Haven (The War of Princes Book 1) by Ivanovich A. R

Author:Ivanovich, A. R.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-01-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

A high-pitched whistle rang in my ears and my head lolled to the side. Blurry images bled together and finally began to sharpen.

The room had gone dark. There was only a bit of light, lending an eerie glow to the stunned men and women in the room. Their features were out of focus, but their hair was whipping around their faces as if a storm had blown right through the stone walls of the room. They were shouting at one another and staring at me with wide eyes.

Dazed, I tried to stand only to feel something pressing against my wrists and legs. Stakes was on the ground, struggling to get up. As misty as my thoughts were, I was glad he was down. Searching instinctively for Rune, I found him squinting, with his forearms raised to block his head. He lowered his arms and his jaw was tight, his face stricken.

I ducked to get away from whatever had done this, and that’s when I realized: the flickering light was coming from me. My arms were glowing from within, and thin tendrils of white electricity skittered just over the top of my skin.

I looked up in disbelief. The room was in shambles. All the bulbs in the lamps had shattered, littering the floor with shards of glass. Chairs were overturned, a few of them blackened and broken. The dark wooden bookcase was slashed with a deep scar, like it had been whipped by electricity, leaving scores of books smoldering and loose scraps of paper fluttering through the air. The documentarian had used his chair as a shield, and one of the wooden legs had been shorn off. The flagstones, the walls, even the ceiling were painted by jagged streaks of charcoal, drawing lines of destruction that began at my seat in the sunken landing.

The high-ranking civilians were crouched behind their chairs, shrinking back when I looked at them. The soldiers had taken up a defensive stance, hands on their weapons. A city elder and two militia guards lay on the ground groaning. A pair of Dragoons kneeled beside them with medical kits. Brendon stood ahead of one of Breakwater’s elders, protecting the older man. At first, I couldn’t find Dylan, but in a moment, he stepped out from behind a militia soldier, unharmed. As he dusted himself off, Dylan gaped at me.

My muted eardrums recovered and the rumble of thunder grew fainter by the second. The electricity faded away, seeping into my skin. I struggled against my bonds as the last jagged tendril disappeared into the back of my hand. For all I knew, it could hurt or kill me. When the electricity vanished, the windowless room fell into absolute darkness. The urgent voices quieted and I held my breath, not knowing what would come next.

A subtle buzzing sensation remained in my chest. I coughed meekly a couple of times, trying to get the strange feeling out of my lungs. I felt jittery but not altogether unwell.

What had I done?

Then

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