Power of the Lost (Celestine Chronicles, #3)

by Cebelius

Prada had just recently given him the key to his own magic, and he began to painstakingly craft a spell, praying it would work without a circle. It assembled itself piece by piece in his mind, taken from his experiences, his memories, his fondest hopes and deepest desires. The words represented everything he wished he could be. He chanted them first in his mind, then aloud. He spoke the words with conviction, for nothing less would do. If he faltered now, he would die. If the seed took his life here, it would go on to claim everyone else. So Terry spoke from the heart. He poured everything he had, everything he was, into the words.

In his desperation, he cast about for some command that would save them. As though in answer to his prayer, words he had not spoken since childhood, once graven into his heart yet in recent years all but forgotten, returned to him. In that moment, they flared to life within his soul as though summoned by his need and seemed to fill him, blazing with fire in his mind's eye. He shouted those words with everything he had left.

"I am surprised you did not cast blame on me with Yuri," Prada said aloud as she slipped off him and gathered herself into a droplet at his feet. He shook his head in disgust and said, "I'll blame you myself, but that's between you and me. In the broader scheme of things, you're my responsibility, and what I decide to do at your suggestion is my fault. I'll just have to know better in future than to listen to you."