Still confused, Aurora leaned over the edge of the balcony and she found her mother, safe in the arms of the man she had loved and lost. Kiran was covered in soot, and a bright red burn streaked from cheek to chin, but he cradled her mother effortlessly and with great care. Ransom and Bait were huddled close, keeping watch for soldiers no doubt. Tears began gathering in her eyes as she and Kiran looked at each other, but she knew there would be time for her gratitude later.

So Aurora crawled over the ledge of the balcony, her feet dangling, and she let go.

And so the first magic users turned themselves over to destruction. They took from the land more than they gave. They ransacked that which was plentiful and violated what should have been sacred. And the goddess repays their sins a thousandfold with each new dawning of the Rage season.

—An Examination of the Original Magics

11

Terror was a strange thing—it at once brought her every fear and worry to the surface, bubbling like hot oil, yet it was so consuming, so immense that it eclipsed them all. Novaya could not get sucked down the well of thoughts about the future or tangled up in the past, for this moment, this horrifying moment loomed so large that there was nothing but this, nothing but her and another witch, whose name she still did not know, back-to-back against more soldiers than she could count.

The other witch had given her a short dagger, but Nova did not have the first clue what to do with it, other than to hold it out as a warning.

“Come now, pretties,” she heard a man say. “You are outnumbered. Don’t make us hurt you. Some here enjoy that kind of sport, and I can’t promise they will stop when you’re subdued.”

“Ah, yes,” the other witch replied. “I have met some Locke soldiers like that before. In the wildlands. I regret to inform you, they met a grisly end against a twister in the Sangsorra desert. Though I rather thought they deserved it. Have you been to the Sangsorra desert? It’s named for the red sands, supposedly the blood of the first tribes or some such nonsense. But it was very clear that day that the red sand was much lighter than actual blood.”

Someone lunged, and the next moments happened as fast as a skyfire strike. Nova heard the clash of swords, saw a menacing male face come toward her, then felt herself swung around by her elbow just in time for the other witch to stop the sword that had been arcing toward her. Without thinking, Nova jabbed her dagger forward, slicing through the raised arm of the bicep that her partner held off. The man’s sword clattered the floor, and she quickly picked it up, even more at a loss with the larger weapon than she was with the smaller blade.