Free Such a Daring Endeavor by Cortney Pearson

cools my skin. Blood speeds along, going way too fast for how little I’m moving. I grasp onto the magic, praising the angels I still have mine.
    A hand claws around my elbow, and my eyes snap open. A boy no older than I am with dark hair and hazel eyes raises an eyebrow at me, his full lips drawn into a smirk. He wears the Arcaian khaki, and a mole dots the space between his mouth and his nose. His eyes follow mine as I glance down to his hand cutting off my circulation.
    “Think you can use magic around here and not be noticed? Especially your inborn magic?”
    A shorter soldier with a shaved head and earrings in each ear snickers from behind the one gripping me. He nudges past, looking me over. The Xian claw at his belt taps its metal fingers in anticipation.
    “That’s odd,” says the shorter, his brows drawn. “I could have sworn I just saw her across the street.”
    I pull against his grasp, sweat beading down my back. He steps closer. 
    “It’s a replication,” says the one, pulling a dazeblade from his belt. He presses it against my side with a smart sting and I inhale through my teeth. “Her brother’s faded before we finished with him. Which means—”
    “He’s somewhere in the palace,” the other finishes, glancing over his shoulder.
    “Search him out.”
    I grit my jaw and jerk away, attempting to slip free. The soldier’s knife stabs harder into my side, though not enough to pierce, and he pulls me tight against him once more. His hot breath hits my cheek.
    “You don’t want to do this,” I say, my brain racing, shoving against him. His blade digs in harder. If Ren’s replica faded, that means mine must have too.
    An elegantly carved door to the right of a tapestry with an embroidered set of mountains creaks open, and Gwynn steps out. She wears a stately khaki uniform, dressier than the others, with a higher waistline making the bottom of the shirt flare out just slightly. Her hair hangs in loose curls, pulled back with a teasing segment dangling down one side of her face.
    “Actually,” says Gwynn, a gleam in her eyes. “They do.”

T he last time we were in the same room, she overlooked my brother like he was nothing more than dross beneath her feet; she simpered at Tyrus, screeched how my magic was her right, and then she stabbed a Xian claw into my leg.
    But that wasn’t her; it couldn’t be. Tyrus has some kind of hold over her, I know it.
    Ren’s insistance that she’s changed thrums at the back of my mind, but he’s wrong. This is Gwynn. This is my best friend.
    I fight against my captor, wedging my knee upward between his, but I’m not fast enough. He dodges, shoving me back into the arms of the shorter man with the earrings, who twines my arms backward, pulling at my sockets. Gwynn clacks forward and spears purple magic from her tainted hands. Fiery electricity circles my wrists, and I hold back a shriek. I try to writhe, but she’s holding me fast.
    Gwynn walks alongside me, her magic a chain between us.
    “Gwynn,” I begin.
    “Shh.” Her eyes gleam despite the reproach. Then she speaks to the servant over my shoulder. “Release her, Duncan.”
    Duncan loosens his grip. And despite Gwynn’s magic tethering me to her, I relax, allowing her to guide me.
    She looks older, if possible, than the last time I saw her a few days ago when she had my hands strapped to a table so she could drive a claw into my leg.
That wasn’t her,
I tell myself.
She wouldn’t have told her guard to release me if it was.
    She leads me through the door she exited, waiting for Duncan to close the three of us in. Gwynn releases her magical hold on me, and relief instantly seeps into my wrists like ice. Where anyone else would have left the flesh rotted and bloody, a single red line is the only mark.
    Duncan takes his place before the door.
    An opulent desk is the room’s focal point. A quill and ink bottle stand in the corner—more for decoration than anything else, I suspect. A canopied bed