Zalor’s supremely unbothered by the violence; his eyes are fixed on me. He lifts a clawed hand, and a deluge of shadow pours forth.
Cendrion dodges, but the phoenixes behind us aren’t so lucky. As the dragon banks, I glimpse darkmagic soaking into the firebirds. It dulls their blazing plumage, enervates them, blunts their senses. One by one, they fall from the sky.
“He’s enjoying this,” I whisper, glaring at Zalor. His pleasure is evident in the cruel set of his mouth. He might not be a mindless killer, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a sadist. He revels in his supremacy.
Cendrion’s muscles bunch as he gathers himself for a head-on assault. Breath rattles in his long throat. I can almost feel the bloodlust thrumming in his nerves.
“Wait,” I tell him.
I know Zalor. Neither Cendrion nor
