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I instinctively step forward, my own magic stirring beneath my skin. Not that fire would help with this task, but the protective impulse rises anyway. Sterling and I have always been opposites. His ice and water to my fire and heat. Complementary forces.

At least, that’s what the court poets say.

The sphere wobbles, its perfect form distorting for just a moment. Sterling’s lips turn white, and I can tell his usual confidence is faltering. His fingers twitch as he tries to maintain the water’s flow.

A sharp pang of worry shoots through me.

Is Tirene’s magic fading too? The reports from some of the provinces have been troubling. Magic users losing control. Strange anomalies. But the native Tirenese have always possessed stronger magic than people born in other kingdoms. No eyril needed here.

I haven’t sensed any problems with my fire magic, but as a dragoncaller, I’m not exactly the norm either.

“Sterling?” I murmur, too quietly for the wedding planner and guards to hear.

He doesn’t respond, his attention fixed on the water sphere. The edges start to warp, and smooth curves become jagged. Ice crystals form dripping cascades where only water should flow. “Not again…”

My throat tightens. Again? His elemental magic is fighting him.

I position myself behind him, my muscles tensing in anticipation of needing to…what, exactly? I have no idea what’s going on or how to help. My fire magic would only worsen the situation.

My gut clenches when I realize…there’s absolutely nothing I can do.

Sterling extends his magic toward the crystals, clearly trying to melt them back into the water. Instead of dissolving, they pulsate with a faint inner light that appears blue at first before shifting to a purple so deep it’s almost black.

Caught up in her excitement, the wedding planner misses the change in Sterling’s demeanor. “Oh, I don’t recall that from the manual, but it’s gorgeous⁠—”

One of the cherubs adorning the fountain turns its head with a stone-on-stone grind.

Its blank eyes fixate on us before sweeping across the gathered craftsmen. Another cherub moves, and another, until all four of them stare at the assembled crowd. The clink of crystals falling and striking each other creates a discordant tune.

Sterling’s shoulders tense. “Holy shit.”

Agreed.

So much for a dull afternoon full of minute wedding details.

Instinctively, I reach for the short sword at my waist. But what’s the point? If weapons didn’t work against the stone warriors, I doubt they’ll be any more effective against the cherubs.

One cherub opens its mouth.

Instead of stone teeth, diamonds reflect the light in painfully bright flashes.

Odessa skitters backward on her heels, her composed demeanor cracking. “Oh, I don’t like this.” Her high-pitched tone squeaks with the beginning of panic. “Not one bit.”

Preach, sister.

Fire gathers in my hands. Water or not, if those things attack, I’m incinerating them.

Raising their open palms to the sky, the cherubs begin to sing.

I flinch. Singing might be the wrong term for the jarring pitch that pours forth. As the collective screech rises and falls in words I can’t understand, splinters slice through my head.

My skull vibrates.

One at a time, my ears pop.

Pressure builds in my jaw.

My nose burns, and tears prick my eyes.