Cast in Ruin by Michelle Sagara Page B

Shadow—”
    “I am the Tower. I am the border. Bring him; the responsibility will be on my head.”
    On her head, Kaylin thought, but if she failed—if Maggaron was right—it would be writ in the bodies of the People and the humans who still lived in the fief of Tiamaris. She was willing to take that risk; she’d already attempted to call Maggaron. At Nightshade’s insistence she had done that before—to him—and she had felt his counter.
    No; it wasn’t the same. She had called. She hadn’t commanded.
    She’d never truly attempted to impose her will on Maggaron in a way that she didn’t try to force it on anyone else in her life—by shouting, pleading, swearing, cajoling, even demanding. What the name gave her meant that she could do more.
    Would she? If he stood in the streets in the path of a storm that could—if the Dragons were right—literally unmake, re-make, or worse—everything that he was, could she force him to do what she desired?
    Maggaron!
    He didn’t, and wouldn’t, move. Everyone was shouting now. Mejrah, in Kaylin’s ear, as if volume could compensate for lack of comprehension. Tiamaris was roaring, and if it wasn’t in her ear, he was less than ten feet away, so it had the same effect.
    Swallowing air and strengthening resolve, Kaylin looked at Maggaron, and his name flashed like lightning or gold. Yes, she thought grimly. Yes, I would. He had given her the ability.
    His folly gave her the right. She called his name as if his name were part of her, and she pulled him, focusing all her will on the simple act of motion: his.
    It hurt her. It hurt, and she almost stopped. But Maggaron had moved, taking drunken steps toward Kaylin—and, more important, away from the moving cloud.
    She heard Nightshade’s chuckle as she hesitated. Do you think that power is taken—or practiced—free of cost, little one?
    Since the answer was more or less yes, and since he now already knew it, she didn’t reply. Instead, she looked at Maggaron and said, Don’t make me do this. Please.
    She could see his eyes so clearly they might have been inches from her face. If you cannot do even this, Chosen, how will you protect them from me, should the time come?
    Damn you, she thought, hating him for testing her this way. Damn it, if it comes down to their lives, I can. But this isn’t their lives—it’s yours. Maggaron, please.
    She felt his laughter; it was sharp and unkind. But he wasn’t wholly unkind; he did as she all but begged. He walked—quickly—toward where she now stood, his name in her hand. She grimaced, and then, as if letting go of a security blanket, she removed her hand from the rune; it remained in her vision, something Nightshade’s name had never done.
    Kaylin, Nightshade said. He, too, was laughing. You are far too weak for the power you have been granted. But you will learn.

    The first thing Tiamaris did was order a retreat from the edge of the border. Everyone obeyed—and given he spoke Dragon, Kaylin was surprised that the People understood his command. Then again, she didn’t understand Dragon, either, and she had. Severn was waiting—always, and in his usual grim silence.
    But Severn wasn’t looking at Maggaron, although the rest of the People sure as hells were. He was looking at Kaylin. More accurately, he was looking at the sword in her hand. She glanced at it, and her gaze stuck. It had changed shape. The blade was shorter—not long-knife short, but short-sword short; the hilt was practical and almost unadorned. It was straight and it looked—to her eyes—like a normal weapon, except for the obvious runes along the flat.
    Her first thought was, I broke it.
    Her second thought was, on the other hand, Maggaron. He was watching her, his eyes a flat shade between blue and brown. “Your enemies will not hesitate to do what you could not do.”
    “If I have to do it, I’ll do it.”
    To say he looked dubious was an understatement. She started to speak, and stopped as Tara