The light hit me like a punch. I squinted against it, throwing an arm up to block the glare. Shapes moved in the brightness as bridles jangled.

  Then I heard him.

  “Trina!”

  “Dad?” My voice came out half a question, half a gasp.

  The light dimmed enough for me to make out the scene. My father sat astride a mottled gray horse, his cloak torn and spattered with something dark. Behind him was another horse, double-burdened. An elf woman sat, one hand pressed against a young man’s side. He looked to be around my age, somewhere in his early twenties, and with the way he was slumped, the woman seemed to be the only thing keeping him in the saddle. Spheres of light flickered around them, hanging in the air and illuminating—

  I cursed. Blood had soaked through the boy’s tunic.

  Someone yelled from deeper in the woods. “They’re still coming!”

  Dad swung down from his horse before it had fully stopped, boots hitting the ground hard. “Trina, inside. Now.”

  “What—”

  “Get my bow. I need you watching on that porch. Now.” His tone left no room for argument.

  Something cold twisted in my stomach. He only used that voice when things were bad. Like dragon-on-the-horizon bad.

  I scrambled toward the house, heart hammering. Inside, the fire from earlier had burned low, casting long shadows on the walls. I grabbed the bow and a string, leaning in with my full strength to string it the way Dad had taught me.

  Voices were shouting outside now. The door crashed open; the elf dragging the boy along with her as I grabbed my quiver. She lowered him beside the hearth, where glowing embers still pulsed, and I ran back outside.

  Dad was by the stream. Of course he was. The water there had stopped flowing. It was just building and building, turning into a strange wall.

  Another figure sprinted through the trees—a big, brawny man carrying a greatsword. “Torrik, by Racog’s beard, I hope you have a plan, because they aren’t slowing down.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Dad said, voice even. “Trina, shoot anything that moves. Alaron, you hold that porch no matter what. They aren’t getting through that door.”

  “Dad? What exactly—“

  “Assassins. After the boy. Just shoot.”

  I shut up and nocked an arrow.

  Noise came from inside, a loud voice. I just caught the tail end. “—can help!”

  “No. You’re bleeding out as it is,” came the sharp reply. The elf.

  Help? Who was this kid?

  “How many?” Dad asked.

  “Too many,” Alaron muttered from beside me, already crouched at the edge of the porch.

  “Not an answer.” Dad’s voice was flat.

  “Maybe six?” Alaron said.

  I swallowed hard, trying to keep the arrow from shaking. Six. I could handle six… if they lined up politely and waited their turn.

  The forest went quiet—too quiet. Then a flicker of movement in the trees. I drew and loosed. The arrow hissed through the air and hit something with a wet thud. A body hit the dirt. One.

  The next came from the other side. I pivoted, fired again. Missed.

  Then the sound I dreaded: movement in the brush, closing from both sides.

  Dad lifted his hands, palms out. The air suddenly became too humid, the wall of water he’d built earlier curling higher. It surged forward, freezing solid into a curved wall of ice. A heartbeat later, arrows hit it and shattered into shards.

  “They’re flanking,” I called.

  “Not if I can help it.” He moved his hands in a wide arc, and the water barrier bent, guiding the flow toward the porch like a funnel. “Alaron, hold the line there! Nothing gets past you.”

  Alaron grinned, drawing his greatsword. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Two assassins broke from the treeline. Faces masked, blades curved like fangs. They didn’t speak, just moved, fast and silent. One went down under Alaron’s swing. The other made it halfway up the porch before I put an arrow in his shoulder. He dropped without a sound, then his body just… dissolved. What even were these things?

  Another slipped through the shadows to the right, but Alaron was already there, shoving them back before his sword came down. This felt like more than six.

  For a few breaths, all I could hear was the crackle of the dying fire and my own heartbeat hammering in my ears.

  “Still at least three out there,” Dad said. “Hold position.”

  I could just make them out now, dark shapes gliding between the trees, testing the limits of the light from the porch. They weren’t charging blindly anymore. They were thinking. What even were these things?

  The nearest one lifted a hand, and something like silver thread shimmered between his fingers. I squinted, realizing too late it wasn’t thread at all.

  “Dad—”

  The assassin snapped his hand forward, and the air between us tore open with a hiss.

  Light erupted, white and violent. I threw up my arm, but the blast hit before I could react. Heat rippled through the floorboards. Dust rained from the beams as the porch railing exploded beside me, splinters flying. My ears rang, the world reduced to a high whine and a blur of motion.

  “Trina!” Dad’s voice cut through, sharp and distant all at once.

  “I’m fine!” I shouted back, not sure he could hear me. I forced my focus on the treeline, blinking past the dazzle in my eyes. Another shape lunged through the mist. I drew, loosed, and caught him center chest. He dropped hard.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The air crackled again. Dad thrust his hands forward, and a surge of water burst from the frozen barrier, twisting midair like a serpent. It slammed into one of the assassins and sent him flying into a tree. The water hardened instantly, pinning him there in a sheet of ice.

  A desperate voice came from inside. The elf. “There’s one at the back!”

  “I’ll handle it!” Alaron bellowed, bursting through the door and charging inside.

  I turned back just in time to see another assassin stepping out of the shadows on the left. His eyes gleamed behind his mask as he raised another shimmering thread between his fingers.

  “Not again,” I muttered, firing before he could finish the spell. The arrow struck, but instead of blood, his body flared with the same light, dissolving into mist. Still disappearing, but differently than the last body.

  “Projection!” Dad barked. “They’re masking their numbers!”

  So we had no idea how many. Six could mean twelve. Or twenty.

  The stream roared, the ice cracking under strain. Dad gritted his teeth, pulling more moisture out of the air until droplets hung like glass beads around him. “Trina, inside. Swap with Aoina. She’s a spellbreaker.”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  I bolted through the doorway, heart hammering. The injured kid was half-sitting up by the hearth, pale and glassy-eyed. The light from the fight outside flickered over him, making the blood on his side look black.

  The elf’s eyes shot to me.

  “Aoina, I assume?”

  A sharp nod.

  “Need you outside,” I said.

  “The boy—”

  “I’ve got it for a minute. We lose this fight, we’re all dead.”

  She huffed, but stood and strode out the front door. I rushed to fill her place, pressing down on the wad of fabric at the boy’s waist that was becoming more and more soaked with blood. Not good.

  He needed a healer. Now. Dad could heal a little, but he was fighting those things. Someone shouted out back, and a sword clanged. Alaron.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, grabbing a clean cloth from the table.

  The boy managed a weak grin. “Complicated answer.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re bleeding on my floor, so keep it simple.”

  I pressed the cloth against his side. He hissed in pain, but his hand shot out suddenly, catching my wrist. His grip was strong, too strong for someone that hurt.

  “I can help,” he said, voice low. “You need to help me up. I can—”

  Outside, the world exploded again, the sound swallowing the rest of his sentence.

  The blast shook the cottage. Sparks rained from the hearth as the floor trembled under my knees. A sharp crack echoed from somewhere above— roof beam or thunder, I couldn’t tell.

  “Stay down,” I hissed, pressing harder on the cloth. “You’re in no shape—”

  But he wasn’t listening. His eyes had changed, instead of the dazed feverish gaze, they were pure gold. And his skin was almost… glowing. Heat rolled off him, faint at first, then growing, like the air around us was suddenly breathing fire.

  “Hey—hey!” I jerked back as the blood on his side began to glow, light leaking from the wound in fine, golden threads. “What are you—”

  He shoved himself upright, staggering toward the door. “I can help,” he said, voice shaking but fierce. “Have to help.”

  Before I could stop him, he thrust out a hand.

  The air ignited.

  Flame surged from his palm, brilliant and blinding, a wave of molten light that blasted through the doorway and out into the night. The entire clearing was suddenly alight, every leaf and drop of water shining like glass. I threw up my arm, barely keeping from getting seared.

  Outside, someone screamed. Another voice—Dad’s—shouted a word I didn’t know. The wall of water outside moved, slamming into the fire like a tidal wave. Steam exploded outward in a hissing cloud, swallowing everything in white.

  I coughed, eyes watering. The boy sagged against the doorframe, barely on his feet. The glow in his eyes flickered, fading back to something human.

  “Okay,” I rasped. “So complicated answer. Got it.”

  The steam was still rolling through the room, thick and heavy. I could hear footsteps outside, fast and uneven. Alaron maybe, or the elf. Then the door burst open, and Dad stumbled through, soaked, his hair plastered to his face.

  The boy’s skin flared with a white light, and his side looked slightly better. Dad took one look at the boy and swore. “Trina, away from him,” he snapped.

  “Dad, he’s—”

  “Now.”

  I backed off instinctively, hands raised. The boy swayed, disoriented. “I didn’t mean—”

  Dad moved faster than I’d ever seen him, crossing the room and catching the boy before he could fall. “I know,” he said, voice low but taut. “But now they’ll know exactly who you are. Before it might have been a hunch.”

  The boy blinked weakly. “I can’t just keep running.”

  Dad’s jaw tightened. “No, you are going to hide, but we have to finish this first.”

  Outside, somewhere in the woods, something screamed. Something that wasn’t human.

  Dad’s head snapped toward the sound. He shifted the boy’s weight in his arms, every muscle taut. “Aoina, Alaron!” he called.

  A moment later, Alaron barreled through the door, dragging the elf behind him. Both were singed and breathless.

  “That’s the last of them,” Alaron said. “Whatever they were, they’re running.”

  “Not running,” Aoina corrected. She kicked the door shut with one boot. “Burned. The fire took them. Or the water did.” She shot the boy a wary look. “You should have warned us.”

  He flinched but didn’t answer. Dad exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  He glanced toward the wall where steam still curled along the beams, then turned to me. “Get the shutters closed. We can’t risk anyone seeing the light.”

  I did as he said, slamming each wooden panel into place as Dad and Aoina lowered the boy to the ground again.

  “I can—” the boy started.

  “No,” Dad said sharply. “You rest.”

  Steam coalesced from the air, wrapping around the boy’s side.

  I ran into the other rooms, checking all the windows. One of the shutters was partially shattered, but I pinned an old rag over it with a dagger to at least block the light from escaping.

  When I made it back to the main room, Dad was in a chair near the hearth, scrubbing a hand over his face. Aoina crouched beside the boy, murmured something in a language I didn’t know, and pressed a glowing hand to his side. The remaining wound sealed, leaving a thin, silvery scar.

  I stared down at him. His eyes were closed and lips tight, obviously still hurting. His light brown hair was matted against his forehead, from the steam or the sweat it was hard to say.

  Aoina ran a practiced hand down the boy’s side, wiping away blood. “There,” she said. “He’ll live. For now. Probably need a new tunic though.”

  Dad nodded once. “Good. Then everyone sit. We need to decide what comes next.”

  Alaron gave a tired laugh. “I vote for sleeping.”

  Dad didn’t smile. His eyes had already moved to me. “We’ll discuss defense and set up a watch, then you can sleep.”

  Alaron grinned. “That’s acceptable.”

  “Trina, take that boy to my room.”

  The boy’s eyes shot open. “I don’t need—” the boy started again.

  Dad’s gaze was sharp. “Syrinthinor, that wasn’t a request. You need to sleep. Now.”

  I flinched at the tone I’d heard many times before. I was just glad I wasn’t on the receiving end. And Syrinthinor? That was certainly a mouthful.

  Syrinthinor’s shoulders hunched, like he felt every inch of that reprimand. He glanced up at me. “Can you… help me up?” he asked, voice rough.

  Hmm. I hadn’t expected him to acquiesce so quickly, especially when it meant asking me for help. I carefully knelt beside him and helped him drag himself to his feet. He leaned heavily on me, still obviously weak, either from the wound or from the magic. It was hard to say. But when I tugged him forward, he stumbled along with me. We made it to Dad’s room before Syrinthinor almost collapsed on the bed.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He just shrugged in a way that told me he really wasn’t in the mood to talk, eyes a little glassy again.

  “Be fine,” he muttered. “Just… tired.”

  Fair enough. I shifted on my feet, not entirely sure what to say. “Well, I guess just yell if you need anything.”

  I left him alone to sleep. Dad was finishing up his conversation with his team when I came back in. I waited quietly by the hearth. Finally, Aoina and Alaron filed off to the extra room to set up some sort of sleeping quarters. Were they together? Never would have guessed that.

  Dad turned to me. “So,” he said finally, switching to English. “Why are you here?”

  I blinked at him. “That’s my line.”

  He didn’t answer, just waited.

  I sighed. “I needed to get away. This is cheaper than a plane ticket.”

  “Trina.”

  I let out a long breath. “I quit my job. I know I need money for school. Mom will probably be mad, but I hate it. I just needed a couple days of nothing, so I came here.”

  Dad frowned, then said, “Good.”

  What? Good? That was basically the opposite of the answer I expected. I narrowed my eyes. “Why is that good exactly?”

  He shrugged. “I have a job for you. Before, it was going to be complicated with you and your mother both working. Now it will be simpler.”

  I felt the muscles in my stomach clench. A job?

  “Trina, I need you to take that boy back to Earth with you.”

  babysitting one (1) glowing priest. Any cultural exchange that should definitely happen?