The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Sixty-Three

*Trigger warning for a mild panic attack*

Lis landed first. She looked like she'd recovered quite a bit since we'd rescued her from the tower. Her slender, bony frame had filled out. Now she stood proudly between us and the villagers, and, with a flick of her wrist, the dagger flew from Dan's hand to her own.

She smiled and dipped her head at Dan in a chastising manner. "Now, that wasn't very nice."

More Blesseds landed behind her—Cass, and Jaret, and Brinley. Lis nodded at Cass and stepped backward to yield the position of leader to her. Grinning, Cass took it. She narrowed her eyes at the crowd of villagers.

"I'll give you one chance," she said. "Let us leave, and no one will need to be hurt."

In a moment, Mam stood at the Head Man's shoulder. "These are the Blesseds I told you about. Their ship is in the sky. Have your villagers aim their crossbows at any strange clouds, and we might manage to take it down."

But the Head Man shook his head. "I think we've got plenty to deal with here without picking a fight with whoever's above us."

Mam shrugged. "Whatever you think best."

Sighing, Cass rolled her eyes. "Look, I'll give you five seconds to decide. Five. Four. Three. T-"

Somewhere in the crowd, a crossbow fired. Time seemed to slow. The projectile streaked through the air, heading straight for Cass's throat.

Flickering shadows flew off the ground and stopped it in midair.

Cass turned her wide grin to Jaret. "Thanks."

"No problem." Jaret flicked his wrist, and a long thread of shadows pulled from the ground to gather around his wrist, trailing up his shoulders and to the other wrist in a soft, dark rope. "I think they declined your offer, though."

"Oh." Cass sighed. "You don't think I should continue counting? Do they know it's rude to interrupt a person like that?"

Another crossbow bolt flew through the air—this one coming toward me—and Jaret batted it down as though it was only a feather.

"I think no more counting," he agreed. "They've clearly come to a decision."

"Attack!" shouted the Head Man. "I want them all captured and in jail!"

The villagers charged toward us.

Everything quickly became a blur of people, and fighting, and flashes of fire and webs of shadow. I couldn't think straight. I tried to summon my birds, but without Bran's magic, I didn't have the power to straighten my thoughts and contact them.

I could tell that the rescue Blesseds were doing their best not to injure the villagers they fought any more than necessary. When it was possible to do so, they simply rapped them on the heads with the hilts of daggers, or—in Jaret's case—wound them up in shadows and left them on the ground.

Townspeople were everywhere, grasping at my arms and shoulders, then falling away when a Blessed defended me.

"Fyra!" Wren, Lark's little sister, squeezed through the crowd as best she could. A villager grabbed her around the waist and began to drag her away. Her terrified eyes met mine. "Fyra, help!"

I sprinted after her. This time, my panic activated the magic within me. My birds responded swiftly, diving down from the skies to snatch Wren away from the villagers and set her down beside me.

"Thank you," she said gratefully. Her eyes grew wide as she saw something behind me, and she yanked my arm, pulling me out of the path of a madly sprinting villager.