“Your arrogance will be what brings you down,” Krantz says with a quiet fury. With those words, the rebels snap into action, despite their fear, and magic of all kinds whips around me. The swords were clearly a distraction, and this is their code phrase, but my surprise only lasts for a beat before I spring into action, blocking their attacks with light shields that Thorne taught me to use.

Water honed into blades whip toward me, guided by currents of air. Daggers pulled from hidden locations spin end over end, guided by magic that ensures they’ll hit their mark—me. I could halt the rebels where they stand, make them unable to move. I could make their hearts stop beating in their chests, but I don’t. Centuries of keeping my magic secret prevents me from taking the easy way out, not to mention my fear that any large expenditures of aether will disrupt the balance of magic in Thayaria.

Instead, I block and dodge, sending elemental, conduit-based magic hurling toward them. Tiny discs of light, water blades, and reclaimed daggers fly from my hands. Thirty plus fae fight me alone, and I hate to admit it, but I might not have been able to keep up had it not been for Thorne’s training. I move easily between shields and weapons of light, adding in other elemental magic as I dance across the throne room. Vines catch five of the attackers unaware, stealthily wrapping up their legs and bringing them down. Their screams fade to muffled cries as the sprigs lock them in place and wrap around their mouths.

When a large, hook-nosed male nearly the size of Fionn gets too close, I’m forced to turn my back on him to get away, and a small female uses the opportunity to trip me. I fall to the ground but jump back up quickly, cursing my long velvet skirt. The hook-nosed fae pulls me into a headlock. I slam my elbow into his groin, then spin when his grip loosens. I kick him in the chest into Lunaria, who pounces on him, gouging his eyes out with a single swipe.

The closeness of the encounter rattles me. I use the brief respite to rip off my skirt at my knees, giving me more freedom of movement. When another fae nearly pulls me into his grip, I unleash the ruthlessness lurking just below my skin. I choke those trapped by plants by sending vines down their throats and up their noses. I rip air from the lungs of the three fae closest to me, but one of them is an air channeler and reverses my magic quickly. In normal circumstances, they wouldn’t be able to overpower me, but between maintaining the shield protecting Thorne, the vines pinning down a dozen rebels, and the magic I’m using for hand-to-hand fighting, my magic is being pulled in too many directions.