Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) by Intisar Khanani Page A

of brilliance hurtling through the air, side-swiping the monster. I have an ally of some sort, though I have no idea who it is. As the orb’s illumination passes, I hear a strange, gurgling cry that may or may not be the monster.
    Run now or it’ll be too late.
    I shake my head. I doubt I’ll get more than a half block away from this thing before it hunts me down. Better to fight than run. I have only this moment, this heartbeat.
    Focusing on the strands of the creature’s illusory web, I reach straight for the thinning thread using all the power left in my body: the river air I can still feel deep in my lungs, the dark blood in my veins, the sunlight stored within my bones. My magic crosses the distance to the beast. With a single, deft twist, I catch the strand and snap it.
    A surge of magic rebounds against me. I cry out, staggering back against the stone steps, holding up my hands as if by their simple physical reality, I can push back the power of the beast. Gasping, I fight to find my focus. The monster is not yet undone. There’s a scraping sound again, somewhere both far and near, my hearing suddenly unreliable.
    Already the beast’s magic has begun to weave itself back together. No . I catch the loose end of the spell thread and yank with all my might. The beast roars, and the next moment a writhing mass slams through the hole in the roof, talons slicing down to embed themselves in the stairs two paces above me.
    I edge away, half-mesmerized by claws as long as my calf. It should have worked. Pull the strand and the spell should have come apart at the seams.
    At the seams.
    Sewing is something I’ve learned quite well this past year. Stormwind made me pick out my stitches whenever they weren’t straight enough. To open a seam quickly, you need to snip the thread in two places, then pull.
    I dart forward, shying away from the nearest talon and throwing my arms around the tentacle itself. It’s smooth and cool, snakelike. Still holding tight to the loose strand far above me with my magical senses, I dig into the web of enchantments within the tentacle, tearing at it . My fingers slide over the scales, but under my hands, the magic itself ripples, jerks. I clench my teeth and pull harder.
    The strand snaps. I pull at it with all my strength. It tightens, then suddenly glides free, a long spider-silk thread glowing blue-white in my mage sight. I pull it close so that it can’t retract and it loops around me, filling the hollows within me with stone and dust. My skin hums with it, my ears buzzing.
    The spell-beast howls, a sound of rage — and pain. The other limbs jerk away, but the one I hold remains still.
    All I’ve done is break off one piece of the central body. Hunkered down beside the now-motionless tentacle, I wrap my arms around myself and use my senses to reach out to the next one as it writhes away from me. Reach, twist, snap, and pull.
    Wave after wave of magic released from the beast slams against me. Agony hammers at me from inside my skull. The beast roars again, but the sound is muted, distant. My breath wheezes, shaky and uncertain. I’ve done too much, absorbed too much of the harsh power that made this creature.
    Can you move?
    If I had the energy, I’d laugh. Moving seems like an utterly bizarre suggestion right now. I close my eyes and listen for the beast. I can hear the sound of stone scraping, a great echoing thud, and then fainter noises, until all that’s left is my own breath rustling in my lungs.
    Are you wounded?
    What an aggravating voice. It’ll probably keep talking until I tell it something.
    ’M all right, I think in reply. And then, Too much magic.
    The severed tentacle remains beside me, talon buried deep in the stairs. The long scaly appendage of it, dull gray and lifeless, curves up the staircase and disappears over its edge. A second tentacle, its claw dug into the landing, arcs above me and ends in a jagged line against the too-bright sunlit sky.
    I lay my palm on