The Cursed Fae and Broken Promises
Chapter One
Vines raced across the ground like serpents, ripping up from the earth and lashing out as Rion dodged and ducked beneath their rapid strikes. The stones and loose particles answered his call easily, veering to block the greenery and shredding it on impact before darting to the next.
He raised his sword and went in for the strike, right where he’d seen her vulner—a tree burst from the ground and clipped him hard beneath the chin before he could backpedal. Blood pooled in his mouth, but Rion ignored the coppery taste and dashed to the right. If he could move fast enough . . . more vines wrapped around his foot and dragged him down; he sliced through them with his magic and caught his balance before launching at her again.
She smirked, already anticipating his movements. She shifted into a perfect stance, her weight evenly distributed, sword up, ready to counter when he closed in.
The ground crumbled beneath her back foot. She tilted and cursed, then Rion used his magic to propel him forward. She pulled at the vines once more, but the ground moved beneath her other foot. There was no way for her to regain her balance in time.
Now . It had to be now. He’d never get another chance.
Rion slammed his elbow against her sternum and she hit the ground hard. He leaped, blood racing through his veins as victory closed in—a flash to his left, but too late. The trunk slammed into Rion’s side, sending him flying. He skidded across the ground. Rocks and thorny branches cut though his skin and Rion cursed before righting himself and clutching his ribs.
“The hell was that for?” Rion roared.
“You weren’t paying attention to your surroundings.”
“I almost had her.”
“And if she’d had a partner, you’d be dead.” Rion slammed his sword down and cursed again. The male tsked . “No need for the language.”
Rion glared at Caol, then at Saoirse who was quietly laughing to herself. Caol, their teacher, helped her up and Saoirse dusted off her pants. “Almost only counts—”
“I know,” Rion interrupted her. So close. He’d never been so close to beating her and Caol, gods—Rion kicked a branch, snapping it beneath the force.
“Are you done throwing a tantrum, boy?”
“Don’t call me that,” Rion seethed.
“Then stop acting like one.”
“You did that on purpose.”
“And I’ll do it again until you realize there’s always more than one enemy on the field. Never let your guard down.”
Rion’s blood slowed. He drew in a breath and let the tension fall from his shoulders. Caol was right, of course, which only made the situation more infuriating. If he was ever going to beat Saoirse, he’d have to earn it.
He crossed the space separating him and Saoirse, trying not to limp from the pain radiating through his hip where Caol had basically thrown a small tree at him. “I had you.”
A bloody grin. “Maybe.”
Caol called, “Here, if you’re so confident,” Rion turned and caught the three sectional staff before it smacked him in the head. “Let’s see what you got.”
Rion grimaced but his pride wouldn’t let him back down, not as Caol dropped into his own stance, wooden staff in hand.
He’d only been working with the three sectional for a month. Long enough to know the basics, but not nearly long enough to perfect it. He still had bruises from last week and a tender knot on the back of his head to prove it.
Caol launched at him without warning. Rion stumbled back and raised the weapon, gritting his teeth from the force of impact. The chains linking the staff together rattled, and Rion swung the right section up aiming for Caol’s chin. The male spun his staff, effectively blocking the move, then brought up the other end and cracked Rion in the jaw again.
His teacher danced away, spinning his weapon in a taunt that had Rion’s blood racing all over again. Rion rubbed his jaw, fighting the pain and the rage that accompanied it. After six years as Rion’s tutor Caol knew exactly how to push his buttons and seemed to delight in it.
Rion gripped the weapon between his hands and summoned his magic. Caol’s eyes sparked with challenge and mischief.
Six years and Rion had excelled at everything Caol had thrown at him; an awkward weapon wasn’t going to stop him now. Rion launched forward again, remembering those first few months. They hadn’t had a smooth beginning. Not by a long shot.
The two wooden weapons collided and a loud crack rang through the air. The vibrations raced down his arms. Vines reached out to yank Rion’s feet out from under him, but he was ready and smothered the greenery in an instant.
Rion had outright refused to listen to the male in the beginning and he’d often snuck away to find Saoirse. An act that Saoirse had reprimanded him for every single time. There’d been tears and no shortage of tantrums, but when Caol warned Rion his actions could result in Saoirse’s death or imprisonment, he’d stopped.
Rion ducked, feeling the wind from the staff’s swing, and swept his leg at Caol’s feet. He knew the male would jump. Rion sent his magic racing upward, but as usual, Caol was ready. Caol’s magic whipped out and wrapped around the male’s wrist, yanking him away from Rion’s path.
Caol. He was the only one Rion saw for months at a time. Their bond was . . . interesting. The male had saved him on a few occasions. The male had killed for him and yet still kept his distance. Not that Caol was any warmer with Saoirse.
“Watch your feet,” his sister called. Too late, the vines broke through his swirling sand and grabbed his legs, pulling them out from under him. Rion’s head slammed against the ground and stars shot across his field of vision.
Adrenaline pulsed through him. He knew Caol was coming. The male never let up until he had a weapon, be it staff, sword, or knife, pressed against Rion’s throat. Just to prove to Rion he needed more training.
Not today.
Rion waited, counting the seconds. He heard the male’s feet sprinting through the grass. Scented the magic sneaking up on him. Rion tightened his grip on the end of the staff and just like he’d seen Caol do a hundred times, he whipped the weapon out like a viper.
It extended, aimed right for the male’s torso. Caol’s smirk told Rion it wouldn’t hit, but Rion didn’t expect it to. Rion’s magic was already around the wood, crawling up the shaft, and right before Caol blocked, Rion shot that magic out in one swift movement.
Caol’s eyes widened. The particles of sand merged together and slammed into Caol’s chest hard enough to send him careening backward. Caol didn’t land gracefully. He hit his backside and flipped over, grabbing his chest as he fought for breath.
Saoirse let out an audible gasp and stared wide eyed before bursting out laughing. “This is going down in history as my favorite sparing session. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on your ass, Caol.”
A whoosh flew through the air and Rion didn’t have time to dodge as the end of Caol’s staff slammed into his stomach. Rion coughed and doubled over, letting the wooden staff clatter to the ground.
Caol was already back on his feet, one hand pressed against his chest. “You didn’t finish the match,” he said, eyes gleaming. “ Never underestimate your opponent.”