Once steadied, I cast it all forward.
The boulders crash into trees, knocking down the enormous ancient elms. The giants tumble. Bones crush and flatten against the ground.
The fence falls.
New stones, much smaller and more precise, wait for my command. My head throbs. The rush from using the magic is wearing thin, but the gem in my chest glows brightly.
Dozens of fractured shards slash at flesh, cutting and slicing to the bone. Blood sprays out of the wound at a giant’s neck.
I watch with grim satisfaction as giant after giant dies before ever hitting the ground.
Another throb wracks my skull, and pain flashes hot over my skin. The brightness of my Fuegorra makes me close my eyes as another wave of dizziness crashes into me, and I sag to the ground.
As I shift, my skin burns and prickles like being scraped with dozens of pine needles. I stare into the snow, gulping as much air as my lungs can hold. The Fuegorra emits a long, sustained glow as the gossamer threads of my power weave together.
Songs are spun from thin air, reverberating off snow crystals and boulders alike.
I am a beast let free.
Two more giant warriors try to approach, but they are sliced and dying on the ground in mere moments.
For a second, all is quiet.
My chest rises and falls as the world spins around me.
And then, from beyond the now broken barrier of the fence, Melisa approaches. Her light steps mix with the music.
Worry spears my heart.
The slave pens are far from the palace and soldier barracks in the upper city, but soon, a new shift of giant warriors will come and find the carnage.
We will not have long.
The stones I bend tell me that more humans are approaching. Turning to look at the large den behind me, I see them peering at me from behind the corner of the building, and then—emboldened when I do not move—they step out.
"You... you are one of them," a woman exclaims. Murmurs break out.
"Troll!",
"Enduar!"
"The human queen! She told us someone would come."
"¡Por la libertad!"?2 someone else shouts.
Fragments of the common and human tongues fill the air, each person speaking too quickly for me to understand. People move and rush around the bodies of the massacre.
My head spins as dozens of voices fill my ears and mix with the rush of battle. My mate surprises me with her yell.
“¡Callense!"?3 she shouts, pushing up to a sitting position.
The crowd begins to go silent, but I don't miss how some sneer at Melisa. One woman lifts her chin, spitting toward my mate.
I'm too hot, too volatile, for this right now. I cross the distance and stop before the woman, towering above her. Most shrink back at my approach.
“Do that again, and you will be cast out,” I growl.
The woman’s throat bobs. She opens her mouth and then closes it, clearly trembling.