The woman grabbed the prince’s hair and yanked his head back so he looked up at her. “You’re about to witness a historic occasion, whelp,” she said. “When I become both priestess and princess of Zirdai.” Then she turned to Yates, gesturing to Shyla. “Be careful. Don’t damage The Eyes.”

“I won’t, Mother.”

Son of a sand demon! Or, in this case, son of an insane demon. If she wasn’t in massive trouble, Shyla would have laughed. Instead, tiny barbs of fear dug into her skin. Yates took the scalpel from Timin and approached.

If only she could move or break the magical hold or shut the seers out! Then it hit her. Not shut them out, but close them like a druk! When Mojag had gotten upset as she opened his magic, she had started to reverse the process before he stopped her. In theory, she could close them, but she didn’t have any magic to do it.

Yates knelt next to her—an all too familiar and horrific situation. So much for The Eyes being so powerful; the seers just had to trap her in a bubble of magic and—

Seven hells.

There was magic. All. Around. Her.

She glanced at the seer, reached with the man’s magic and closed his power with a mighty slam. The man cried out and crumpled to the ground. Yates paused, glancing about in confusion. Shyla did three more before the rest lost their concentration. She could move!

Knocking the scalpel out of Yates’ hand, she sat up.

Yates grabbed her. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She twisted from his grasp and hopped to her feet. Before he could straighten, she kicked, aiming for the dark bruise on his temple from Rendor’s strike. The heel of her boot connected with his skull. The force sent her back a few steps while he only wobbled. She focused all her magic on him in one powerful blast.

Sleep.

He swayed but fought the command.

Cursing his thick head yet again, she sent another blast.

Sleep!

Finally, he slumped to the ground. Then she turned to the rest of the seers.

They held out their hands. “Don’t, please. We—”

“You had your chance. You didn’t take it. So I will take your magic.” Or rather, close it. However she called it, it was still harder to do without using their power.

Once she finished, she looked around for the priestess, but the woman was gone and the prince lay on the floor in a pool of his blood. The priestess had sliced his throat open. He stared at her with wide-eyed horror, but Shyla remained in place until he died, bearing witness. No grief touched her over the prince’s death. Instead outrage that his demise was too easy gripped her. He should have been stripped naked and hung upside down for a few sun jumps to pay for his crimes.