The shattering white light that had ripped Anya from Aethelgard left ruin in its wake.
Torian lay sprawled on the cold marble of the ballroom floor. His body ached from the violent recoil of the Temporal Key’s activation. The magical explosion had spared him, but at what cost?
The violent blast had knocked Valerius and his guards back against the wall, rendering them unconscious.
The magnificent ballroom, the pride of the Drakemoor dynasty, was a disaster. The massive crystal chandelier was shattered, its pieces had fallen to the floor like a crystalline rainfall, tinkling as they landed. Scorched black lines marred the floor where the conflicting energies of Valerius’s purple extraction magic had collided with Anya’s protective white light.
The bewildered, horrified guests - the el
