by Jayne Faith
I expected him to try his usual persuasion, but he just nodded once and went back to the tablet. He ran through a few more details.
“You and your opponent will enter the stadium through here.” He indicated a tunnel. “You’ll go to the royal box and bow. Oberon will read the rules of the challenge. Then you’ll separate to your marks, which will be chalked on the dirt.”
“No sweat,” I said. “I don’t even have to try to curtsy.”
He gave me a faint grin. “We’ve also arranged for you to stay in upgraded quarters tonight. You’ll be under guard. After the servitor attack, we just want to make sure you’re secure. The fortress is at your service, Petra. If there’s anything at all you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”
With the official duties out of the way, he seemed to relax slightly. “Can you believe you’re going to wield Aurora in front of Oberon tomorrow?” He shook his head slowly. “I mean, that’s . . . bad ass.”
I grinned. “Does it make me sound insane if I say there’s a part of me that can’t fucking wait?”
He laughed. “I’d expect nothing less from Petra Maguire.” Then he sobered somewhat. “But if anything happens to you . . .”
“I’m not going to die.” It seemed like I was saying that a lot lately.
Emmaline arrived to take me to my fancy-ass quarters, where there was a fire crackling in the fireplace of the insanely huge bedroom that featured a king-sized four-poster bed. My battle clothing was hanging in an armoire.
“Anything I can do for you tonight?” she asked, her eyes big and her expression drawn.
“For one thing, relax. Your face is making me tense.”
She snorted. “Sorry. I just want to do what I can to help.”
I took her by the shoulders. “I’m. Not. Going. To. Die.”
“No, Oberon won’t let it go that far,” she said firmly, and I got the feeling it was more to reassure herself than me.
“Get some sleep,” I said. “It’s a big day for you tomorrow, too, squire.”
Emmaline left, and I lowered the lights and stretched out on the bed, staring at the fire and running through battle scenarios in my mind. Eventually, the adrenaline of anticipation gave way to fatigue, and I slipped into the hard sleep that comes after many hours of physical training.
I awoke with a start in the dark room with the smell of a log fire hanging in the air. Purplish pre-dawn light filtered through the curtains. I pushed myself up and rolled over to check the time. Ten minutes till my quarters became a whirlwind of preparation.
By the time people began arriving, I had my shower-damp hair pulled into a tight braid that ran down the middle of my back.
Emmaline came into my bedroom to help me put on the battle clothing. She was dressed in squire’s clothing that matched the colors I wore. Her serious demeanor had returned, and her hands trembled just a little at first. But she held her chin up as she surveyed me in full battle dress, her lavender eyes fierce.
“You look like a legend,” she said sincerely.
“Now all I have to do is fight like one.”
We went out to the living room area, where it seemed like half the Order had gathered. Everyone was in formal dress, and you could practically smell the tension in the air.
The murmur of conversation went quiet as people noticed I’d emerged.
I stretched my hands in front of me, cracking my knuckles. “Seems like a good day to kick some Duergar ass,” I said loud enough to carry through the room.
There were some chuckles and a few shouts of agreement, and some of the pressure in the room dissipated.
Marisol was there, looking regal as always. Her eyes were tired, though. I couldn’t deny the larger implications of this battle for the Stone Order. It shone a spotlight on us, and it was a chance to show that we wouldn’t be pushed around by the established kingdoms. I blew out a slow breath and began pulling in my focus. Emmaline stood at my left, and the crowd allowed us some space.
Oliver appeared at my other side. “Remember your strategy, Petra,” he said to me quietly. “Remember what you talked about with me and Jaquard. Most of all, remember who you are, and know without doubt what you’re capable of. You can win this. You will win.”
I nodded, my gaze only flicking to his for a split second. I appreciated his support, but I couldn’t get emotional. This was the time to go within. For all the bravado I’d displayed the past few days, I knew there was a possibility this battle would be the last thing I ever did. Darion wasn’t going to take it easy on me. After all, his pride and his kingdom’s honor were at stake, and Periclase had originally called for my head.
I let the others float around me like a cloud as I was led out of my quarters, through the fortress, and into the gardens. I was aware of them, and the words being spoken, but kept myself apart by my silence. We’d be using the doorway there to get to Oberon’s stadium. The complete stillness of the void was a welcome though brief respite, further helping me sink into my mental preparation.
When I emerged at a doorway outside the stadium adorned with the banners of all the Fae kingdoms and orders, the New Gargoyle officials who were accompanying me lined up in formation. Emmaline went first, with me behind her and the rest marching like my own personal military.
As we filed toward the tunnel with the New Garg geometric insignia flying over it, I glanced over to see the Duergar doing the same. I caught sight of my opponent, a big man who in his battle gear appeared larger even than Periclase. Darion glowered at me. I gave him a little wink just before he disappeared from sight.
King Periclase went in right behind his brother, but not before sending me a hard, unblinking look. In the rank and file accompanying Darion, I spotted the flash of Jasper’s golden eyes. Even from a distance, I could see that his face was clouded. His eyes flicked over my battle clothing, and he gave me the slightest of nods.
I wasn’t sure what it meant—perhaps a wish of good luck? It didn’t matter. I pulled in my focus again as we marched into the tunnel.
Horns blared flourishes. My people continued on to the right, going up a staircase that would lead them to their seats. I avoided their glances, keeping my gaze forward.
Emmaline and I stayed behind, standing alone in the dark tunnel as the first warm light of dawn began to illuminate the circular open doorway ahead that led into the arena.
I slowed my breathing and curled my hands inside my gloves.
The horns went silent and then started again. A cheer went up from the crowd. Oberon had arrived.
Chapter 26
THE NEXT FLOURISH was my signal to enter the arena. Emmaline waited for me to go and then fell into step behind me.
The sounds of the horns and the crowd seemed far away as I walked down the tunnel and out into the faint morning light. The murmur of the crowd swelled when I emerged. Darion stood fifty feet away. We both made ninety-degree turns inward and strode toward the center of the arena and then turned to face the royal box.
I looked up and then blinked, for a moment wondering if we’d come in too early or done something wrong.
Oberon’s seat was empty.
Titania was there, standing with her orange-and-gold streaked hair flowing over her shoulders. There was a corona of soft light around her that was only visible when you didn’t look at her quite straight-on but gave the impression she was illuminated from behind. Her perfect skin looked sun-kissed, dewy, and ageless.
But she wasn’t the serene Summer Queen. Her nostrils were flared, and her eyes flashed. She looked, well, pissed.
I kept facing forward but flicked my eyes over at Darion. He shifted his weight, and his head made small back-and-forth movements as he scanned the seats, obviously also surprised by Oberon’s absence.
My gut tightened as I resisted the temptation to look over at the New Gargs.
Where the hell was Oberon?
Titania looked at each of us with an expression of pointed annoyance, and I folded at the waist, bowing. Darion quickly did
the same.
With a sinking feeling, I listened to the Queen of the Summer Court recite the rules of the battle. As I knew to expect, we were each allowed to carry an alternate weapon into battle. Other than that, there really weren’t any rules, aside from giving the King and Queen the authority to call the battle and declare a winner at any point.
She finished and flopped into her chair, slouching over to one side and propping her cheek on her fist. She looked equally angry and bored, and as if she’d rather be anywhere else.
Fuckedy fuck.
I’d have bet anything that she and Oberon were in the middle of one of their legendary quarrels. Their tumultuous relationship had spanned eons, and their fights could literally last years at a time.
Normally I wouldn’t care about the spats of the Old Ones, but I needed Oberon, not a bunch of petty Faerie bullshit. Because judging by Titania’s face, watching someone get slaughtered in the arena might actually improve her mood. In spite of the modern trend of Oberon halting champion battles before they ended in death, the Old Ones were a violent, hot-tempered, blood-loving bunch. There was a reason the oldest Fae lore was full of pointy-toothed gore.
I went to Emmaline for my weapons.
“He’s not here,” she whispered, not moving her mouth, as she lifted Mort’s scabbard over my head and positioned it on my shoulder.
“Nothing to be done about it now,” I muttered back.
She presented Aurora, still sheathed. I withdrew the blade, and the legendary sword glinted in the morning light.
“Stay strong,” Emmaline said. “Use his weaknesses against him.”
I only nodded and clapped a hand on her shoulder in gratitude.
Emmaline took Aurora’s empty scabbard and retreated to a box seat designated for my squire.
For a second, I closed my eyes and tightened my grip on Aurora. Then I turned, drew magic to form full rock armor under my battle gear, and walked to my chalked line to face my opponent.
Chapter 27
THE NOISE OF the crowd swelled as each side began cheering on their champion.
In the couple of seconds I had to observe Darion while we took our marks, I realized he was as not as tall as a typical New Gargoyle man, but almost as broad in the shoulder. He was powerfully muscled, a man who’d spent a lifetime working his body and wasn’t afraid to use it.
His stature was intimidating, but I’d been fighting larger men and women my entire life. Size wasn’t always an advantage.
The audience quieted. A short burst from the horns marked the start of the battle.
I turned my attention to Darion’s blade. Twilight, the blade of the Winter Court, seemed to absorb the light around it. The sword was identical to Aurora in design, but instead of the golden glow of Aurora, Twilight shimmered deep purples and blues, colors that reminded me more of a fresh bruise than the evening sky.
I instinctively took a classic fencing stance, my body turned sideways to minimize my opponent’s target, and shifted my weight slightly forward.
Darion wasted no time. With a few quick but carefully measured steps, he moved forward, swinging Twilight in an arc and twisting at the waist to add force to his blow. He was going for power right out of the gate, not bothering to protect himself much.
Anticipating a harsh impact, I gripped Aurora with both hands and braced my arms. My blade deflected his blow, interrupting the angle of his attack just enough to prevent a hit.
I swiftly switched back to a one-handed grip, danced a wide step to the side, and flicked my wrist. Darion was still off balance from his maneuver, his elbow raised to leave a small opening. Aurora glanced off his hip, and the New Garg side of the crowd roared.
I’d inflicted no damage, but even a touch would score me points if Titania decided to declare a winner before there was a fatality.
I hadn’t injured Darion, but apparently I’d really pissed him off.
His lips curled into a sneer. “You’re going to die, little stone girl.”
With a snarl, Darion gripped Twilight in two fists, lunged at me, and brought the blade down like an ax. The edge of the sword was aiming straight for my skull. By instinct I knew there was too much power to deflect. Instead, I dove and rolled, and Twilight smacked into the hard dirt where I’d been standing a split second before.
So far, his attack was all brute force, and he was going for deadly shots. He wasn’t trying to score touches, and as we circled each other, each crouched low, I wondered if he knew something I didn’t. Perhaps Titania wouldn’t be following Oberon’s practice of calling a winner before either champion died. Or maybe brute force was just Darion’s style.
He sprang again, going for a driving stab, and I darted out of the way, managing to land a solid hit against the Achilles of his rear foot as I moved. If he didn’t have stone armor, I would have sliced the tendon. He barely seemed to notice the blow.
I shouldn’t have gone for the touch. It kept me too close. He whipped around and landed a backhand blow on the left side of my lower back. Pain blasted outward from the impact, nearly paralyzing me for a second. Immediately after, I felt the slow ooze of wetness. He’d cracked my armor.
Clamping my teeth against the agony, I regained my balance and took a couple of shuffling side-steps to open some distance between us.
I made a few quick, puffing breaths through my lips to clear my head and refocus my awareness away from the pain. Then I let the sensation seep in, as Oliver had taught me, using the sting to fortify my resolve.
I attacked, my footwork lightning-fast and my wrist moving as if following some pre-determined choreography. It surprised Darion, throwing him back on his heels. He used his strength to fend me off, but I wasn’t going for points anymore. He’d wounded me. I intended to return the favor.
I danced him backward, keeping him off balance as much as possible. Every time Aurora and Twilight clashed, there was a small spark like a flint strike.
I gripped Aurora in both hands for a moment of extra power and slashed in a tight C. I twisted at the waist, ignoring the screaming pain in my lower back and throwing all my weight and momentum into the attack. The blade sliced at the side of his knee, hitting edge-on, producing a sharp snap that was like a firecracker report.
He bellowed as his knee buckled. I’d fractured his armor.
I kept up my attack. I knew the pain he was in, and I was sure as hell going to use it.
He was partially hunched over, his non-dominant hand bracing the back of his injured knee while he defended my attack using Twilight in his other hand. He managed to swipe at my torso, gouging a line across my battle shirt and scraping a groove in my rock armor. It hurt but didn’t draw blood.
His knee, meanwhile, was dripping crimson.
I increased the force and speed of my effort, trying to land a hit on his sword arm. If I could force him to switch to his non-dominant hand, I’d have a huge advantage.
Aurora and Twilight clashed together once, twice, sending out small bolts of lightning that left ozone hanging in the air. On my third try, I managed to hit the inside of Darion’s wrist. It wasn’t hard enough to crack his armor, but his grip reflexively loosened. Twilight flew to the side and landed with a dull clang on the dirt.
Darion gave a little chuckle as he crossed his arms low over his torso, gripped the short swords at either hip, and drew them. He was clearly delighted to be able to switch to the weapons he was comfortable with. That didn’t bode well for me.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.
Then he flew at me. His injured leg dragged behind, but his blades blurred as he worked both of them in synchronous movements. One of them jarred against my dominant shoulder, not cracking the armor, but ringing my entire body like a bell. My brain rattled, and my vision blurred.
Blinking to clear my eyes and dancing like a madwoman, I forced more speed into my movements. He was working me backward, and landing about every third hit attempt. His short swords wouldn’t break my armor, but a slice to the nec
k or a hard enough blow to my head and I’d be finished.
Or he could just wear me down with force, as he seemed to be trying to do.
I sank even deeper into the movements, anticipating his swings and drives. After a couple minutes of straight fighting—an eternity at that level of exertion—we’d reached a sort of impasse, neither of us gaining any real ground and both of us breathing hard.
Darion swung out and caught me on the arm again and then backed off. His chest was heaving, and I was sucking wind, too. But the pause gave me a chance to see that the dirt was stained maroon where he’d been moving. He was bleeding very badly from his knee. And then it dawned on me: the Duergar didn’t have a mineral sauna. It and the special salts were closely-held New Gargoyle secrets. The Duergar couldn’t know as much about strengthening and healing stone armor as we did.
Darion’s rock armor was weaker than mine, and I still held a weapon that could destroy his natural shield, if only I could summon the strength to do it.
My arms ached from deflecting blows, my body throbbed from the hits, and I was still out of breath, but I flew at him. His swords whirled into action again. I aimed for his armor, protecting myself only when he went for my head. He landed bone-jarring blows all over my body, but I shut out the pain. I lunged in again and again, taking hits but keeping my focus on trying to get past his defenses.
Finally, he made a mistake, leaving one side open. I swung Aurora and landed an armor-cracking blow on his thigh. He let out a low, strangled noise, his back arching in pain.
I caught him again on the elbow, and he bellowed louder. He brought his blades up again and sent them flying at me, but the one in the hand of the injured arm moved sloppily.
Still, bleeding from three different cracks didn’t weaken his attack much. He came at me with fury and pain flashing in his eyes. After landing a couple of hard hits to my torso and leg, he tossed one short sword away and gripped the other in both hands. Then he began hammering at me with renewed resolve.
