[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]
A faint, silver-green glow rimed the wall around his hands and my breath caught as he leaned a little further forward, his gaze focusing on something I couldn’t see and could only barely sense, tickling at the edges of my perception.
“Then I’ll have to be faster,” Matt breathed. I reached for him but stopped as Seamus’s hand closed on my shoulder.
“Just wait,” he murmured, his voice nearly lost in the storm. “Don’t distract him.”
Does he know what Matt’s doing? Can he sense it? Or is it something—
I stopped, sucking in a slow, quiet breath and letting my hand fall back to my side. The distant drums grew louder, clearer.
The sound of a horn echoed off the walls and the ruins and my stomach dropped. Next to me, Matt stiffened, his eyes snapping open, complexion suddenly ashen.
“Bastards don’t know when to quit,” he whispered, hands curling into fists against the concrete and brick of the wall. Energy crackled around him and I swallowed, reaching for him again. This time, Seamus didn’t stop me.
As my fingers grasped his arm, I felt a hum, a current that flowed from him and into me, down to the marrow of my bones. My own magic responded to it somehow, flowing back in a sort of feedback loop, swirling and tangling around the power I hadn’t realized he could draw. For a second, it was hard to breathe.
“Matt?”
One of his hands covered mine, though he didn’t look at me, just kept staring out over the field.
“It’s them,” he said softly. “It’s Olympium again. They don’t know when to quit.”
A thousand questions died on my tongue. I wanted to know what was happening, at what point he’d learned to draw power the way he was, wanted to know if he knew what our magic reacting to each other the way it was meant. We weren’t twins, though our souls were. I couldn’t remember it happening with Brighíd and Cíar, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Did he remember?
“Who?” I asked, my voice hoarse. It wasn’t the question I wanted answered, but definitely the one that needed to be asked.
“Aietes,” he whispered back. “And more. Hell. He’ll give no quarter.”
“Who called the storm?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know if anyone did.”
“Either way, we’ll find out,” Seamus said. “Give the order, Mar. Sound the alarm.”
All I could do was nod.
