No.” Aaric folded his arms, raising his chin as he glared at the brigand. “Adaryn is pregnant, and I don’t trust the likes of you. You tried to kill her once, remember? In Sen Altare.”
“Did I?” Fyrsil’s voice was mild. “I do remember scaring her half out of her mind, making her think I was going to kill her. But think about it. It makes sense for her to go. She has a much higher chance of survival than you do. She can always pretend she’s a Twyli if she’s caught, or pretend she wants to adopt the culture. If you’re captured, you’ll be strung up like a pig for the slaughter.”
Aaric’s mouth was a firm line, but from his expression, he saw the sense in Fyrsil’s words. “So what would I do in the meantime?” he asked. “Sit here in deep conversation with chatterbox Zero?”
Zero cast a startled look in his direction, clearly not getting the joke. A laugh escaped me, and Fyrsil smiled. “I suppose so, yes,” he admitted. “I heard you’re an inventor. Don’t you have some kind of project you can work on in the meantime?”
Aaric nodded. “Yes, I have a few.” His eyes took on a faraway look and I stifled a smile. He was already working on one of them, mentally.
Fyrsil glanced at Zero. “Keep the inventor safe.” The pale-eyed man gave a single nod.
We discussed the details of the plan. Our cover story was that Fyrsil and I were a couple of traveling nomads, husband and wife—Aaric had balked at that, but had agreed when I reminded him it was just to get Dahlia out—come to visit the city. We’d find the palace and hunt down Dahlia there, as it was likely she’d be taken there for the extraction. It was maddening to have a plan so vague, but without having been there, we couldn’t do any better.
“So how do we get into the city?” I asked. “Short of tearing the wall down or strolling through the gates, I’m not seeing a way.”
“That’s simple,” Aaric said. “You take the gliders. Fyrsil here, if he can control the elements like he says, can summon a draft of wind that will take you both up.”
Fyrsil grimaced. “I won’t be able to summon a very strong gust of wind.” He shot an irritated glare at me. “If I still had the sky jewel, I
Fyrsil’s smirk widened. “Perhaps not. But I can.” He glanced at the gates looming before them. Twyli were beginning to gather on the city walls. “We’d better retreat for a while and come up with a plan.”
Adaryn reached for Aaric’s hand. He grasped it and helped her stand, smiling at her. “Fyrsil’s right,” he said. “We need to find a way to get into the city without all these eyes on us.”
Adaryn cast one last, agonized look back at the gates before following them. Aaric thought he knew how she felt. The thought of the silent, wide-eyed child being killed made him sick to his stomach. He glanced over his shoulders at the city wall, wishing the magic gave Adaryn the ability to fly. A sudden thought struck him, and he smiled. He couldn’t make her fly, but almost.
17
Adaryn
“ S o, who’s going to go in?” Fyrsil asked. The four of us huddled around a small fire behind a particularly large boulder about a quarter mile away from the depression where the city nestled.
“I am,” Aaric and I spoke at the same time. We smiled, but then eyed each other dubiously.
“Think of the baby, Adaryn,” Aaric said gently. “You can’t overtax yourself.”
“You’re not a magic user,” I countered. “If you’re captured, they’ll kill you.”
“They could do the same to you,” he argued. “It’s not safe.”
“It’s not going to be safe for anyone,” Fyrsil interrupted. “We need to decide who’s more likely to come out alive.”
He stared in the direction of the city, his face twisted in distaste. “I will go. I’ve been curious about this city ever since arriving.” He looked at me, his dark blue eyes compelling. “You will come, too.”
“No.” Aaric folded his arms, raising his chin as he glared at the brigand. “Adaryn is pregnant, and I don’t trust the likes of you. You tried to kill her once, remember? In Sen Altare.”
“Did I?” Fyrsil’s voice was mild. “I do remember scaring her half out of her mind, making her think I was going to kill her. But think about it. It makes sense for her to go. She has a much higher chance of survival than you do. She can always pretend she’s a Twyli if she’s caught, or pretend she wants to adopt the culture. If you’re captured, you’ll be strung up like a pig for the slaughter.”
Aaric’s mouth was a firm line, but from his expression, he saw the sense in Fyrsil’s words. “So what would I do in the meantime?” he asked. “Sit here in deep conversation with chatterbox Zero?”
Zero cast a startled look in his direction, clearly not getting the joke. A laugh escaped me, and Fyrsil smiled. “I suppose so, yes,” he admitted. “I heard you’re an inventor. Don’t you have some kind of project you can work on in the meantime?”
Aaric nodded. “Yes, I have a few.” His eyes took on a faraway look and I stifled a smile. He was already working on one of them, mentally.
Fyrsil glanced at Zero. “Keep the inventor safe.” The pale-eyed man gave a single nod.
We discussed the details of the plan. Our cover story was that Fyrsil and I were a couple of traveling nomads, husband and wife—Aaric had balked at that, but had agreed when I reminded him it was just to get Dahlia out—come to visit the city. We’d find the palace and hunt down Dahlia there, as it was likely she’d be taken there for the extraction. It was maddening to have a plan so vague, but without having been there, we couldn’t do any better.
“So how do we get into the city?” I asked. “Short of tearing the wall down or strolling through the gates, I’m not seeing a way.”
“That’s simple,” Aaric said. “You take the gliders. Fyrsil here, if he can control the elements like he says, can summon a draft of wind that will take you both up.”
Fyrsil grimaced. “I won’t be able to summon a very strong gust of wind.” He shot an irritated glare at me. “If I still had the sky jewel, I
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