A dozen guards charged into the throne room. She lost her concentration and Yates surged to his feet, aiming straight for her.
Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.
Yates paused. “Where’s the sun-kissed?” he roared.
“There!” one guard said, pointing.
She didn’t have enough power to reach them all. And with the knot of people blocking the entrance, she had nowhere to go. Bedlam ensued for a short—too short— time. Shyla ducked and dodged and fought those closest to her, using her magical commands at every opportunity, but eventually Yates caught her.
“Don’t try anything,” he said as the cold steel of his knife touched her throat.
Stop.
He applied a slight pressure. A line of fire crossed her neck.
“I’m not going to stop,” he said. “And you don’t need to be alive in order for us to remove your eyes.”
Damn thick-headed man.
The prince’s voice cut through the cries and everyone stilled, including Yates.
“What in the seven hells is going on?” he demanded. “While I’m glad you’ve arrived, why are you here?”
One of the guards straightened. “We brought you a prize, sire.” He gestured and the people near the door moved further inside—the throne room almost filled to capacity. But then, through the midst of them, a man was shoved forward to the middle of the room.
Rendor.
Eighteen
Beaten, bruised, and bloody, Rendor stood before the prince, who eyed him with mild surprise and amusement. Shyla sagged against Yates. Rendor had tried to rescue her and now…now they were both in trouble. Unless she could gather enough magic to freeze everyone.
“Where did you find him?” the prince asked.
“He’s been trying to recruit your guards to switch their loyalties to the sun-kissed, sire,” one of the guards said.
Really? Shyla strained to catch Rendor’s gaze, but his hard stare was aimed at Yates behind her.
“Did he have any success?” the prince asked.
Uneasy chuckling. “No, sire. We caught him before he could do any damage.”
“Good work, Lieutenant. Rendor, you should have left Zirdai when you had the chance. We’ll deal with you in a bit.” The prince turned to Yates. “Captain—”
“He’s not your captain,” Rendor said. “Not while I’m still alive.”
Yates tensed. And Shyla inwardly groaned at his bold statement. The big brute was going to get himself killed.
“We can settle this right now,” Yates said. He handed Shyla and his knife to the closest guard. “I’ll know if you try to influence me with your magic,” he said to her, then to the guard, “Watch me. If I signal you, slit her throat.”
“Yes, sir.”
From her point of view, her situation had improved. The man holding her was no Yates. His mind was easily influenced. She wondered if that had been Rendor’s plan all along.
Rendor was given a sword and Yates drew his. The guards cleared a space for the combatants, moving to the sides of the room. Rendor was in no condition to fight. This was suicide. She counted the people in the throne room. The prince, Yates, Timin, and fifteen guards—nineteen total. She’d influenced over twenty-five at one time, but then she hadn’t spent some of her energy. And they’d also have to escape this level afterwards. She suppressed those negative thoughts. Instead, she focused on the belief and faith that she could do it. Shyla had to gain control of this situation.
Except Rendor was holding his own. In fact, he looked rather nimble for someone who’d been beaten. The fight resembled the last one—brutal, intense, with minimal flourish. Yates also realized his opponent wasn’t as injured as he appeared. The captain changed his strategy, once again targeting Rendor’s old injuries.
Shyla drew in her strength. She had to stop everyone, then they’d find her parents, and she’d use the look away command to get them all free or she’d die trying.
Except Rendor grinned and countered Yates as if not bothered by the change in tactics. The momentum swung in Rendor’s favor. He snaked past Yates’ guard, side-stepped lunges, and was quicker overall. The number of cuts grew on Yates’ arms, torso, and thighs. And then Rendor increased the intensity of his attack. Within heartbeats he’d unarmed Yates and sent the captain to the ground with a massive blow to his temple. The crack reverberated in the dead silent room.
Shyla half expected the captain to get up. He had an extra thick skull after all, but the man remained unconscious on the floor.
The Water Prince frowned down at Yates for a moment. “Well, Rendor, you proved you’re still the best. However, you’re still a traitor.” He swept out an arm, gesturing to his guards. “Even you can’t overcome so many opponents. And one false move, the sun-kissed is dead.”
Yet the guards in the room didn’t appear to be upset by the defeat of their captain. The man holding Shyla no longer pressed the knife to her throat. She sensed—
Son of a sand demon!
“I’m still a captain,” Rendor said to the prince. “And these are my soldiers. They agree with the Invisible Sword that you’re not the right person for the job.”
Shyla glanced at the four who’d helped to hold her down. One gave her a sheepish look. No wonder he’d squeezed her hand back!
The prince pulled his sword and charged at Rendor. The big man twisted. The blade missed his torso by a hair. Rendor didn’t waste any time. Within a few moves, Rendor struck the prince on the back of his head. He crumpled and joined Yates on the floor. A cheer went up.
Dazed by the turn of events, Shyla remained in place as Rendor barked orders to his men. A bunch left and a new batch arrived. How many did he convince? Was that what he’d been doing all this time?
Soon, though, he stood in front of her. “Are you all right?”
From this distance, she noted his bruises had been faked. Probably part of the plan to lure Yates into a false sense of security. She wondered if Rendor had thrown their prior fight. However, she didn’t need all the details yet. Right now the fact he’d come when she was most desperate was all the answer she needed.
“Shyla?”
“Are you here to stay?”
Rendor wiped Yates’ blood off his sword. He bowed and laid the weapon at her feet. Straightening, he said, “I’m your captain for as long as you’ll have me.”
His words hit her with the intensity of a magical vow, cleansing away the doubt and heartache that had lived in her soul since he’d left.
She jumped into his arms.
He caught her easily. A huge grin spread on his face as he hugged her tight.
“You’re hired,” she whispered in his ear and was rewarded with a deep rumbling laugh—the best sound in all of Zirdai.
Rendor squeezed her once more then set her back on her feet. His gaze snagged on her neck. “You’re bleeding. Timin,” he called.
Timin jerked then hurried over to them. Fear and uncertainty swirled in his eyes. “Uh, yes, sire.”
“I’m not the new Water Prince,” Rendor snapped.
“Why not?”
“I’m the captain of the Invisible Sword.”