Chapter 6
Leaf
Impossible.
In Bonerust, Arrow blew up the fire troll’s smithy. I watched it happen. Not a scrap of flesh or single bone shard would have survived the destruction for Azarn’s mages to reanimate with blood magic. But still, the resemblance to Gorbinvar was uncanny.
Perhaps I faced a relative.
“Zali Omala,” the troll growled out. “Human slave of Arrowyn Ramiel, the time has come for you to pay the price for murdering my father, Gorbinvar of Bonerust.”
Oh, shit. The smithy’s son .
More than anyone, I knew what spite did to a person. It hardened organs and turned hearts into cold, brittle things. Bitterness was a slow but fatal poison. And there was no one more embittered than a son avenging his father.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice a shaky whisper.
“I am Dorn, and mine is the last name you will ever hear, human.”
With limbs as thick as tree trunks, the troll was nearly twice as tall as me—far from an even match—confirming the Fire King didn’t care if I lived or died tonight.
Releasing a hard breath, I cracked my neck and rolled my shoulders, preparing to do a lot more ducking and weaving as I began whispering my people’s war chant.
By branch and root, soil and stone, lend strength to muscle, heart, and bone. Crush all to live. Conquer and prevail. Mydor blood will never fail.
Mydor blood will never fail.
Saliva dripped from Dorn’s tusks as he grinned, clearly relishing the idea of slicing me to pieces then sucking the marrow from my bones—if the tales of troll-battle traditions were true.
Brandishing my sword high, I spread my stance and waited for him to move. Hot embers fell around us, but we never spared them a glance. Who cared about a little burning flesh when your head might be hacked from your shoulders at any moment?
Dorn looked confident as he tossed his sword between his meaty hands and laughed. Straps of black leather crossed his bare chest, the rest of his body clad in tight pants and heavy boots. Azarn had kept his word, and no visible armor protected the troll.
He stalked forward, and I chanted the reaver cloaking spell one last time. But as expected, it didn’t work. Fucking fire mages. If not for them, I could disappear, kill the troll, keep running until I reached a seaport, and never lay eyes on the Sun Realm again.
As Dorn’s momentum increased, I lunged forward, running, then skidded past him, my blade slicing the backs of his knees. With a roar he spun around, chasing me with lumbering steps to the other end of the tunnel.
The fire hissed and crackled, my heart pounded in my ears, and the troll’s breathing was loud and labored. But no sounds could be heard outside the flaming walls.
The court was silent, waiting.
Dorn’s grunts and wheezes gave me hope. He’d barely moved, yet seemed to struggle for each breath. Perhaps he’d been spending his days sitting on his ass, eating pies, and dreaming of gory revenge. Well, the time had come to live out his fantasy.
It was a shame he was no warrior—but a great bonus for me.
Blood splattered from his wounds as his sword swiped at me while I ducked and zigzagged up and down the tunnel, speed saving me from a brutal hand-to-hand combat with the massive fae. Each time his blade clanged against the floor, I checked to make sure my limbs were still attached to my torso, relief surging through me.
The arc of his blade kept circling, missing my head and my stomach by mere inches, and I thanked the gods his size made him slow and clumsy. He relied on brute strength, but I had different skills. I was fast, refused to give up, and I fought with the fury of a woman who’d had enough of being used and abused by power-hungry males.
This event might end with the troll slashing me into bloody ribbons, but so what? It was better to die fighting than surrender to assholes.
Running toward Dorn, I leaped at the last minute, issuing a short, sharp kick to his balls before I slid between his legs, slashing his thighs. He stumbled, then righted himself, blood trickling down his legs. Growling, he raised his palm, fire magic kindling blue and red between his fingers.
I shook my head. “You’d better not. You’re likely to explode if I’m correct about the way Azarn plays his games.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, realizing the truth of my words. Then he roared as he hunched forward, coming at me again. Faster and harder this time.
Securing my footing with a wide stance, I rocked my weight, tossing the sword hilt between my palms. “That’s it. Do your worst, Dorn. Do it for your poor, dead daddy.”
With a scream of fury, he met me head-on, the force of his blade against mine hurtling me backward. I scrambled onto my feet, ran past him again, and slashed at his calves, then his back before he even had time to turn around.
A sense of power rushed through me. It felt good to swing a sword, to move fast, finally breathing in a controlled manner, despite the heat.
Crush all to live. Conquer and prevail. Mydor blood will never fail .
Never. Fucking. Fail .
As Dorn stumbled in confusion, I moved through a well-practiced sword pattern, slicing across his arms, then down the front of his thighs. With a feral roar and a lucky sweep of his big arms, he picked me up and hurled me into the air.
I flew along the tunnel, bouncing off the wall of flames before I dropped to the marble floor and rolled, scrambling onto my feet again at the same moment Dorn picked up his sword.
I watched his feet, the bend in his knees, waiting for his weight to shift as his bulky body prepared to spin toward me. The moment his eyes shifted off mine and his spine began to twist, I bolted forward, scrambling up his back before his blade had fully swung around.
Not wasting a second, I dragged my sword across his throat. A gruesome collar of blood sprayed from the fae’s neck, soaking my arm and leathers. He released his weapon, and it clattered over the marble. I dropped to the ground as Dorn turned, one hand pressing the gaping slit in his neck and orange eyes wide with shock.
As his free hand reached for the floor, blindly grasping for his sword, I ran back several paces, spun around, then charged forward. Leaping up, I slashed at his neck two more times, and he fell to the floor, landing face-up with a thud. My muscles protested as I climbed his reclining body and plunged steel into his chest, making sure he would never get up again.
Groaning through gritted teeth, I raised the sword above my head again and again, thrusting through bone and flesh. My vision blurred. Everything around me—the flames, drifting embers, the hall beyond—dissolved into blackness, my hoarse, panted breaths the perfect music for murder.
Mydor blood will never fail.
Mydor blood will never fail.
Mydor blood.
Will… Never… Fail .
Never .
I saw my brother’s face beneath me—Quin—laughing and taunting as blood flowed over his features. Then Arrow. His silver eyes staring and staring as his hand braced my hip, his iridescent wings spread out on the ground. Not moving. Just lying there, letting me kill him.
A firm hand pressed the middle of my back. “Leaf. That’s enough.”
With those words, the sounds of the Fire Court crashed over me. Deafening cheers, the roar of the fae. Laughter from Prince Bakhur. Ruhh’s high-pitched screeches.
Panting, I let go of the sword, leaving it embedded in the troll’s stomach, and looked over my shoulder.
Esen.
She held out a hand, and I took it, gaining my feet, then wobbling on shaking legs.
Surprising me, Esen braced an arm around my waist. “I think he’s probably dead now. You can relax.”
Nodding, I wiped blood and gore from my face. “Yes, I believe you’re right.”
I scanned my body. My leathers were singed and torn, and a grimy layer of soot and blood covered my skin. But I was alive. I had survived the first event.
The Fire King shouted something unintelligible, and the Dragon’s Path of flames disappeared, the court falling silent once more.
Azarn beckoned me toward the dais, and Esen, her arm linked through mine, led me limping forward as I leaned nearly all my weight on her.
When I was close enough to see the king’s face, both fury and triumph glittered in his emerald gaze.
“Zali Omala, you have survived the first entertainment and defeated an enemy,” he said, his tone indicating he wasn’t pleased with the outcome. “But the second task may prove more challenging.”
I longed to correct him. Because tonight I’d faced two challenges—the fire creatures and the troll—but five sets of frosty eyes staring at me from gilded chairs kept me silent.
Not one member of Azarn’s family smiled or directly acknowledged my success in any way. Cold assholes the lot of them.
“May I retire?” I asked, desperate to return to my room and tend to my cuts and bruises, the burns that grew more painful with each passing moment.
“No. But you may walk to the center of the hall, and my son will join you for a dance, after which you have my permission to leave us.”
I bowed my head, masking my relief behind a tangled curtain of hair. “Are you certain your son will want to dance with me in this condition?”
Bakhur laughed, and Azarn heaved a long-suffering sigh and nodded.
With my head held high, I turned my back on the dais and walked to the middle of the hall, the sea of courtiers parting as if they feared me in my current blood-soaked state. Good. Hopefully, they’d think twice before crossing me.
A sudden hum of excitement rolled through the crowd. Ruhh screamed, and Prince Bakhur hissed out an audible breath. Weaponless, I drew my aching muscles tight, preparing for anything, but refusing to turn around and react to the courtiers’ taunts.
Three beats of silence, and then a slow clap sounded from near the dais, the hairs on my arms standing on end. Goose flesh prickled my skin, and my Aldara mark flared to life, scorching my neck.
I spun on my heel.
A tall male braced his booted feet wide on the dais’s bottom step. He pushed his hood back, revealing dark gold hair and a ferocious silver gaze that pierced through my skull before lowering to my ribcage and setting the pieces of my shattered heart aflame.
The ability to form words left me. My heart reassembled itself only to hammer and flail about my chest like a dying fish with a hook in its mouth.
I couldn’t move as the fae’s sensual lips parted. I dug my nails into my outer thigh, every muscle shaking.
“Well done, Princess Zali,” he said in that familiar honeyed rumble. “Unfortunately, I arrived too late to see you fight, but courtiers have informed me that you remain as formidable an opponent as ever.”
My fists clenched as I locked my jaw at the terrible sight of Arrowyn fucking Ramiel, flashing a lopsided smirk at me.
I thought I was prepared. Believed I was ready to face him.
But I wasn’t. Far from it.
A rage-filled scream lashed against my lips, demanding release.
But I wouldn’t yell, swear, moan, or show a single flinch of emotion.
I would never let that asshole see my pain.