Ricki glared at Andras. Her right hand was pressed against her heated cheek. It pulsed from where he had struck her.
“I’m telling you, I can’t do it,” she said, using the door to help pull her to her feet. “I can make a small amount of ice, but nothing like what it would take to move the locks in the door.”
Fear flashed through her when he pointed the weapon in his hand at her head. Ricki stared back at him, waiting. They both turned when they heard Ristéard’s harsh voice call out.
“Andras, don’t,” Ristéard said. “Let her go. She is telling you the truth.”
Ricki tried to jerk away as Andras shifted. A low cry escaped her when he reached out and pulled her in front of him before he turned to face Ristéard. She bit back another pain-filled cry when his fingers tightened on her arm in war
