“Laurel, use plants to slice your wrists,” he commands, and my magic rises to follow his command, even as my mind pushes against the order. If I don’t get out of here, I won’t survive what he plans to do with me. Of that I’m sure. I grunt, and with every ounce of magical prowess I possess, I ignore the compulsion. His eyes widen in a lethal fury as his hand wraps around my throat, squeezing tightly. I try to bring my hands up to pry him off me, but they remain shackled at my sides. My eyes water, and my nose runs. He issues the command again, and I manage to fight it off, but just barely. The iron is quickly draining me of my power. I have to get out of here.

I can’t move my hands, can’t breathe, can’t even thrash my body, so I close my eyes and focus on the only thing that might save me—magic. My skin buzzes with more intensity than I’ve ever felt. With barely the whisper of a thought, I stop the aether from flowing through Mazus’s veins again, an awareness of how to use the magic washing over me. Before the guards can react, I’ve halted them as well, and I easily duck out of their grasp. The iron on my wrists melts away. With an explosion of light, I take one step forward in the tent and the next is on the grass of my war camp. My arm still drips with blood from Mazus’s cut.

The bodies of my slaughtered soldiers are everywhere. Only a few remain, desperately trying to fight off the Velmaran soldiers sent to decimate my forces. I want to help them, but my thoughts are on the war tent and Nemesia. Without thinking, I’m aerstepping again through a pocket of magical current and then I’m in the tent. A soldier has Nemesia pulled tight against his chest, dagger poised at her throat and ready to slice.

The buzzing inside of me builds to an unbearable level. I can’t breathe, and the world around me becomes fuzzy as my sight diminishes. All I feel is the jostling of the magical current as it rises, unchecked, within me. The tent shakes, steel poles bending towards my orbit. The soldier holding Nemesia looks up for a brief second, hostility flickering across his expression. With barely another thought, I find the magical current flowing around the soldier, then focus in on where it collects around his heart. I wrap my power around his magical source and squeeze, willing the aether to stop flowing through him. He drops.

Relief fills my lungs as Nemesia gasps for breath. Before I can reach her, another dagger whips through the air. I turn, realizing too late that the King said he sent his best assassin for Nemesia, not a soldier.