Knightswrath (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

eyed the wytchfire hovering over them and hoped that was the case.
    “Don’t be afraid, Human,” she said. “This small expenditure is not enough to turn me into another Nightmare.”
    Small expenditure? Rowen remembered the Nightmare—another Shel’ai impossibly twisted and ruined, left raving mad by the magic forced into his body. He wondered if Silwren had read his thoughts. She must have. He shook himself, forcing his mind to clear. He felt both Jalist’s and Silwren’s eyes on him, but he focused only on the distant thunderheads. “We ride on.”
    True to Silwren’s word, her hovering umbrella of wytchfire kept them relatively protected from the storm, causing all raindrops that struck it to hiss ominously. Yet the thunder rumbled terribly all around them, making controlling the horses increasingly difficult. Rowen eventually ordered them to stop and wait out the storm. Silwren’s horse seemed to be faring far better than the others.
    Can’t be a coincidence . She’s using magic to calm the beast—that means she’s using magic continuously. He’d never seen her do that before. He checked her expression, but she seemed calm. The hovering dome of wytchfire stopped when they did.
    “My magic can soothe your horses, too, if you wish to press on,” she offered.
    Rowen forced a smile. “No need. We could use the rest.” He might have said more, but the thunderclaps drowned him out.
    The group made camp, working in the surreal glow of wytchfire. Rowen worried that the glare might attract other travelers or even bandits, though he suspected they would run for their lives when they got close enough to see what was causing it. When Jalist complained of cold, lamenting their lack of firewood, Silwren gestured, and a campfire wrought of sorcery appeared in their midst, burning without any visible source of fuel.
    Jalist jumped. “Gods, woman, you should warn us before you do that!”
    Silwren made no answer, and Rowen could not tell in the flickering light if she was smiling or frowning. Rowen stretched his hands toward the wytchfire, which was warm enough. Its violet tendrils matched the color of the dome hovering over them. Still, he fought the impulse to shrink away from the ghostly campfire. He reminded himself that, like other Shel’ai, Silwren seemed able to control whether or not her wytchfire harmed those it touched. Rowen was not about to thrust his hand into the fire, though.
    “You seem more willing to use your magic lately,” he began carefully. He made a show of warming his hands. “In Lyos, you barely used it at all.” He risked a glance at her.
    Silwren seemed neither perturbed nor surprised by his comment. “I am gaining more control over it. You need not be concerned.”
    He caught a hint of rebuke in her melodic Sylvan accent. He knew he should let the matter drop. “Sorry, can’t help it. El’rash’lin said that use of the magic could drive you mad—or cripple you, like it did him. And the Nightmare. I’d… like to avoid that, if we could.”
    She flinched at the mention of her dead friends. “I know what he said. But each of the Shel’ai exposed to the power of Namundvar’s Well responded differently. My mere appearance proves that.” She paused. “I am getting stronger.”
    Rowen could not argue. El’rash’lin had been badly disfigured by the magic leached from the Light and was covered head to toe in ghastly sores and scars. By comparison, Silwren had remained beautiful. Just a few wrinkles around her eyes made her seem to have aged years overnight. But her personality seemed mostly the same.
    But how would I know that? I barely even know her! Still, he knew that wasn’t exactly true. In the jails of Lyos, in an effort to help him understand their plight, El’rash’lin had used magic to share minds with Rowen. Many of El’rash’lin’s memories still echoed in Rowen’s brain as though they were his own. If he concentrated, he could remember Silwren as a child—wide