Master of Magic

by Angela Knight

  Olivia, who’d fought for him, risked herself for him. He wouldn’t do less for her.

  Not. Real. He focused all his strength of will at the illusionary body, pictured it transforming, healing, like the werewolves and Smoke had. Transforming soft human skin into fur and feathers, claws and beak. Into a griffin. Into strength. That’s who I am. Who I’ve always been, whether I knew it or not.

  Magic exploded in the center of his vision, burning blue-white in the darkness like a magnesium flare. When it faded, he wore his griffin shape again.

  And he was whole. The pain was gone. Olivia had been right.

  Just ahead, the elemental winged after her as she spun and darted, avoiding its attacks with that skilled grace she always brought to combat.

  Until she ducked one swiping forepaw only to run right into the other. She screamed as claws clamped around her slender body. Kiate’s head darted down, beak opening.

  It’s going to snap her head right off her shoulders!

  With a shriek of pure animal fury, Rhys threw a wall of will across the illusionary distance, enclosing Olivia in a protective globe of magic. A heartbeat later, he expanded it, breaking the griffin’s grip and forcing its claws away from her body.

  Oh, Goddess, Rhys! Olivia shot free and darted off like a hummingbird. I thought he had me that time.

  Not fucking likely. Rhys slammed into the elemental like a feathered eighteen wheeler, knocking the creature head over tail and raking his claws over Kiate’s chest. The blow that should have torn deep furrows did absolutely nothing.

  The green griffin hissed in contempt. You haven’t got the strength, weakling. You can’t touch me. But I can do as I like to you and that little pet of yours. Green claws flashed.

  Despite Rhys’s determination, pain raked his ribs. Shielding his consciousness against the illusion, he denied it. Suppressed it so hard, it disappeared. I am not a weakling, and this is my head!

  And if it was, he could hurt Kiate just as badly as the elemental had hurt him. The thought sent a bolt of vicious triumph through him.

  Again, he drove at Kiate, ripping at the elemental with all four sets of claws, tearing at head, shoulders, wings, and back. But this time he envisioned great furrows opening, spilling green glowing blood. Believed in those wounds until he could smell and taste and feel the flesh tearing, smell spilling organs and flying gore.

  The elemental shrieked in pain as glowing blood flew in great arcs. It twisted, tried to pull away.

  Yes! Rhys refused to let go, wrapping his forepaws around Kiate, pinning the elemental’s wings, forcing it onto its hind legs so he could rake its belly with his rear claws. They tumbled through the darkness, Kiate screeching, claws ripping at his sides, his belly. Rhys didn’t let himself feel pain or see blood. He didn’t let himself believe he’d been injured.

  His body remained whole because he willed it so.

  Screeching, Kiate breathed a gout of fire into his face. It didn’t burn him, didn’t so much as singe his feathers. The elemental could do nothing to him if he didn’t allow it, so he didn’t allow it.

  Olivia had been right.

  He attacked Kiate without mercy, lost in rage and bloodlust—and betrayal. Nirar had done this to him, delivered him into the claws of this thing. The elemental had gutted and tortured him, had burned him with spells and mocked his agony.

  But worst of all, Kiate had tried to kill Olivia. Rhys would fucking well destroy the elemental for that.

  He battered the griffin with his wings, savaged it with claws, fried it with blasts of electricity and fire, ignoring its screeches of pain and rage, its attempts to rip and batter him in return.

  Rhys! RHYS! Distantly, he became aware of slender arms wrapped around his neck. A voice chanted in his ear—Olivia. Rhys! Rhys, you’ve got to stop!

  He wanted nothing more than to ignore her and go on ripping the bloodied thing that had dared hurt her. Olivia wouldn’t let him. Rhys, you have to stop. You won!

  Her chanting voice dragged him back to himself. Suddenly he could see again— and shock jolted him out of his rage as he saw what he’d done.

  Had the griffin been a living creature, it would’ve been long dead, disemboweled and blind, blood soaking its feathers and fur, intestines spilling from its torn belly. It stank of blood and ozone, spilled shit and bile.

  As he stared down at it in involuntary horror, a feeble voice hissed. It would seem . . . you are not so weak after all.

  Oh, shit, he thought, as the fury drained. Rhys, you dumbass! They needed Kiate’s power to fight Votos, but instead of overcoming the elemental, he’d destroyed it.

  Not . . . Quite. But . . . too close.

  You’ve got to let Kiate recover, Rhys, Olivia told him urgently. It can only heal if you allow it.

  Swallowing, feeling a little sick, Rhys imagined Kiate whole again. Green sparks flared, and the bloody rags of injured flesh knit together, became whole. Slowly, as if struggling against weakness, the griffin rose and shook itself, preening feathered wings with a long curving green beak before turning its attention back to Rhys. He tensed, wondering if it would come after him again.

  I think not. I don’t care to go through that a second time, Kiate told him dryly. It seemed their new magical bond allowed Rhys to understand the elemental without effort now. You proved your worthiness by being willing to die to save your mate. The coward I feared wouldn’t have found the strength.

  What do you care? I thought you said Olivia was nothing because she’s Sidhe.

  So I did. Kiate shook his great head in wonder. And I was wrong. She risked her life to tell you what you needed to know and give you the motivation to find your strength. I thought Nirar had gone mad when she chose the Sidhe as her agent, but she said there must be a bond between you. Thus, I encouraged your mating. And it’s well I did.

  Rhys frowned, confused. Were you trying to kill me or not?

  Oh, I would have killed you, just as I would have killed your mate. I cannot give my power to one too weak to hold it. I made that mistake millennia ago, and the weakling went mad and nearly destroyed our people. But I did not wish to slay you, because I would then have had no choice but to allow Votos to abuse Nirar. Once you were dead, he would have forced her to give him an egg, and then I would have been driven by my vows to serve him.

  And you would’ve allowed that? Rhys demanded in outrage. After the way Kiate had tortured him, it was obvious the elemental could have forced Votos to leave his mother alone.

  Oh, I would have tested him as I did you. He, however, has trained for centuries in techniques you never had the chance to learn. It’s likely he would have mastered me, and used my power to abuse Nirar. But now I can have my revenge and free my people—if you will allow it. Rhys could feel Kiate’s vicious anticipation.

  Rhys’s first impulse was to tell Kiate where to stuff his revenge.

  No, Rhys, Olivia said, reading his mind. You owe it to Nirar to free her. She’s suffered long enough.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to snarl that he didn’t care—Nirar had put Olivia in danger by her actions. And yet, it was also true that the queen had gone above and beyond to protect him, including turning him into a human and hiding him on Mortal Earth. In making that sacrifice, she’d given him June and Tom—and Olivia. It couldn’t have been easy for her, and had she been caught, Votos would have tortured her.

  At last he nodded. Let’s make the bastards pay.

  The elemental couldn’t smile, but there was satisfaction in its resonant psychic voice. Good. Because they’re about to burst in on your mother. We must protect her.

  * * *

  Olivia slid free of Rhys’s consciousness, feeling battered and exhausted. She opened her eyes.

  She still perched on Rhys’s great body, clinging to his neck just as she’d done when she entered his mind. But now he glowed green, and he
was even larger than he’d been before.

  Through the link she’d established with him, she experienced the waterfall of images Nirar sent streaming into his consciousness. Though he’d been unable to understand the griffin queen when they’d first arrived, now that he’d melded with Kiate, he had no trouble translating Nirar’s thoughts. And Olivia, having linked with him, shared his understanding.

  You won! You succeeded after all. Olivia could feel the intensity of Nirar’s relief as if it were her own. I feared you’d died.

  It was close, Rhys admitted. In a heartbeat’s worth of images, he showed the queen how Olivia had bought him time to defend himself against Kiate.

  Yes, Nirar thought in satisfaction. I caught glimpses of that possibility when I searched the future for a way for you to survive. True, she’s not what I would have chosen as a mate for you, but she was the best outcome that could be had.

  Which wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but it did explain a great deal.

  Nirar lifted her great head skyward toward the cave entrance at the top of the cavern. Votos is coming. Ready yourself.

  In an instant, she sent images flashing through their melded consciousness: the three decades Votos spent abusing Nirar. He’d ripped at her with claws and beaten her with his wings, humiliated and demeaned her in countless ways. All to force her to tell him where Rhys was so Votos could kill him. That would allow the usurper to make her bear him the egg he needed to gain control of Kiate.

  Nirar had refused, protecting Rhys despite the price she’d paid.

  And I’ll see you get your revenge, he promised.

  As will I, Olivia said.

  Forget that, Rhys told her. You need to gate back home. This is not your fight.

  Think again, she told him coolly. Kiate’s got a lot of power, but you’re not experienced in its use. Votos has both power to burn and allies. I am not going anywhere.

  He would have argued had it not been for the beat of wings overhead.

  Fifteen stories above, Votos flashed through the cavern entrance, ten other griffins flying in behind him. From Nirar’s memories, Olivia knew they were his courtiers, just as she knew hundreds more griffins waited outside to learn the outcome.

  Votos looked down to see Rhys, huge and glowing green—a mark that he’d passed the test and melded with Kiate. The usurper’s wingbeats stuttered like a man stumbling, and Olivia sensed his dismay.

  Dismay became rage, and Votos screamed in fury. Attack! Kill the undeserving little whelp!

  For a heartbeat, it looked as if his courtiers hesitated, as if reluctant to mix it up with Kiate.

  Forget that. Rhys shot upward, trailed by a comet-tail of emerald sparks designed to intimidate. His rage and desire to kill throbbed in Olivia’s consciousness. Even if the courtiers had backed off, he wouldn’t have spared any of them. They had all been part of this, part of the plot to murder his father and torture Nirar. Kiate would not let any of them live, and neither would Rhys.

  The courtiers followed Votos as he charged.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Olivia clung desperately to Rhys’s neck with both arms, her heels hooked under his wings. It still wasn’t exactly a secure perch for a fight.

  Even as that thought flicked through her mind, he conjured a harness that encircled her thighs and calves, binding her tight to his back.

  She reached for the magic that filled the cavern. The next minute, she wore her armor again. A sword filled her hands. No, wrong weapon. She transformed it into a spear.

  When Olivia had been a little girl, she and her cousins had played at jousting from horseback. She hadn’t forgotten those lessons. Tucking the spear under one arm, Olivia pointed it toward Votos as her heart pounded furiously.

  Bracing, she readied herself for the usurper’s attack as the griffin dove toward them . . .

  Instead the world whirled sickeningly around her. Thank Goddess for the harness, because she suddenly hung upside down as Rhys rolled onto his back in the air, claws raking sparks across Votos’s magical shield.

  Sucking in a desperate gasp, Olivia clung to her spear, barely holding onto it as her lover rolled upright. Her first impulse was to hurl the spear at the usurper, but Kiate’s voice hissed in her mind. Leave him to us. Try to keep the courtiers out of the fight.

  A huge red-winged griffin with a golden body dove toward them, shrieking, claws flashing for her head. Olivia drove the glowing lance at its chest with her magic as much as her muscle. The courtier didn’t bother to shield, apparently assuming she wouldn’t have the strength to hurt it.

  He found out otherwise. In the instant the spear struck, Olivia shot a spell up the length of the shaft. Her magic stopped his heart. The griffin shrieked and fell, his weight jerking the lance out of her grip. As he plummeted, dying, Olivia conjured another weapon and glanced around.

  And almost got a faceful of claws as her next attacker raked the transparent faceplate of her helmet. The visor held—barely.

  Gasping, Olivia swung the spear, which became a battle-axe in mid-arc and chopped into the beast’s shoulder. He howled and darted away, trailing streamers of blood. She conjured a crossbow and took aim, but Rhys shot into a steep climb to avoid Votos’s raking attack, and she missed.

  It was soon obvious the griffins weren’t used to fighting humans. Which should have been an advantage, but Olivia wasn’t used to fighting them either. Still, she conjured spears and crossbows, axes and swords, and used them all as a vehicle for lethal spells.

  But there were so many attackers trying to blast through Rhys’s shields with magic, claws, or sheer brute strength. Minutes went by in a dizzying whirl of deadly attack and defense. Claws and wings battered her shields, and the smell of ozone and the brassy taste of terror choked her. The only thing that kept her on Rhys’s back were the straps that held her there as he maneuvered with savage speed and agility. It was almost impossible to believe he’d struggled so desperately to fight and fly just hours before.

  As much as it galled her to admit it, Kiate was worth the appalling price Rhys had paid for his power.

  Three of the griffins were down, one from her first strike, two others from Rhys’s claws and magic.

  Nirar was in the air now, waging furious war on two more courtiers. Olivia knew through Kiate that they didn’t dare kill her—without her there would be no royal egg, no chance to meld with the elemental. Which their religion told them would doom Griffinkind. So they harried her, trying to keep her engaged and out of the fight.

  But that left Olivia and Rhys against four more—and Votos.

  * * *

  Rhys had never felt such intoxicating power. Feeling the strength of his wings beating the air, the way he could flip and dive with minute shifts of his tail and wings—it was exhilarating.

  A brown-speckled griffin shot toward him, shrieking. Rhys drew on Kiate’s magic to send a torrent of green fire at his foe. A blue hemispherical shield popped into being around the creature, and the magic splashed off it. Rhys concentrated, increasing the power until it began to eat its way through the shield. The griffin veered away, screaming.

  Too late.

  The fire blazed high. When it vanished, the rebel was gone.

  Light blurred at the corner of his vision. He jerked his head around to see claws a foot from his face. No time to shield . . .

  A spear shot past his head and buried itself in attacker’s chest, unshielded the beast tried for a killing blow. With a triumphant scream, Olivia sent a burst of magic up the spear shaft as Rhys twisted away. He feared he’d miscalculated and she’d be jerked out of her harness, but she let go and clung to him as he arced clear.

  The dying griffin sent one last burst of magic toward him as it plummeted downward, but he shielded, repelling it.

  He sensed more than saw Votos whip around a stalagmite to dive for Olivia. Rhys twisted, flinging
his wings wide, rolling in the air. The usurper’s claws raked over his belly instead. Not a deep cut, but the strike would have torn Olivia in half. Rhys angled his tail to catch the air, sending himself shooting into the usurper’s path. Votos back-winged as Rhys breathed a gout of green flame in his face. Rolling clear barely in time to avoid incineration, the usurper darted away.

  Rhys shot after him. Images flashed through his mind, Kiate’s memories of the abuse his mother had suffered. Votos’s claws scoring Nirar’s head as she turned away to save her eyes. Her abuser battering her with his wings as she cried out in pain.

  Why didn’t you protect her? he snapped at the elemental.

  But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. The spells that bound Kiate wouldn’t let him manifest his power through Nirar. Using elemental magic was the war chief’s job, a separation of powers designed to protect their people from the queen’s abuse.

  Which had done nothing whatsoever to protect her from their abuse.

  You’re going to pay for that, you bastard, he snarled at Votos.

  She deserved it! Your father fell to me—Kiate should have been mine. The bastard swerved behind a stalactite, then spiraled up its length with Rhys in hot pursuit. Would have been, if your lying mother had not hidden you away.

  My father trusted you! Rhys launched a fireball at Votos’s feathered tail, but the usurper folded his wings and dropped, avoiding the strike. He thought you were a friend, and you assassinated him with a coward’s strike. You didn’t dare meet him in fair combat because you would have lost. Just as you’ll lose now.

  Someone shrieked—a griffin death cry. One of the courtiers who’d been trying to hold the queen lay at her feet, her claws sunk deep in his skull. She mantled her wings, raising them as she screeched at the remaining courtier, and blasted magic into his face. The fireball burned so hot and furious he didn’t have time to shield. Bursting into flame, he vanished.

  You’re all alone now, Rhys shouted after Votos as the usurper dodged his strike. And you’re done.