Chapter Eight #2
“I don’t need weapons to beat you,” she said, flinging the dagger to the sand, where it embedded point first.
This was exactly what she needed.
“You better tell your father this was your idea if you return to the caisteal covered in bruises,” Thear said, unclipping his fèileadh from over his shoulder.
Aemyra smirked. “Trust me, my father wouldn’t care if I returned missing an arm and a leg as long as I still had an arse to sit the throne and a head to wear the crown.”
A troubled look crossed Thear’s face as he tightened the belt that held his fèileadh around his hips.
Aemyra struck.
Knowing he would be expecting a punch, she dropped to the ground and swept his legs out from underneath him. Her hip strained with the effort, but he came down with a crash. Pushing off the compacted sand with her blood singing, Aemyra swiftly kicked him in the ribs before he had time to recover.
She circled him to cheers from the crowd.
“Underestimating me was your first mistake,” she said as he rose to his knees, coughing.
This time, when Thear met her gaze, she saw determination. Finally, he was beginning to view her as an equal. The Bond stirred as Terrea felt the thrill of the fight through their connection, and Aemyra smiled. She might not be able to harness her magic, but she was still a dragon.
And dragons had claws as well as fire.
She launched herself toward Thear, aiming for his face, but he blocked her blow. Faster than she thought someone with his bulk could move, he struck her in the stomach.
She caught flashes of his bronze hair, teeth white in his tanned face, as he settled into the rhythm of her swings.
“Stop holding back,” Aemyra said, landing a kick to his shin that brought tears to his eyes.
Thear teased her. “You would give me leave to injure my queen?”
Aemyra punched him squarely on the nose by way of response.
“Hope you’re not attached to your pretty face,” she jeered, annoyed she hadn’t heard anything break.
Thear smiled ruefully. “You think I have a pretty face?”
The words cut through Aemyra like broken glass, snagging on the damaged pieces of her heart, and her limbs froze.
“You think I have a pretty face?”
Words spoken by a more musical voice in a lush royal garden that was now nothing more than ash and cinders.
A fitting comparison to what was left of her heart.
Memories washed over Aemyra, one after the other in such rapid succession that she lost sight of the fighting pit entirely.
In her mind, she was trapped in Fiorean’s emerald gaze, crackling fire all around her.
Scarred hands were wrapped so tightly around her heart that she wished he would squeeze just so her agony would end.
Wham.
Thear’s punch hit her in the cheek with such force that she fell to the sand, uproarious applause coming from above. Aemyra’s ears were ringing and she spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, feeling her back molar wiggle.
At least it had cleared her head.
Thear hesitated. “Your Grace, forgive me. I shouldn’t have—”
Aemyra fisted her hands in the sand, feeling the grains crunch against her skin, and shoved the painful memories away. Back into the corner of her mind where she stored all of her grief and heartache. Then she felt the familiar surge of the only emotion she felt capable of dealing with—anger.
Throwing the fistful of sand above her, she sent Thear reeling back, hands over his eyes.
The crowd jeered, but within seconds Aemyra was back on her feet.
She launched herself at Thear with an overhead blow, which he blocked. Aemyra ducked as he swung back at her, barely avoiding his thick arm. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, shock plain in his amber gaze.
He hadn’t been expecting her to match him, let alone best him.
It was time for Clan Leòmhann to bow before their queen.
Aemyra feinted left and then punched with her right arm, landing a blow. His head reeled back but he recovered quickly, attempting to unbalance her with sheer force.
Using the momentum against him, she managed to roll at the last moment, sending him sprawling. She kicked him in the side and he cried out, globules of spit congealing on the sand as the crowd groaned.
She kicked him again, hard enough to break a weaker man’s ribs.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Aemyra roared down at him. “Get up and finish it.”
Thear sprang to his feet despite the pain he must be in, a bloodthirsty look on his face that gave Aemyra her first glimpse of the ferocious warrior she had heard so much about.
She wasn’t worried, there had only ever been one man who was her equal in sparring, and it would take every ounce of power Aemyra possessed to kill him.
With a guttural roar, Aemyra ran toward Thear. He braced himself, bending his knees—then his eyes went wide.
“Stop!” he cried, throwing out his hand toward Aemyra, a look of terror on his face.
Before she could register what was happening, an immense force crashed into her from behind and Aemyra hit the ground hard. This time, the impact did wind her.
Lungs spasming, she was powerless as sharp claws ripped through her shirt, pricking skin. She twisted to the side as a heavy paw pinned her to the ground.
With smaller horns and no crest of dark fur around her face, the female chimera looked less intimidating than the males, but her teeth and claws were just as sharp.
“Dòiche, stop!” Thear yelled, falling to his knees beside Aemyra’s head.
In spite of the barbed tail that was curved over Dòiche’s back, Aemyra bared her teeth at the chimera.
“Get your filthy paws off me,” she growled up at the creature.
A queen might bow to a dragon, but she would never obey a chimera.
Dòiche didn’t seem to like this and scraped her back hoof against the sand, puffing up dust.
With a growl at Thear, Aemyra recognized a mental battle between Dùileach and beathach. Finally, with a threatening snarl, the chimera relented, removing her paw from Aemyra’s chest.
Thear seemed shaken, and taking his duty to protect his intended seriously, held out his hand.
“Didn’t I tell you not to underestimate me?” Aemyra warned.
Before he could register his mistake, Aemyra grabbed his wrist and pulled him off-balance. Rotating with him, she straddled Thear with her forearm braced on his throat, using her full body weight to keep him down.
She was hardly a small woman, but Thear could easily have flipped her off him if he tried. Dòiche looked like she was about to intervene when the roof of the cave shuddered and dust fell from the ceiling.
The faintest note of a dragon’s screech filtered down into the cavern and the crowd balked. Aemyra let a savage smile spread across her face.
“Yield,” she commanded, unsure whether she was speaking to Thear or his chimera.
The Cuith held its breath as Thear pounded his fist three times on the sand.
The crowd went wild, ale spilling out of tankards and coins changing hands as the patrons cheered the most interesting fight they had witnessed in years.
Getting to her feet, Aemyra winced as her back spasmed, muscles protesting the intensity of the match.
Ignoring the growling chimera, Aemyra ran a thumb over her sliced skin, leaving a smear of blood on her white shirt. “Your beathach almost tore me to ribbons.”
Thear grinned through a grimace of pain.
“I don’t think she likes me very much,” Aemyra said, jerking her head to where Dòiche was bristling with indignation.
Thear was eyeing Aemyra with newfound appreciation as she pulled him to his feet. “She doesn’t like anyone. Take it as a compliment that she didn’t rip out your throat.”
Aemyra ran her tongue over her loose tooth. “Well, she wouldn’t be the first to fall for my charms after trying to kill me.”
Thear’s eyebrows raised. “Who was?”
“My husband,” Aemyra replied.
Enjoying the shocked look on Thear’s face, Aemyra smiled and pushed him toward the ladder being lowered into the pit for them.
“Come. You need to buy me a drink before I tell you that story.”