Trial of Magic

by K. M. Shea

  Neither she nor Tristisim bothered to look at Evariste—the supposedly nefarious black mage. They were both watching her.

  Angelique stared at them for a long moment. Just how long have they been this stupid? This is how the Chosen got their claws in our lands—because the people who are supposed to lead us are so blind, they can’t even tell friend from foe!

  “Black mages have used Evariste’s magic for the past six years because they harvested it from him while he was their captive.” Tendrils of her magic wrapped around her fingers and skated down her arms, giving her voice an extra edge to it.

  Enchantress Galendra shook her head. “If only that were so,” she meekly said.

  “We have long suspected there was a spy in our top ranks—an enchanter or enchantress who worked with the black mages. We’d been keeping an eye on Evariste for that reason,” Enchanter Crest added.

  Considering they were accusing Evariste, the prodigy of Enchanters and beloved goldenboy, they seemed remarkably unconcerned. Instead, they were sifting through papers, of all things!

  “Are you mad?” Angelique slammed her fists on top of the railing, impatiently waving off her magic when it twined around her. “Because this cannot be a serious charge.”

  “We have been very careful in watching Lord Enchanter Evariste—” Enchantress Felicienne began.

  “Careful? You gave me to him—a war mage with the power of an enchantress! If you suspected him, that was the most foolish thing you could have done!” Angelique shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. Had the Chosen gotten to the Council and brainwashed all of them with some variation of black magic? Because that was the only explanation for this astounding stupidity, unless…

  “We know this must be very hard for you to hear, Apprentice Angelique,” Enchanter Crest said in a soothing voice. He didn’t even have the decency to look at Evariste.

  “You’ve been the most loyal of pupils,” Enchantress Primrose added, shooting Enchanter Tristisim a glare when he snorted.

  Angelique ignored the Council and turned to Evariste, studying him.

  The shadows were back around his eyes, and he stared at the Council without any expression.

  Angelique narrowed her eyes.

  “We can show you all our records once Lord Enchanter Evariste has been processed,” Enchanter Tristisim said. He jostled his elbow into Lazare’s side, waking the ancient enchanter up.

  “What? Who?” The enchanter squinted in the bright light. “Oh, Evariste’s here, is he?”

  There are so many things that feel wrong right now.

  Angelique ignored the Council and kept her gaze on Evariste. “You may recall I told you Lady Enchantress Lovelana thinks there’s a mole in the Veneno Conclave,” she said to her teacher in a lowered tone.

  Evariste turned to face her, a sort of jaded smile crossing his lips. “Oh?”

  “Yes,” Angelique said. “I think I know who it is.”

  Evariste shut his eyes and tucked his chin.

  “Apprentice Angelique,” Enchantress Felicienne started. “We authorize you to take Lord Enchanter Evariste into custody.”

  “He’ll need to be taken into the secured rooms, lest anyone be tempted to break him out,” Enchanter Crest added.

  “Oh—we’re on to that, are we?” Enchanter Lazare stretched his arms out in front of him and groaned. “Make a move, girl.”

  Angelique smiled. “I am.”

  Chapter 34

  Angelique let her war magic flood her. She felt it pool behind her eyeballs and tumble around her like the froth of a waterfall, lighting the area up in silver.

  Enchantress Primrose sighed. “I wish it hadn’t come to this, Lord Enchanter Evariste.”

  Angelique nudged her magic, which slithered from her. “Me, too.”

  Enchanter Lazare squinted at her. “Eh?”

  Angelique extended her hand, and six swords—yanked from the war mages posted outside Hallowed Hall by her bottomless magic—drilled through the wooden door, blowing it to smithereens.

  A snap of her magic, and she flung the blades at the Council.

  One of the Lady Enchantresses screamed, and Lord Enchanter Crest yelled as the weapons found their mark.

  Enchanter Tristisim and Enchantress Felicienne trembled with fear. Their faces were white, and they shook as they stared at the two swords that had impaled themselves hilt-deep through their chairs, about one finger’s thickness away from their necks.

  Enchanter Crest, Enchanter Lazare, Enchantress Primrose, and Enchantress Galendra stared at Angelique from behind the safety of iridescent green shields—a shield that Angelique was greatly familiar with, given her fight with Acri and her lengthy meetings with their creator, the Chosen mage Nefari.

  The light of the shield cast a sicky green hue over Crest, Lazare, Primrose, and Galendra, and their faces conveyed varying levels of horror as the swords—still coated in Angelique’s magic, pressed so sharply against the shields, they dimpled the shields’ surfaces.

  It’s them. They’re part of the Chosen.

  Angelique opened herself to her magic, blinking when her senses expanded as her magic scrabbled to ensnare everything from a sharp rock fragment dropped in a darkened corner to the spoke of her own belt buckle.

  Two of the war mages poked their heads through the dilapidated doors, which hung by one hinge each.

  “Don’t just stand there!” Primrose pointed at Angelique with a shaking finger. “She’s gone mad! Subdue her! She—” She broke off in a high-pitched scream when Angelique reached out with her magic.

  She combined the sharpened edge of her magic with a spell, and cut clean through the massive wooden table that the Council Members shared. A twist of her magic, and she yanked Enchanter Tristisim and Enchantress Felicienne through the openings in the table, dragging their chairs across Hallow Hall so they skidded to a stop by the doors.

  The pair shouted and held on to their chairs with grips so tight, their knuckles were white.

  “Protect Tristisim and Felicienne—and Evariste,” Angelique shouted to the war mages.

  The silver-haired war mage darted in front of the two Council Members, his own magic—amber in color—covering his hands as he loaded a bolt into his crossbow.

  Angelique held her breath. This was the moment she found out just how much the war mages trusted her and believed in her.

  The war mage lifted his crossbow, pointing it at Enchanter Crest. “The others?”

  Relief briefly caressed Angelique in the middle of the sizzle of magic—they believed her. They’d help her. “They’re with the Chosen. The black mages.”

  “Right. Mages—you heard her!” The silver-haired war mage shouted.

  The rest of the war mages moved into a protective formation behind him, standing around Felicienne and Tristisim with steely expressions and glittering magic.

  Angelique flexed her fingers as she let more of her magic flood her, and her skin started to tingle as it slid up and down her body, alluring in its potency. “Evariste, the war mages will protect you!”

  “How’d you know?”

  Angelique peeled her eyes from the traitorous Council Members long enough to gawk at Evariste. “What?”

  “How did you know they were lying, and that I wasn’t colluding?” Evariste—the stubborn idiot—had his legs planted as he stared her down.

  Angelique ripped her satchel off and tossed it at Evariste. “I spent fourteen years with you, and it took me six years to find you. Do you really think I’d be so stupid—and disloyal—to just believe them?”

  Evariste caught her satchel and smiled fully and brightly at her. For a moment, it felt like he brimmed with magic like he usually did.

  But while the feeling made her eyes ache, she knew it was only temporary. And she wasn’t going to let the Chosen get away this time. “Stop smiling and go!” Angelique pointed to the war mages, then vaulted over the wooden railing, landing in a crouch.

  Her magic swept around her
like a wave, buzzing against her skin as her senses spread through the room, compliments of all the edged objects under her control.

  “How dare you raise your magic against us,” Enchanter Crest shouted. “You’ll be stripped of your title—”

  Angelique prowled across the room and poured more of her magic into the swords that were increasingly digging into the shields, creating tiny cracks and chips. “Your green shields reveal where your allegiance stands as I met the Chosen mage who made them. Unfortunately for you, I won’t let another member of the Chosen escape me.”

  Angelique’s smile was sharp, and with a snap of her fingers, splinters, sharpened rocks, even a few quills pummeled the iridescent green shields.

  Galendra squealed. “We have to run! She’s going to kill us!”

  “She hasn’t the control for it,” Lazare snarled.

  “Who needs control when you have power?” Angelique stopped just short of their battered and broken desk.

  Crest, Primrose, and Lazare seemed to relax, but Galendra—sharper, apparently, than the other three—screamed. Wordlessly, she pointed to the fragmented middle pieces of the table—where Angelique had smashed through to clear paths for dragging Tristisim and Felicienne to safety, creating jagged and splintered breaks in the wood—which glowed silver.

  Angelique laughed mirthlessly as she unleashed her magic. It engulfed the remaining chunks of the table and flung them against their magic shields, the force shattering the remnant pieces. The attack made cracks spread across the shields like spiderwebs. Angelique couldn’t help but smirk.

  To think the shields had given me such trouble when fighting Acri. Puss was right—a little bit of practice can go a far way.

  “How did you know?” Primrose howled.

  Happy to further distract them, Angelique answered as she reclaimed the splintered bits of table, readying for another assault. “Did you really think just a few lines from you—who’ve been nothing but judgmental and annoying—were going to make me betray him? Oh, and there was one major mistake you made.” She made a show of tapping her cheek.

  “Impossible—we never accounted for your foolish trust,” Crest snarled.

  “Yes.” Angelique leaned forward, grinning when she felt her magic swirl around her eyes, casting everything in a silvery light. “That, and the little fact that since the moment we stepped inside Hallowed Hall, you’ve been ignoring Evariste. You never acted as if you feared he would run or react. Almost…as if you knew his magic was sealed.”

  Angelique barraged them with her arsenal again, smirking when she felt the shields weaken further.

  Galendra shrieked and covered her head with her arms. “Run—we have to run!” she sobbed.

  “Quiet!” Primrose snarled. “We’re full-powered enchanters and enchantresses! She couldn’t possibly—”

  There was a clang as a halberd fell into Hallowed Hall, skidding past the war mages guarding Evariste, Felicienne, and Tristisim. It was followed by a short sword, a scimitar, and then a wave of glittering weapons that poured in from the hallways, answering the call of Angelique’s magic from the various guards and armories located around the fortress.

  Crest swore; Galendra whimpered; and Primrose bolted, running for the back of the room.

  “Don’t, you nitwit!” Lazare shouted a moment too late.

  The shattering of glass revealed the far back of Hallowed Hall was actually a massive glass mosaic window, which was blackened on the inside to block out light.

  The window crumbled, letting the dusty light of twilight pierce the darkened hall and revealing the snaking maze of various, interconnected rooftops of the fortress.

  Primrose picked her way through the shattered window and stepped onto the slanted roof. “Come!”

  Galendra and Crest ran after her, but surprisingly, it was Lazare who zipped his way outside and across the rooftop with a shocking amount of spryness Angelique had never before witnessed in him.

  Angelique ran after them, crushing glass under the heels of her boots as she jumped and nimbly cleared the jagged edges of the broken window.

  A yank of her magic added the broken pieces of the stained glass window to her arsenal and brought the weapons zipping after her.

  It only took a few daggers to make Crest’s shield crumble.

  He grabbed at a necklace that dangled from his throat and tried to restart the spell.

  Angelique launched a dozen arrows at them, but Galendra blew them off course with a gust of wind.

  Primrose tapped her magic, and ivy that grew up the sides of the buildings snaked its way toward Angelique, growing thorns the size of Angelique’s thumb as it slithered closer.

  Angelique effortlessly sliced through the tendrils with shards of glass from the broken window. Looking ahead, she saw the rooftop curved around in an s-shape.

  She jumped over the side of the building, dropping down one floor onto the roof of an interconnecting walkway. She rolled when she landed, taking off some of the strain of the fall, then sprinted across her shortcut, slicing off the long loop the traitorous Council Members had to run.

  Her stride was long and sure as she ran across the roof, her senses stretching farther and farther as she ran. When she glanced back, she could see her silvery magic coating the walls of the fortress, sliding up and down the buildings as it invaded, looking for more weapons, more blades, just more.

  It only took a nudge from her magic to smash several dozen daggers into the wall looming above her, creating convenient hand and footholds to scale the wall.

  Angelique scrambled up the wall and pulled herself onto the roof.

  Primrose careened to a stop, and Lazare almost ran her over, bringing them a step closer to Angelique.

  They turned around to look back at the way they’d come and were greeted with a glittering cloud of bladed weapons.

  Primrose swung back around to sneer at Angelique as Crest and Galendra caught up. “You can’t think—”

  Angelique reached for her magic, and the weapons barraged the four Council Members, battering their renewed shields with such strength, they fractured the magic within moments.

  “Why are you attacking?” Crest made a wide gesture and pelted Angelique with water droplets that stung even through her clothes.

  “You’re with the Chosen.” Angelique ignored the painful rain and instead picked out several polearms that were shorter and sturdier than a regular spear and perfect for impaling. “I’m not going to try to chat with you!”

  Galendra’s face was pale, and her lips seemed slack with fear. “You’re trying to kill us!”

  “Obviously. That’s the whole point!” Angelique put an extra burst of power on the polearms. She smiled in satisfaction when they punched through the cracked shields, making them disintegrate.

  Actually, I’m trying to capture them for Severin to question. But I like them scared and sloppy.

  “This is impossible!” Galendra hiccupped in her fear, and her voice was taut like a harp string.

  Angelique released a round of arrows, but Lazare yanked the enchantress out of the way so the arrows uselessly pelted the roof.

  Galendra didn’t seem to notice the narrowly-missed danger. Her eyes were hazed with fear as she gaped at Angelique. “You were raised so you wouldn’t do this! You were taught and punished so you’d never fight back!”

  In years prior, that statement might have been enough to make Angelique’s heart sputter.

  But she had lost countless fights to the Chosen and the black mages. Experience told her the only shot she had was to keep fighting.

  She could evaluate her life later. Now, all that mattered was capturing them. So Angelique didn’t even blink, didn’t falter a step. Rather, she gritted her teeth and pulled all her weapons in, aiming them at the Council Members.

  “We have to jump! Primrose!” Crest leaped off the side of the building, his fellow Chosen members jumping after him.

  Angelique wasn’t able to change the direction of her weapon
s quite fast enough, so they pounded into the roof, punching through the ceiling with the potency of her magic.

  She growled in frustration as Primrose caught Crest, Lazare, Galendra—who had to be yanked over the side by Lazare—and herself with strengthened ivy vines.

  Lazare cast a large shield, which bubbled around them as Angelique threw more of her magic after them.

  Angelique jumped over the side, falling so fast, her eyes teared up. At the last second, she threw a gust of wind below her, slowing her progress so she didn’t splat on the ground when she landed.

  Once her eyes cleared, Angelique took a quick inventory of her surroundings.

  They’d landed in an empty courtyard, which opened up into one of the main streets in the fortress—one that led towards Luxi-Domus, the Veneno Conclave’s academy of magic.

  “Help!” Primrose shouted, her mask of motherly-worry sliding over her face. “Apprentice Angelique has given into the darkness of her magic—she’s attacking us!” She ran out of the courtyard, her cohorts on her heels.

  Angelique cursed under her breath as she chased after them. She shouted in the language of magic, and giant spikes of earth ripped from the ground, blocking the pathway out of the courtyard.

  Crest shouted. His watery-blue magic rippled at his fingers as he twisted it and re-flattened the ground so they could run through.

  Angelique threw weapons at them again, but they’d reloaded their green shields, so the thrown daggers, swords, and arrows only cracked their shields’ surfaces.

  Primrose made it to the street. “Help—she’s given herself to the darkness!”

  “Help!” Galendra screamed, her voice ripe with panic as she twisted around to gape at Angelique with true horror.

  Lazare slowed to a trot. He seemed surprisingly tall now that he wasn’t bent over or slumped in a chair, as Angelique had always seen him previously. “Mark our words, she’s as mad as a dog!”