I slowly channeled a thin, invisible thread of magic to the crude hemp rope binding my wrists behind my back. I didn't blast it apart—I couldn't risk the noise. Instead, I carefully directed the heat, letting the magic gently fray and burn through the thick fibers until I felt the tension snap. I kept my arms locked in place, pretending to still be bound tightly, while I mapped out the clearing.
Malakai was still standing at the altar, deeply immersed in chanting the ancestral incantations as he finished painting the final, intricate lines of my blood onto the stone. Zach and the remaining two guards were spread out in a wide circle around the perimeter of the clearing, their backs turned to the altar as they kept watch over the dark tree line.
Zach was the problem. He was standing barel
