Breakfire's Glass by A.M. Valenza

Author:A.M. Valenza [Valenza, A.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA, Fantasy, Romance
Publisher: Less Than Three Press, LLC
Published: 2016-03-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

They were close. The magic splatters were thinner, more desperate. They streaked up the side of the Svarinard's last leg in great strokes of panic. Throwing his magic out like a mad artist, Bravka would have run out quickly. Katerini knew what she would find in the area Bravka's marker had disappeared. The little glowing dot had vanished for a reason. She kept her silence, unwilling to share her thoughts with Nikolai, who struggled to keep pace with her.

The magic he wasted on the fleece, for whatever foolish reason, was sapping his strength rapidly. She did not know from where the fleece came, but his distaffs were always full. She could no longer keep her silence on the subject. She had tried to make him stop, barely avoided a screaming match equal to that of her and Porfiry's argument, yet he continued to spin anyway, damn him. Adamantly, like his life depended on it. Which left her with a difficult choice—either she could increase their pace to try and finish the mission faster, force him to stay behind and wait for her, or siphon off her magic to him.

She opted for the last, pouring her boiling magic discreetly onto Nikolai's tangles of power. His head snapped up, his hands completely still, the spindle swinging uselessly in the wind. He approached her, his whole body radiating with cold fury. His eyes glittered through the slits in his mask as he grabbed her chin. "No," he said coldly, his voice barely above a whisper yet somehow louder than the screeching winds. "Do not."

She blinked, unconsciously recoiling. He let go, and she was forced to increase their pace. He said nothing. She cursed him ten different ways as she plowed through the snow day after day, skinny legs aching with effort. What that foolish idiot damned bastard of a Blue Prince hoped to accomplish with all those spindles—well, if it was anything less than a miracle cure for his raging stupidity, she would strangle him with her bare hands. She could not imagine him surviving this journey with anyone else but her. No one else would have the patience. She ignored the knowledge that she was possibly the most impatient, ill-tempered person in all of Zhakieve.

This was why she didn't have friends, she thought for the thousandth time as they toiled past a jagged peak. She had to worry about them. And Nikolai really was selfish. Her creamy blonde hair would very well be white by the time they finished. Friends. Disgusting. She should just incapacitate him and toss him in a cave until she confirmed Bravka's location. Then she wouldn't have to worry about anyone but herself. Bah.

She sighed. He would never forgive her and—damn him!—now she cared that he would never forgive her. She felt worn thin, ragged with frustration. Only the magic splashed on the serrated rocks and peaks jutting out from the ground kept her from using her own recklessly. It was undeniably becoming harder and harder for them to find shelter.

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