Magic Claims by Ilona Andrews

“What would you do in my place?”

He faced me. “I would face the threat that dared to challenge me. I would erase them from the face of the planet. They do not belong here. Their time has passed, and they have no claim to the land or the lives of the people who inhabit it. They didn’t come bearing gifts. They came demanding tribute. But I am not you. I do not willfully shackle myself, denying the power my family sacrificed so much to obtain.”

Again with the shackles. Him and Jushur, two peas in a pod.

“Have you ever offered a servant a drink?”

He glanced at me. “Why would I do that?”

Jushur was right. My father was the king atop his mountain. He never forgot who he was or where he came from… Oh.

“Sometimes I think we’ve reached an understanding,” I said. “And then you manipulate me like this.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You focused my attention on our ancestry, trying to guilt-trip me, and then, when Conlan told us about the Ice Age, you saw an opportunity, so you dramatically forbade me from letting him join us in Penderton, knowing that if you gave me an ultimatum, I would be inclined to do the exact opposite.”

“Your point?”

“You gambled with your grandson’s safety for a chance to push me into doing something I don’t want to do.”

“No, I bet on your maternal love. Even without my nudge, you wouldn’t deny him this chance to see the source of his power. It would be cruel, and you were never that, Blossom. One way or another, you would’ve allowed him to join you, and once he’s there, you will use everything in your arsenal to protect him, including the powers of your bloodline that you are trying so hard and pointlessly to reject.”

“Why are you so hung up on it?”

“Because you insist on hobbling yourself. Your fear of following in my footsteps cripples you. You don’t have to be me, Blossom. You don’t have to be your aunt. Our bloodline has produced many great rulers, benevolent, just, enlightened. Shinar was the beacon of progress and safety long before any of us were born. You must keep your chosen people safe. It is your duty, and your sword has limits.”

The volcano smoothed itself out into verdant mountains, as if it were never there.

“We both know what you have to do to save that town. Your son’s presence there is just the excuse you need to justify it to yourself. I gave you that excuse. Knowing you and the boy were safe would make me sleep better at night.”

Forgetting someone there in our family of three. “You don’t sleep, Father.”

“Of course I do. I sleep and eat, even though I have no need of it. I live my life as normally as I can, or I would go mad in this prison of your making.”

“The dragon made the prison. Your actions, your decisions put you here.”

“Semantics.”

“If you beat me, where would I be?”

He didn’t answer. I picked up the book Conlan had left behind, turned, and walked back to the platform. It was my designated point of arrival and departure, and despite everything, I respected my father’s rules.

“Blossom,” he called out.

I turned to look at him.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to return here after you’ve done it and hear me say, ‘I’m so proud of you. You’ve done very well’?”

I kept walking.

Yes. It might be.





9





My eyes snapped open. I sat on the balcony, in the same spot I’d left. Rimush stood on my left, Troy waited on my right, and in front of me, Mayor Gene gripped the balcony’s rail. A battle raged in front of the gates and on the wall. Big, leathery beasts swooped down on huge wings, their leonine muzzles open wide, fangs ready to rend.

Manticores. Huge and shaggy with fur. I had never seen one like that, but if Ice Age wolves and cats could be bigger, its manticores could be, too. One, two…eight. Crap.

The town guard archers were firing volley after volley from the tower. To my right, Owen spun around like a shot-putter and hurled a giant tractor tire into the air. It smashed into a manticore in midflight. Its wings folded and it plunged to the ground. Three shapeshifters closed in on it and ripped it apart. A second shapeshifter group to the left dug into another manticore, deboning it like chicken.

Where was Curran?

I scanned the field. Where… There, on the wall, in warrior form. A manticore swung away from town, a limp body in its claws. Oh no. Foster. The realization stabbed me. The boy was dead. His head hung from his neck, twisted almost completely around. When manticores hunted, they killed like leopards, falling on their prey from above. The neck and the upper spine were their favorite targets.

Curran compressed himself, powerful muscles bunching across his frame, and leaped. His claws caught the manticore’s flank. It dropped Foster’s body and clawed at Curran, trying to dislodge him. He heaved himself onto the beast, gripped its left wing, and wrenched it off. Blood gushed. The manticore screeched like a dying bird, falling in a corkscrew spiral.

“Sharratum,” Rimush greeted me.

Mayor Gene whirled around. “You’re back.”

“How long?” I pointed at the carnage.

“Six minutes,” Rimush said, “and twenty seconds.”

“Do we fight?” Troy demanded. A bright white glow coated his irises. Curran must have left him here to watch over me until I came back.