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    Summary

    The familiar power of magic flowed through her, mingling with the blood in her veins and the blood that ran down her staff, but it felt different than any other time she'd used it. It felt too big for her body, barely contained inside her, like the sheer force of it could split her skin and explode out of her. It crackled through her bones like lightning and they strained under the pressure, moments from snapping.

    The air tasted burnt. Electric. The ancient words filled Marcille’s throat, choking, bursting out of her with such strength she wasn't even sure if it was her speaking them.

    Never, for even a fraction of a moment, did she regret it. Not even when she felt her mouth fill with blood and her ribs crack, not even when she collapsed face-first onto the concrete.

    Marcille,” Falin gasped, the first word she could manage. Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears. Wrong.

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