Page 112 of The Crown of the Last Fae Queen
Though that wasn’t a good measure of winning the fight, because if Agnarr was craftier and more adept in battle than him, then it didn’t matter who had more raw power.
Agnarr turned his attention to Blár, a wide smile spreading on his face. “I’ve seen you around.” His voice boomed down below as he flew away from the various shots Blár sent at him. He spoke with ease, as if dodging wasn’t taking an effect on him. “You’re one of the guards of the princess. Or, well, it appears like you’re more of a pesky rat than that.”
“Why don’t you come down here so we can talk properly?” Blár taunted back. This time, he sent a volley of ice arrows.
One of them nearly scraped the fae’s shoulder. Blár gritted his teeth together. Agnarr was far too skilled in aerial combat and no matter how many times Blár attacked him, he seemed to be able to dodge it with ease. Another skill the humans were ill prepared to face.
A vine erupted from the cobbled streets, aimed straight at Blár. He rolled away, freezing the plant in seconds. Agnarr manipulated more vines and roots, but Blár froze them while shooting his ice at the fae male. They went on like that for what felt like hours: Blár bombarding him with ice arrows, spears, and spiked balls, and Agnarr dodging and manipulating the earth and plants. Neither of them were any closer to defeating the other.
Further away, an explosion went off, sending a wave of heat throughout the capital. Blár glanced in the direction of the castle. Fenris was battling someone. The half-elf? Or one of the other generals?
Agnarr’s vine slammed into Blár’s abdomen and he reeled back, pain shuddering through his figure. He leaped away from the vine, freezing the plant and rolling away from a hunk of stone the fae shot at him.
Damn it.Now wasn’t the time to be distracted.
Blár filled the air with ice knives, leaving them suspended for a few seconds before he made them turn simultaneously toward Agnarr, who instantly drew his sword. He released the knives and they shot forward. The fae struck as many as he could with his sword, and a blast of explosions went off as he tried destroying them with his rune magic. They struck his legs, his arms, and his abdomen.
But Blár didn’t stop there, he created more, and more, until the sky was heavy with them and Agnarr was having trouble keeping up. Right when Blár thought he had him, a vine struck him in the chest and he flew backward. On instinct, a thin ice armor encapsulated his body right before he knocked into a building and it crumbled on impact, the bricks cracking and scraping along his flesh. He blinked through the pain. A sharpness prodded his chest with every breath.
Great. A broken rib.
Another exhale, and another shot of pain.
He cursed. Maybetwobroken ribs.
He shoved the debris off himself and staggered to his feet, his attention swiveling to the fae male, who wasn’t in the sky anymore. No, he was on the ground, yanking out the ice arrows from his body and storming toward Blár with a sinister grin on his face. His sword gleamed in the sunlight, and glowing runes were written into the center of the blade.
“Why does your mana feel so different than the other humans around?” Agnarr asked. “The air around you is most definitely human, but you see, I have a particularly sensitive nose, and I can smell that you have fae mana on you.”
Blár had no idea what he was talking about. As far as he knew, he was human through and through.
As if reading his mind, Agnarr said, “No, you’re completely human. I can tell that much. And when you were guarding the princess, you were most definitely completely human there, too. So … that makes me wonder. Did you mate with a fae?”
Blár created a sword with his ice, a grin twisting his own lips. He didn’t know what the fae male was talking about, but he assumed he was speaking about the Bryllup ceremony. The mating ceremony for the fae. Did sharing Kolfinna’s bed change things? It would make sense if it did.
“I didn’t know fae could smell mana,” Blár said.
“Most can’t.”
They both leaped forward, their blades clashing with one another. Blár’s body fell into rhythm; strike here, duck, roll, pivot, parry. Agnarr was taller than him, and almost twice as muscled, but Blár kept up with the fae male. They circled each other, and Blár began erecting pillars at least twelve feet away from them in a circle. Agnarr didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t care.
Agnarr slipped and Blár took the opportunity and shot forward, his sword aimed at the fae male’s neck, but it was a feint; he realized it the second Agnarr turned his body and his hand nearly grazed Blár’s cheek. The runes on his palms glowed.
Damn it.
Blár tried pulling away, but it was too late.
An explosion went off. His ears rang and he jerked backward, his eyes barely adjusting to the fading flash. He tried putting distance between himself and Agnarr as his body regulated to the shock. Blood poured out of his face and gushed onto the ground, painting every step he took, but he didn’t feel the pain. At least not yet.
His hands flew to his eyes, and then his nose, and lips. Still intact.
But the instant he touched his cheek, he yanked his fingers back. His face stung, and he had no doubt that something was very wrong. His mask was in tatters and hung around his neck in ribbons.
“I thought you wore a mask to cover up scars or something, like our commander,” Agnarr said, but the words barely registered to Blár through his ruptured eardrum—the side where the explosion had gone off. “It was pretty crafty of you to hide your face. You knew we wouldn’t have made you unmask because we’re so used to seeing it. Many fae cover up their scars. We’re rather vain that way, you know? You must have known. Well, now, youactuallyhave a reason to wear that mask.”
Blár breathed out deeply, his mana cooling his body further. He glared at the fae male and raised his ice sword. In his peripheral vision, his ice pillars were erected in place. Maybe this was the perfect diversion. Much to his bitter dismay.
“Being around you people has taught me a lot,” he said smoothly, circling the fae. “You’re right about the vain thing. Even your commander cares a lot about his pretty face.”
