Page 8 of Mistake of Magic
Coal says nothing.
Before I can say more, one of the purples holds out his hands, a fireball launching from his palms. I gasp, jerking away from the edge and into another male body.
Tye puts an arm around my shoulder, his pine-and-citrus scent soothing my nerves. “The practice arena is warded,” he says into my ear. “The magic will not escape these walls.”
The fireball slams into the orange quint’s shimmering shield, the flame dissolving into harmless hissing smoke. In retaliation for the assault, rocks the size of small apples rise from beneath the sand, pelting the purple fire-thrower until he cries out, collapsing to his knees.
“Again,” Malikai calls to the fire-thrower, who is still down on all fours. “Do you imagine your first arena trial will be gentler? Maybe you should beg the council to cleave you idiots apart now. Save us all the trouble.”
I don’t see Coal move until he is flying through the air to land softly in the middle of the sparring ring. With his tight black leathers, fierce blue gaze, and long sword strapped down the groove of his back, he is the consummate warrior. Beside him, the other fae seem little more than colorful toys.
“Who the bloody—” Malikai’s words die in midair as he finds himself looking first at Coal and then at the rest of us, lining the top of the stone wall. When Malikai’s gaze touches mine, his eyes flash with distaste. Turning back to Coal, however, the male pulls himself up straight and bows, the rest of the males on the sand following his example. “Sir,” he says, his tone full of grudging subservience, “how might we be of assistance?”
“I want this space,” Coal says calmly.
“Of course.” Malikai bows again, his face tight. “We will clear out at once. My apologies for not anticipating your needs.”
I raise a questioning brow at River. “Seriously? Did that bastard just go from thinking himself a god to pretending to be a footman in a heartbeat’s time?”
River nods without humor. “Coal is a full quint warrior and Malikai only a third trial. He has no choice, not unless he wishes to find himself at the flogging post.”
Of course the Citadel would have such a thing. A poisonous flower indeed.
Coal’s hand shoots out, grabbing Malikai’s wrist. “Keep your quint here, Third Trial,” he says in that velvet-soft voice that promises painful things to come. “I wish to train.”
A corner of River’s mouth twitches, the only sign he gives of having an opinion on Coal’s actions.
Malikai swallows. “Of course. It will be our pleasure to provide whatever your quint—”
“Not my quint.” Coal’s smile is feral as he pulls his sword from the scabbard down his spine. The razor-sharp steel winks in the sun. “Just me.”
My heart stutters. Five. Coal wants to go up against five.
The purple quint is out of the arena in the blink of an eye, climbing up a ladder I didn’t notice before and bowing to us as they slide by toward the outside steps.
“All of us,” Malikai clarifies with Coal down below, his voice growing cockier. “Again, just—”
That’s as far as he gets before Coal’s heel sweeps the back of Malikai’s ankle and the male lands hard on the sand.
Behind Coal, Malikai’s quint brother gathers a ball of orange flames around his hand. I open my mouth to shout a warning, but River touches my arm and motions for silence. My heart pounds as the flaming sphere grows to the size of a grapefruit and the male holding it cocks his arm to throw the mass at Coal’s unprotected back.
At the last moment, Coal moves, his muscles flexing like a dancer’s as his body slides off the center of the attack. The fireball, deprived of its intended target, continues on, now rushing toward the half-risen Malikai.
The orange-clad male drops gracelessly back to the sand, narrowly avoiding the blazing magic, which fizzles harmlessly against the far wall.
Coal is already rolling again, avoiding a second blazing sphere, this one lobbed against the hissed advice of the other warriors. Coal’s steel glistens in the sun as he comes to his feet, a stone gripped comfortably in his free hand. One of the damn rocks that Malikai’s quint pelted the first trials with. My breath halts as Coal’s arm snaps like a whip, each muscle so perfectly controlled as to make the movement seem slow motion. The stone flies from his palm, cracking into the fire-thrower’s hand.
The male screams and bends over his bloodied limb, his pain and fury echoing off the arena’s stone walls while the third fireball he’d been building fizzles into smoke.
“Connect!” Malikai orders, his quint brothers already rushing to the downed fire-thrower, their hands outstretched.
My stomach clenches. A connection. The moment those five link together—
Coal flows. A blur of leather and steel as he rises suddenly at the head of the column that Malikai’s quint scampers to form. Forcing the quint’s males to be in each other’s way.
Malikai, who was the farthest from the column, rushes forward with his arm outstretched—only to yank it back as Coal’s sword slices the air that Malikai’s hand was about to travel through.
Grabbing that arm, Coal twists it behind Malikai’s back hard enough to drive the male to his knees. With the next heartbeat, Coal’s sword rests against Malikai’s exposed windpipe, the defeated male’s chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths.
