Chapter 20
I barely finish a basic protective spell before the first salvo hits like drizzle, spears clattering harmlessly around us. “It’s the Apostate!” someone yells, not Bates. Then my vision blurs and swims as magic swirls and curves around me. If my shields fall, all that force will be channeled right into my psyche, hammering it flat like foil.
Too nauseous to stand, I roll away. Still no cover. Don’t see Kerrin. Don’t see Irian. They’re on their own. Damn hard to concentrate, cast through the clusterfuck. Pick one spell, one spell. Kaleidoscope explosions, chewing on metal, cotton candy pulled through the brain out the ears, pick one spell.
Magic drain.
For a moment I’m surprised it works—maybe stepping into the bloodstar marked me as one of them—and the air calms from a boil t
