Chapter 34
Huntyr
Under the unforgiving sun, the blood on my skin dries quickly.
I lost the ribbon that had been holding back my hair somewhere along the rocks, and now it falls in heavy, damp strands over my shoulders, wet with equal parts of sweat and blood.
The sound of my own breathing seems to echo now that the crowd has quieted as I move through the treacherous landscape of the arena.
I wonder what they see when they look at me.
The Mortal girl, whose face is unfeeling. Trampling through a pit of danger, wearing black leather, covered in Fae blood, with only a sword strapped to her back.
Walking directly towards the Fae woman they have all expected to win from the day she entered this damned competition.
I suppose it’s appropriate that it’s only she and I left. The strongest of the Fae against the most ruthless of the Mortals.
Seraphina’s back is to me as I approach her.
She’s trying to find a purchase in the rocks, to climb like I did earlier, but the stone is smoother here, not as forgiving.
Some warrior she must be if she doesn’t even realize I’m standing right behind her. Watching. Waiting.
Running through my plan once more.
“The Fae have a rather sensitive sense of smell, isn’t that right?”
She whirls around, dark eyes locking on me. My grin spreads when her eyes widen as she takes in the sight of me, as she sees the story the blood on my body tells. A story of victory.
“I’m kind of wondering.” I reach over my shoulder, pulling my sword free and twirling it at the ready. “What do I smell like, Seraphina?”
Time seems to stop for a moment. The crowd is silent. The air is still. There’s only her and I.
Seraphina’s eyes narrow as she tilts her head to the side, red hair falling over her shoulders, before her nostrils flare and she takes a slow, deep inhale.
There’s confusion in her expression, then understanding, then rage.
Because she’s smelling him. His scent on me. In me.
And even if I am to die here, at least I’ll have that small victory. Seraphina will get to spend the rest of her very long life knowing her husband was in my bed the night before she won the Conclave.
I’m almost surprised when she doesn’t act right away, but she takes her time shifting her weight before stilling, and she smiles a bit before her hands light up in twin flames.
“Even so, he can’t save you now.”
I almost expect the sound of rolling thunder at that, but there’s still that eerie silence around us. “I wouldn’t want him to. I don’t let others fight my battles.”
She takes a small step forward, her moves calculated. “Do you really think that because you bested Mara, you stand a chance against me?”
She laughs, the sound twisted and arrogant, curling around me like an oily film. I swallow my disgust and let her continue. I let her talk her fill.
All part of the plan.
What’s Seraphina’s weakness?
She’s impulsive. Since the day I met her, it’s been easy to taunt her into anger. Then, she acts.
Her fire is obviously deadly, but she relies on it so much that she’s not as good at hand-to-hand.
I just have to goad her into fighting me with fists instead of fire, and then hope to whatever Gods exist that I can hold my own against her Fae strength.
Seraphina sighs, flames still dancing around her fingertips. Aside from some dirt on her brow, she looks as polished as ever, hardly even a bead of sweat on her pale skin. No fear. No exhaustion. Nothing but that certainty in her eyes.
“I’m going to go down in history,” she tells me. “You will be a body that no one will remember, and I will be a name that lives on in every history book.”
Tension builds in my gut. She’s too calm. Too self-assured. This isn’t going to work unless I can get her to lose her temper.
“One person will remember me, Seraphina,” I remind her, twirling my sword once more. “He’ll remember how he roared my name every time he pretends to enjoy fucking you.”
Her snarl echoes around me, the flames licking her palms morphing into balls of fire that she launches at me in quick procession. Adopting the same strategy that worked earlier, I dodge, duck, and jump. I move my body however necessary to avoid those flames.
Seraphina’s aim is far better than Mara’s, though, and she’s damn fast.
One of those balls of fire licks across my forearm and I scream—a raw, guttural sound of pain—as my flesh singes with white-hot pain. Unbearable pain.
Not just fire.
Fae fire.
Well, fuck me.
No one told me she could wield Fae fire.
Hotter, brighter, harder to extinguish. It burns faster and hurts far worse. I didn’t think there were any Fae left who could wield it. Every piece of legend I’ve heard said wielders who could summon it nearly always ended up dead because of its impossibility to control.
I guess it does make sense that Seraphina would be too stubborn to be killed by her own magic.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” she teases in a lilting tone, enjoying the sight of me grasping onto my arm.
Yes. It hurts.
No amount of brutality from Kristona had prepared me for this pain.
Still, I breathe through it. I only have one chance of living through this.
I conjure every bit of bravado I possess. Replace all my fear with the haughty attitude that’s gotten me this far in life. “I’m not surprised that’s how you choose to attack. I kind of expected you to take the easy way out.”
Her face turns contemplative as she prowls towards me, her steps slow and measured. Lazy even, like she has all the time in the world. Like she’s a cat and I’m the mouse she’s happily batting around.
“You’re right, killing you will be easy.”
Gods, do I have to explain everything to her?
I sigh. “I meant your magic, dumbass. It’s impressive, I’ll admit.”
She takes a few steps closer. Every instinct in me is screaming to step back, to maintain space between me and the Fae who’s staring at me like a meal, but I stay put.
“I don’t need your compliments,” she says, her voice more like a growl.
“I didn’t know about the Fae fire.” The pain is like an infection, climbing up my arm. I’m damn lucky she hit my non-dominant arm. There’s no way I would be able to wield a blade through this. “Being able to wield that probably does make you one of the strongest Fae of your generation.”
She gives me a gentle shake of her head, lips quirking into a small smile. “Nice of you to agree that I deserve to win, Mortal.”
“See, the thing is, though—” I scratch a finger against my temple. “When that magic runs out, when you’re in battle and you’ve exhausted it, how will you defend yourself then?”
She stops walking.
Tilts her head at me.
Once again, time seems to stop, only this time my blood runs absolutely icy.
She smiles. Not an angry, impulsive grin. Not a snarl of frustration.
A knowing, lazy, pitying kind of smile.
I recognize it as the one I gave Froggy all those weeks ago before I ended his life.
It’s the kind of smile that happens when you know your target is about to realize that their time has run out. The kind of smile that promises death as an inevitability.
I’ve never been on the receiving end of that kind of expression.
But Seraphina knows what I’m doing. She’s figured out that I’m trying to bait her into a magic-free fight. And as that realization settles over her, so does my realization that I made a dangerous miscalculation.
She’s going to give me the fight I wanted, because I’m not the only one who’s been hiding my skills in the training yard.
The flames on her hands flicker out, and she lurches forward, faster than I’ve ever seen her do at training. She’s several feet away one moment and in front of me the next.
She’s taller than me.
That’s the only thought that runs through my mind.
I’ve never stood close enough to her to actually notice the difference, but she’s got at least an inch or two on me.
Then, she pulls back her arm and smashes her fist into my jaw, pouring all that anger, hatred, and unfair Fae strength into that one single blow.
Pain shoots through me, blooming from face down to my neck and back. My head snaps backward wildly before my body does, the jerk so strong that my spine protests.
I at least have the good sense to drop the sword before the world tilts sideways, before I tip over.
Then, my vision blacks out.
There’s a drop on my cheek. Then another. Tiny drips of water falling steadily onto my face.
Another.
Then another.
For a moment, I’m not quite sure where I am, who I am, but then Seraphina’s boot slams into my stomach, and I’m thrown back so hard that my left side slams into a boulder. I come back to awareness.
“Get up,” Kaia growls in my ears. “You must get up.”
If only it was that easy. My head is spinning, the ground unsteady beneath me, but I roll onto my good side and push, kneeling first to steady myself before rising and attempting to settle myself into my stance.
It’s a fight.
Just like any other fight.
I can do this.
The rain begins tumbling down, but I hardly notice as I meet her gaze once more.
There’s no mercy on her face. No mirth or taunting remains. This is Seraphina in her most brutal, unfeeling form. She has her own Huntress, I realize.
She lunges suddenly. Her right foot pivots, weight shifting forward as her left hand fires off for a quick jab, and I react instinctively, dodging left and slamming my fist into her gut.
The bitch just laughs. “I don’t need fire to stomp out Mortal trash. It’s just more fun that way.”
Another brutal kick to my stomach, knocking all air from my lungs.
We go like that for a few rounds, a healthy rotation where each of us manages small hits and jabs to the other. Like a game.
Because that’s all this is to her.
A game.
I give everything I have to the dance, feeling fleeting moments of satisfaction when I manage to land blows to her kidneys and jawline.
It seems to last forever, an endless cycle of giving and receiving.
And throughout it all she hardly tires, there’s still not the slightest indication of sweat on her.