It was the tallest Rise of them all, nearly as high as Wayfair Castle. Hundreds of torches lined the land just beyond the Rise, their flames vibrant and steady, serving as a beacon of safety and a promise of protection. They were all aflame.
A distraction.
A big one.
I thought of the mist—how it swirled around the Craven and blanketed the Skotos Mountains. It was Primal magic. An extension of their being and will. Which, I figured, meant it could be summoned.
I didn’t know if this would work. I wasn’t a Primal, but I was the Primal’s descendant. His essence coursed through my veins. The draken answered my will. The Primal notam connected me to the wolven.
Placing my hands on the stone window’s ledge, I closed my eyes and called the eather to the surface. The essence answered in an exhilarating rush as I pictured the mist in my mind, thick and cloud-like as it was in the Skotos. I saw it seeping out from the ground, growing and expanding. My skin warmed as I imagined it rolling across the hills and meadows outside the capital, thickening until it obscured everything in its path. I didn’t stop there as I opened my eyes.
Silvery sparks crackled across my skin as I stared at the Rise and waited, reminded of a different night and city, a different me who believed in the protection of the Rise. That safety.
A flame beyond the Rise began to ripple wildly. The eather swirled through me, over me as I continued calling the mist forth. Summoning it. Creating it.
The flame beside the first began to dance, and then another and another until the whole mass rippled in a frenzy, spitting embers dozens of feet in every direction. The two torches at the end of the line were the first to go out, and then they all went out in quick succession, plunging the land beyond the Rise into utter darkness.
Flames sparked all along the wall. Burning arrows were lifted and fired. They arced through the night and then plummeted down, slamming into the trenches of tinder that traveled the entire length of the eastern wall. Fire erupted, casting an orange glow over the land…
And over the thick, swirling mist seeping toward the trenches. Mist that slipped under the tinder and over the flames, blanketing it until its thick weight choked the light from the fire.
Mist that any on the Rise or in the city would believe to be full of the twisted forms of the Craven.
Horns blew from the Rise, shattering the night, but I didn’t stop there.
I continued calling the mist forward and I…I felt it answer, rushing to the foot of the Rise. It spread out along the massive structure. I heard shouts as I saw the mist climbing in my mind, billowing until it reached the battlements and towers along the Rise.
And then I saw it before me, becoming a cloudy, milky-white curtain against the night sky.
My breath caught at the sight of it. There would be no Craven in that mist. It wouldn’t cause harm. That wasn’t my will. It would only incite chaos and confusion.
It had already started as another horn blew.
The Primal mist crested the Rise in a great wave, spilling over and streaming down the sides. Distant, panicked screams rent the air as the fog poured into Carsodonia and filled the streets. The shouts of fear sounded closer and louder as the mist flooded the districts and bridges, swamping the hills and valleys until it swallowed the inner walls of Wayfair.
I stepped back from the window, lifting the hood as I turned. Sliding the strap of the satchel under my cloak and across my body, I unsheathed the wolven dagger.
It was time to fight our way out.
Chapter 29
Stalking toward the door, I shut down my emotions—that sense of right and wrong. I had to do it if I had any hope of finding Casteel and escaping.
I curled my fingers around the gold handle. Eather flooded my veins and sparked from my fingers. Thin wisps of shadows streaked the silvery aura. It was slightly unnerving to see. The energy washed over the metal, melting the lock. Opening the door, I stepped out into the hall.
A Royal Knight turned, eyes widening in surprise above the black gaiter covering the lower half of his face. I snapped forward, thrusting the dagger above the plates of armor and through the vulnerable base of his throat. I wrenched my arm, severing the vampry’s spinal column. The knight dropped as another reached for his sword.
My will formed in my mind and became reality. The black mantle draped over the knight’s shoulders whipped forward and lifted, wrapping itself around his face. I dipped under his outstretched sword as he staggered back. His muffled shout ended abruptly as I shoved the dagger into his side, between the armored plates. The bloodstone chiseled through cartilage and sank deep into the vampry’s heart.