She drew her arm free of his grip, braced it at her side. “He didn’t kill her and no one knew about the letter.” She took the step forward, but not to draw herself beside him. It was to close the distance. To confront him. “He pushed her. You pushed him and he pushed her.” She straightened to her full height, flexed her fingers before curling them into fists. Gone was the frailty. Nothing remained but the fury of a true shadow. “So that I wouldn’t see you before you were ready.”
Callan pushed hard against the guards, knowing he would need to buy a few precious minutes to deal with the new direction this had taken. He might have explained it to her fully if he’d thought he was in danger, might have told her that once he released his hold, the prophets would see, that they would warn the ancients and there would be nothing for her. But he thought he could handle this girl. He’d simply misread her before, because she’d purposefully let pieces of herself slip through. He could fix it, he was certain. Even if she had sealed herself against him now. Even if she’d left nothing but the surety that he’d been wrong.
That she’d had a vision, that she’d seen the truth.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the snap of underbrush behind him caught the breath in his chest.
It was the girl’s sister, the one on whom his power had absolutely no effect. Emily. And she’d heard Brianna’s revelation.
“Oh,” she said in a low, even tone, “I am going to enjoy this.”
Chapter Thirty
Brianna
After all they’d been through, Brianna should have been angry at learning this shadow had taken her mother. But all she could feel was relief. Their mother was gone, nothing could change that. But the idea that her mother’s power, Morgan’s torture and the visions that had showed her the only way to save her children had caused her to take her own life, that knowledge had been a burden on Brianna for as long as she could remember.
Brianna had thought her mother’s gift had killed her, that there was no escaping it. But she’d been wrong. It wasn’t the power. It was Callan, it was the shadows.
Suddenly, it was as if there was a chance, a way to make their own fate, and the weight on her chest lifted, freeing her up to feel what the dark-haired man was taking from her. It was his gift, she knew. His way of reaching her, clawing into her mind and stealing from the core of her power, her very self. And there was nothing stopping them now, no hope that their mother had laid this man in place.
He was nothing.
“Do it,” she said, eyes meeting Emily’s over the shoulder of the dark-haired man. Her sister was perched on the balls of her feet, waiting for the command. Head tilted down, green eyes glowing, she only hesitated the one instant before launching herself toward Callan. Brianna knew what she was doing, knew she was putting every emotion she had into signaling Aern.
Callan’s mouth opened as if to speak, and there was a crash as Emily’s lithe form slammed into him. Brianna moved in sync with her, using every remaining bit of energy she had to break his concentration. Emily got a hand on him, but Callan was fast, spinning free of her grip before she could do any real damage. Another man might have given up training, let it slip as he relied too heavily on his gift and the talent to sway, but Brianna could see that Callan had not. Everything he did was smooth and practiced, and he’d had so much more time to prepare, let alone become familiar with his gifts. But she and Emily were no longer insignificant.
“Stop,” he said, but Emily’s fist smashed against his chiseled jaw. From the sound of it, Brianna guessed she’d perfected her ability to move with the force of her power. Emily was no mere shadow. She was the chosen. She could do this.
Callan’s words might have been cut short, but he didn’t hesitate at the interruption, his own instincts kicking in as he grabbed Emily’s wrist and wrenched it sideways then down in a quick twist and jerk that definitely broke something. Brianna hit him from behind, throwing the largest blast of power she could muster after he’d taken so much from her in the last few minutes. Callan turned, shoving his own power toward her. It was like an explosion, like the blasts at the Division house when she’d been running and then opened her eyes to find herself in a whole other spot, ears ringing, eyes burning, body numb. She lay on the ground, the dark-haired man stalking toward her, a predator that should have set off the alarms that were instinct to her. But she could feel nothing aside from the crushing pressure of her chest, the tearing pain inside her head. She squeezed her eyes shut the way she had during the visions, forcing herself to feel through tingling hands for the earth below. She found it there, barely, the uneven blades of grass, the edge of two dried leaves, the soil, wet and cold, and she clung to it.