But came hurtling back to earth when she suddenly released it.
The princess shielded, a speck of blue under the raging crimson torrent, but a group of Nimue’s own guards weren’t so lucky. The princess’ shield deflected the fire onto them, exploding half of them into ash that scattered on the wind like confetti, while the rest—who had somehow managed to get shields up—went spiraling into the heavens. Just small black specks among the clouds as that destructive finger hit down, carving a divot the size of a swimming pool out of the hillside.
And then kept on going. Jumping from the hill down into camp, tearing a furrow through the waves, sending wafts of steam skyward, and ripping apart the few remaining tents before heading for a wagon. A wagon perched on one of the remaining bits of high ground. A wagon someone must have dragged up there because it seemed like the safest spot in camp.
A wagon full of children.
Time seemed to slow, the deafening noise to fade, the only sound remaining the beat of my heart. The only thing I could see was terrified faces staring over the edge of the cart, the approaching firelight reflected in their eyes. Along with the dead certainty that nothing would deflect it, because nothing was in the way.
Until we were.
I hit the ground, along with the water that had been all around me, because I hadn’t had time to select it out. Heard my power clanging in my ears, telling me what I’d already instinctively known: that they weren’t supposed to die today. Stared at the swirling red column, fear roiling in my gut, like the last of my potion, burning its way down my throat.
And then I was throwing everything I had at the gleaming vortex, a glittering wave of Pythian power, the purest expression of godly force on earth—
And barely made it flinch.
I stared in disbelief at the swirling mass of red and black and gray. Until I remembered: Caedmon, the fey king I’d met last time, had slipped out of a time spell, not once but twice. Because fey magic didn’t respond to mine the way that earth’s did.
It barely seemed to respond at all.
Stop, I thought, my hand outstretched, my heart racing dangerously fast as the column glimmered and gleamed, like firelit rubies. Stop, I thought desperately, straining as it filled my vision, slowing enough to be mesmerizing, but not enough to matter. “Stop!” I heard myself shout, as I felt the heat, smelled the smoke, saw the wind of it lift my hair. . . .
And then lift me, too, ripping me off my feet in what I guessed was slow motion, since my power was having a visible effect now. But it didn’t feel all that slow. I went whipping through clouds of steam and smoke, the burning camp swirling dizzyingly around me, as I desperately tried to rein it in. As the maelstrom and I whirled together in a deadly dance that was only going to end one way, because I wasn’t strong enough.
I couldn’t stop it.
But a second later, it hitched anyway, like a bucking horse suddenly draped with a second lasso. And then again, stalling now, losing speed. And again. I couldn’t see why, but I knew I wasn’t doing it; I was still being spun around the glowing column of death, turning with its energy even as it slowed, as it tried to suck me in, as it reached out to claim one . . . more . . . victim. . . . Before finally grinding to a halt, as still and quiet as if it really was carved out of a single, giant jewel, gleaming in the darkness.
Like the three strands of golden power—Pythian power, I realized—that were connected to it. Like the three women glimpsed through the smoke, their faces lit up with reflected firelight, who together had tamed it. Like the face of the woman who jerked me out of the sky a moment later, down to a large, heaving bosom.
And a pudgy hand that tightened painfully on the back of my neck as I stared into furious brown eyes. “Oh.” I licked my lips, tasting ashes. “Shit.”
“You have no idea.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Gertie!”
Nothing.
“Gertie!” I slammed my palms against the blank white wall in front of me.
“Would you please stop?” Rosier asked, sounding as weary as I felt.
“This is my fault. I should have just shifted the wagon. Stupid—stupid!”
“Yes, it was,” he agreed.
I hung my head. “You’re supposed to argue with me,” I said, although he was right. I’d used up the last of our potion and hadn’t even gotten anything for it, because of course the Pythia of the time would be drawn to something like that. Of course she would. And of course she’d bring her friendly neighborhood posse along for the ride. I could have stayed in hiding and let them take care of everything, but I hadn’t stopped to think, even for a second, and now . . .
I looked around, again. At nothing, again. Because there was nothing to see.
Absolutely nothing, except for a blank white cell. No, not even a cell. A white, rectangular box with no door, no window, and no way in or out, because a Pythia didn’t need one, did she?
But I did, because my power was gone.
Not exhausted, not blocked, gone. Like Gertie had somehow stripped it from me. But she couldn’t do that . . . could she? I’d been told that it was mine, until I died or passed it to a successor. That no one had the ability to take it from me, not Gertie, not anyone! I tried to convince myself of that even as I felt an overwhelming sense of loss, a terrible hollowness where our connection ought to be. Something that had become as much a part of me over these past months as a limb was missing, like a chunk carved out of my soul.