“One will succeed, but all others will fail,” the master of ceremonies announced. “Let’s find out who’s who.”
Again the audience cheered. Bloodthirsty lot. What nasty surprises did the king have in store for me?
“Combatants, the time has come to win or lose.” He waited until the cheers died before beginning his countdown. “In three...two...” A horn sounded.
We launched into motion, the roar of the audience fading to the background. I wasted no time, swinging my sword and ejecting a handful of spikes in Milo’s direction. Three hit their mark, nailing him in the throat, the shoulder, and the stomach. He stumbled back, surprised, dropping his sword.
A few feet away, the vampire fell. The snake-shifter cut off his head, and it rolled across the dirt. That quickly. The fae tripped over his body, and the goblin hacked at him with an ax. The snake moved on to the wolfin, the two tangling together.
I advanced on the warlock, preparing to attack while he was down. Along the way, I bent down, plucked his weapon from the dirt and hurled it at the troll in the midst of a one-on-one battle with the mortal. Success. The troll went down and didn’t get back up—because the mortal had used my aid to his advantage and slammed his sword into the male’s groin.
The mortal’s victory was short-lived, however. The wolfin had killed the final snake and now jumped on his back, reached around, and ripped out his jugular.
Unfortunately, Milo’s wounds had already woven back together, his motions under his control once again. His magic...he was a type of healer, then. Good to know. Now I knew I had three ways to end him, with no room for error. Decapitation. A thousand small injuries to drain his power before I delivered a more substantial wound. Or deliver an injury so severe he couldn’t mend it.
Blink. The goblin stood directly in front of me, his body like mist. Mist that entered me. Possessing my body, just as Leonora must possess Ashleigh’s. I lost control of my body, and I couldn’t wrest it back. Panic closed in.
On one side of me, Milo approached. On the other, the wolfin. Was the warlock working with the others to take me out? Come on, come on. I grappled with the goblin internally... Come on.
Milo grinned as the wolfin drew back his hand, claws bared. About to strike...
Grappling faster... Yes. My limbs unlocked, the goblin bursting out of me. He solidified as he stumbled, allowing me to grab him by the shoulders and yank him against me. The wolfin’s claws raked through the goblin’s throat.
The goblin careened backward, eyes wide, hands pressing against the wound as blood spurted. He collapsed, his battle over.
Take the others out. Get to Ashleigh.
Milo and the wolfin converged on me. The warlock swung and jabbed at me with his daggers. The wolf swiped those claws faster while snapping his razor-sharp teeth. I avoided many blows, but I took plenty, too, sustaining wound after wound.
The rush of adrenaline dulled the worst of my pain, keeping me steady on my feet. I landed just as many blows as I received, exalting anytime I made Milo bleed.
“Face it, avian,” Milo taunted. “You cannot defeat me.”
Urgency quickened my motions. Metal clanged against metal as I blocked his next jab. The wolf worked his way behind me, but I couldn’t turn with him. I had to block another jab of the warlock’s dagger and settle for kicking back my leg, slamming my foot into his groin.
He moaned and hunched over. I went low and spun, swinging a sword at each of the opponents on opposite sides of me. One blade swiped air, Milo jumping back. The other blade slicked through the wolfin’s throat, his head flying off his body.
I faced off with Milo, the final obstacle in my path. We circled each other, both of us panting and splattered with blood. My feet dragged a bit; his didn’t. He appeared to be receiving energy from an outside source.
“I won’t let you have Ashleigh,” I spat at him.
“I want nothing to do with her, only Leonora.”
“You want control of her power.”
“I want what’s mine,” Milo hissed. “I am powerful. I should have been born to rule. Leonora sees this.”
Tone flat, I told him truthfully, “She’s using you.”
He swung at me then. I blocked, then drove Milo back pace by pace, swinging, swinging my swords without cease. He managed to block each blow, and with a single sword, no less; he had to move double my speed. Impressive. When I hit him with more spikes from my sword hilt, blood poured from little wounds on his chest. At last he began to tire, his breaths growing more labored.
His battle tells became more obvious to me—a rock back on his heels pointed to an incoming strike, and his gaze darted when he believed I had the advantage, as if he searched for a way out.
On the other hand, his eyes narrowed when he thought he had me cornered—like now. His lids slitted as he jumped up—
In every direction, thick spikes popped out from the dirt.
Two of them pierced my feet, slicing through one end and coming out the other. My back bowed, agony crashing over me. Acid in my veins, weakness in my muscles. Dizzy...
The ground-spikes were poisoned? One of my nasty surprises, then.
As Milo landed roughly twenty feet away from me—successfully avoiding the spikes, as if he had a premade map inside his head—I knew I had two options. Remain nailed to the dirt and allow him to behead me, or yank my feet free and finish the fight.
I roared to the sunlit sky as I yanked my feet free, one after the other. Black dots flashed through my vision...my mind felt as if I’d submerged it in boiling liquid. I flapped my wings to hover over the ground. Need to focus. Need to see. My ears twitched as I searched for a flat spot to land. Footsteps. The warlock approached at a clipped pace.
No, I didn’t need to see. I was an avian; I’d trained for all facets of war, including fighting blind. I knew to remain aware of changes in temperature...whispers in the wind...vibrations as I landed—Ignore the pain. There. A vibration, a shift in the breeze.
I spun, swinging my swords, the tip of one slicking across some part of Milo’s body. He grunted and fell back. I swung the swords in a wide arc, the blades traveling in opposite directions. Air. I swiped only air. A terrible pain ripped through one of my wings, the appendage locking in place. The paralysis traveled down one side of me and I dropped, falling on a cluster of spikes. More pain. Thicker black dots and greater weakness.
Though I wobbled, I struggled to my feet. Any advantage I’d gained was gone. Must survive. Must save Ashleigh.
Bellowing with fury, the warlock hammered at me with his sword. Again. Again. And again. Metal clinked against metal. “Die already.”
I blocked every strike, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep going. My body was beginning to fail me, overrun by whatever poison had laced the spikes. My reflexes slowed.
Was I going to perish this eve? Denial screamed inside my head. You will keep going. You will keep fighting.
Every breath slashing like a dagger inside my chest, I blocked the next strike with a single sword. Milo grabbed my wrist, stopping me from swinging the second sword. A sword I dropped. Or rather, I appeared to drop. In reality, I’d pressed a second button, and the top layer of the sword thudded to the ground, revealing the dagger than had rested inside its belly.
The warlock loosened his grip on my wrist, thinking me unarmed. I angled my arm to shove the smaller blade in the area of his gut. Warm blood coated my hand. Shuffling footsteps sounded, and I knew he’d stumbled back, widening the distance between us. I sprayed more shards his way, and heard him grunt.
How much time did I have before his magic patched him up, allowing him to regroup?
At last my vision began to clear, light seeping through the darkness as I sweated out more and more poison. Relief cooled me down. And what perfect timing. Milo stood roughly a hundred yards away, pressing a hand to his bleeding b
elly. With a scowl, he launched into motion, heading straight toward me. He zigzagged closer, avoiding the ground spikes.
A plan formed. A risky one. Big risk, potential for big reward. So I did it. I let him come while pretending to still be blinded, purposely swinging my weapons at nothing. Midway, he launched a small rock toward the left.
Thud. I angled in that direction, following the sound as if he’d fooled me.
Close...
Closer...
Almost within range...
He threw another rock. The newest thud came from the right. Again, I angled the way he wanted. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he drew back his sword, preparing to deliver his final blow.
Almost—
Now. I flapped my broken wings with all my might and jumped. Ignore the agony. As he spun with his momentum, cutting oxygen, I tucked in my wings and dropped atop him. He crashed into the dirt, the spikes stabbing through his shoulders, abdomen, and both of his calves. Pinned.
At his cry of anguish, the crowd quieted, no doubt wondering what would happen next.
I stood before Milo, panting, as he struggled to free himself. Blood trickled from his mouth when he attempted to speak. To beg for the mercy he’d been unwilling to show me? To curse my name?
I was good either way. Do it. Finish this. Our gazes held as I lifted my blade. He opened his mouth to protest. I swung—
Just before contact, he vanished, leaving a pool of blood in his wake. A roar left me. I turned left, right, waiting for him to reappear...waiting.
“We have a winner,” the master of ceremonies announced. “The warlock left the field without blocking his opponent’s swing, an act that has disqualified him.”
Had Ophelia magically transported the warlock away, denying me my right to protect Ashleigh? Rage burned through me, the only thing keeping me on my feet.
The crowd went wild, many individuals jumping to their feet, waving their arms. Colorful fireworks exploded in the sky, reminding me of the enormity of what had just occurred. I’d done it. I’d won the tournament.
Urgency ripped through me anew, and I took a step forward, ready to run. My knees gave out as if someone had taken a hammer to the back of them. I fell, landing with one knee up and one down. By an act of my will, I maintained a tight hold on my sword, using it as a prop, resting my forehead against the hilt.
The witch still held me on the battlefield. What would I be forced to face next?
The master announced, “The magnificent King Philipp invites one and all to the palace for a ball. We will celebrate the avian’s victory with wine, food, and laughter.”
New applause rang out, people pouring from the stands, hoping to be the first to drink the king’s wine.
Ophelia materialized just in front of me—I recognized her combat boots, emblazoned with gold. She patted the top of my head. “All right, avian. Now that I’ve helped you again—”
“Helped me?” I roared, my head lifting in a rush.
“Yes. Exactly. You owe me so many favors right now, it’s ridiculous. Oh, wait. You don’t know all I’ve done. First, I ensured Ashleigh was safe during your fight. But I told you that already, yes? You’re welcome. All the two of you did was complain. I let her watch you, and I’m sure she’s all hungry for your sweet, sweet love or whatever. Guaranteed she’s going to say yes to your marriage now. And that’s just the tip of my scorecard. While my methods are questionable, I do what I must to elicit genuine emotional reactions from others in order to achieve a specific desired end. I always get the job done. So, let’s get you to the palace so you can stab Ashleigh.”
That was the way she was supposed to die, so she could come back without Leonora? My head shot up. “I will never stab Ashleigh. Not for any reason.”
“Oh, really?” She scratched her chin. “Because Noel assured me someone was going to stab the princess, like, tonight. Wait. I see the problem here. No one explained how everything’s gonna go down. See, Ashleigh is only just beginning to realize she can bond two things together. But good thing she has because she’s got to bond Leonora to her body while severing her own connection to it, essentially becoming the phantom herself. Once we kill the body, its new owner will die. That’s Leonora, in case you got lost. Ashleigh will live on, and she can bond with her body anew. Then, we can revive it with magic. At least, we hope we can revive it. The odds are forty-fifty but we’re keeping our fingers crossed.”
“Your math is off.”
“No, the other 10 percent is for my certainty that everyone is going to die.”
“I will never risk Ashleigh in such a way,” I said, not needing any time to think this over.
“What did you imagine we’d do when I mentioned killing her?”
I didn’t know, didn’t care. My first instincts were right. We’d stick with subduing the phantom. “The cost is too high.”
“From the beginning, Noel told you one would live and one would die. What is tonight is what will be tomorrow. There will be no going back. One measly death is a small price to pay for obtaining a happily-ever-after with the woman of your dreams, wouldn’t you say?”
“Ashleigh’s death is the only price I’m unwilling to pay. And I would be the one forced to pay it.”
“Are you sure? You know three apple babies, and we’re the best chance she’s got.” She shrugged. “The choice is yours. Just know fate has a deadline for the completion of every fairy-tale prophecy, and we’re about to reach yours. You’ll lose Ashleigh no matter what then. At least fate is helping us out right now.”
“From my vantage point, I don’t think fate has ever helped me.”
“Then you aren’t paying attention.”
Could I do this? Could I trust that our fairy tale would end the right way at long last?
28
Are you ready to begin?
Who will die and who will win?
Ashleigh
Five minutes earlier
For the past half hour—what had seemed like an eternity—I’d alternated between worrying about my dragons, watching Saxon fight, in awe of his skill, and squeezing my eyes tightly shut, praying the battle ended with the avian still breathing. A thousand times, I’d tried to pry open the cell door, and a thousand times I’d failed.
I had to get to Saxon. We had to get to the dragons. When it came to the safety of my babies, there wasn’t anyone I trusted more than their father. There wasn’t anyone I trusted more, period.
“You had an opportunity to become my fairy godmother,” I said to Leonora. “You didn’t have to remain my evil stepmother. You could have helped me save Saxon and the dragons.”
—Why would I save Saxon? He gave me what I wanted only to take it away. So I will let you both die, and I will try again in the next life.—
“Didn’t you hear Ophelia? There won’t be a next life.”
—You can’t be sure of that.—
“Ah, yes. Denial. That will make the lies you tell yourself come true,” I said. “Why can’t you let Saxon go for good and find someone else?”
—Because he’s mine, the only thing given to me by fate.—
“He isn’t and has never been yours. You just borrowed him from me for a few centuries.”
As the crowd cheered, I gaped at the scene now playing on Ophelia’s magical screen, my heart about to burst with joy and worry. With the aid of my weapons, Saxon had just won the tournament.
Blood soaked him from head to toe, still leaking from multiple gashes. He looked magnificent. Like the glimpses of Craven I’d had in my memories, coming home from battle wearing so much blood his wings appeared red.
Saxon might have begun as my enemy, but he was now my best friend. He was the first person to see worth in me. The first person to look past my limitations and discover strength. The first person to love all of me. And he did love me. Craven Tyron Saxon Sky
lair loved me with every fiber of his magnificent being. Just as I loved him. I knew it.
Ophelia appeared before him, and the screen went blank. No! I ran over to beat my fists against the wall, but the screen didn’t reappear. Well. I wouldn’t remain in this cell, waiting for others to decide my course. I would find a way out, and I would save Saxon from whatever horrors they’d planned for him.
“Leonora?”
Milo’s voice had me whisking around. He stood inside the cell with me, broken and bloody. His knees almost gave out, but he found the strength to remain upright and stumble toward me, arms outstretched. He coughed up blood. “Help me.”
I backed up. There was a piece of paper pinned to his shirt, and it read, “A gift for you. Enjoy. —O”
Ophelia had transported him here as a gift for me? But why?
“Help me,” Milo repeated, wobbling.
“Help you? The way you helped me?” Fury burned through me. I blinked, nothing more. The next thing I knew, I was standing before him, sinking one of my daggers into the hollow beneath his throat and twisting the blade.
My mouth began to move and form words I didn’t want to say. “I guess you can’t cast a spell of immortality. You should have listened to the girl. I never would have wed you. I only needed you to relay the information I wanted the king to know, and to weaken him so that Saxon could defeat him when the time came. I can give him what Ashleigh can’t. The respect of his people. Your services are no longer needed.”
His eyes widened. More blood. As his knees buckled at last, I dropped the weapon and stumbled back, in control once again and horrified with myself. He hit the ground and lay there, going motionless.
The Glass Queen Page 38
