Twenty-Eight
Hundreds of glittering guardian weapons point toward the man who was once Lord Draven—and at least half of them flash through the air a second later. Chase clenches one raised hand into a fist, and every weapon slams up against an invisible barrier before vanishing. The air ripples as Chase lets go of his shield magic, clearly unconcerned by the possibility of another attack coming his way. I remain hidden behind the throne, my hands clasped over my mouth and my heart pounding as I watch through the latticework of the throne’s base.
“We have a problem,” Chase says to everyone. “A new threat. And we’re only likely to stop it if we work together.”
“Oh, we have a problem, all right,” Head Councilor Bouchard growls. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Yes. I’m aware of that. As you
