Shatter Like Glass-Cinderella Retold

Part Forty-Eight

Wyll cried out. The man he'd been parrying grabbed the boy's wrist and twisted. Jag flung his bloodied dagger into the man's forehead with deadly accuracy. The man dropped to the ground in a heap. Wyll stumbled forward, the sword still in his back. Jag rushed towards him. The woman who had stabbed him lifted another blade of some sort, but Jag, not bothering to even look at her, nocked an arrow and fired it into her heart. She gaped down at the wound. Jag didn't notice. He released his grip on his bow and caught Wyll before he hit the ground. Dropping to his knee once again, Jag gently lowered the boy towards the ground.

"Wyll!" he exclaimed, shaking him. "Wyll!"

The Knight gasped, clutched at his wound. The sword's tip protruded from the boy's chest. He had been stabbed through. Jag swore. He looked up in the direction of the three council members. They had done little to nothing during the fight. Now they stood towards the back of the stone building. Their expressions were almost bored. Bored! His men were risking their lives for these demons and they were bored. He wished all of them were wounded instead of Wyll. He wished they would die slowly, painfully. If it weren't for George, he would gut them all himself.

"Freeze the wound," he hissed. "Freeze it, now."

"Why?" the master asked. Her voice was monotone. There was no emotion behind her words and almost none on her face. If he skewered her with an arrow, would she show emotion then?

Through gritted teeth, Jag said, "If any of my men die saving your worthless skins I will hunt you down and gouge out your eyes with my fingers."

The Weaver sighed, then knelt beside Wyll. The boy had fear in his eyes. Of death? Of the Weaver? Jag wouldn't blame him for either.

Ballari set a hand on the boy's chest.

"Pull out the sword," she ordered. Jag, for the first time in over a decade, obeyed the command of a Frost Weaver. He turned Wyll onto his side then carefully extracted the blade. To his credit, Wyll barely made a sound. He was strong, at least as strong as Jag had been at that age. A wave of guilt washed over him. He'd thought he was giving boys like him an opportunity by allowing them to join so young. In reality, he'd sent them to their deaths.

Jag turned Wyll onto his back. He looked up, meeting Ballari's eyes. She did not blink. Staring down at Wyll, she again placed her hand on him. This time, steamy fog spread from her hand. Frost crystalized over the wound. Wyll gasped. Jag held his breath. He didn't know what the rest of his men were doing at the moment. He should be helping them, but he couldn't afford to think about that right then. Wyll was the one who was injured. Wyll was the one who needed him right then.

"Jag," the boy gasped suddenly. Jag followed his gaze, turning in time to see one of the Kingslayers approaching behind him. He reached for one of his knives. Before he could pull the last one from his belt, a blast of ice slammed into the attacker's chest. Frost spread over his body. Jag gritted his teeth. The man was frozen in seconds. Not dead, but he would be if he wasn't thawed within the hour. Very few people were thawed before the Frost Weavers' powers killed them. On the way from East Sienna, Ashen told him that a friend of George's had received a similar curse. The man had been protecting George in the palace gardens when Yinala and Kali came to kidnap him. One of them, or perhaps both, had frozen the man to keep him from stopping them. They had taken George and the other man had died.

"Did you have to do that?" he asked the Weaver.

"Save your life? No, not truly." When Jag continued to glare at Ballari, she said, "A 'thank you' would suffice."

"Jag!"

Scarrles' voice drew Jag's attention from the councilmember. His eyes scanned the room frantically. They landed on his second-in-command. Scarrles was sword to sword with a Kingslayer. The man was lean. At first glance, the bronze tint of his skin gave him the look of a Calarian. Then Jag noticed the blue of his eyes. A Sapphyrian, likely a Storm Weaver then. Another Storm Weaver lashed at Scarrles from behind. A whip made of water slashed across his back. It sliced through his clothes and drew blood. Jag swore. One Weaver Scarrles could have handled, but two attacking at the same time?