Page 33 of Wrath of the Fae Queen
The Mistress of the Assassins of Belladonna.
She is the main founder and leader of the realm’s most deadly force. The infamous elite warrior I need to kill in a duel to win control of her army. After a heartbeat, a man joins her, but I don’t spare a glance for him.
Her voice booms across the space. “Let us witness the might of this candidate and judge whether he is worthy to join our ranks. I declare this ceremony as Aldrin’s final trial. Take your places on the arena floor. Is the candidate satisfied with his weapons and armor?”
I realize she is talking to me. Dante is off to the side at a stand overflowing with a variety of weapons, having his armor fitted. I already have an arsenal strapped to me, and I sleep in my armor these days. I give a curt nod, taking a place within the walled fighting ring.
Dante smirks as he approaches with a huge, curving blade resting against his shoulder. His armor is menacing, to say the least: segmented black panels of a material that looks like many overlapping tentacles of obsidian. An enchanted blue light emits from each joint. Great spikes of blackened bone jut up from his shoulder guards, along his arms and at his knees, and a decorative white ribcage adorns his chest.
The mass of his long hair is pulled back in a leather strap. When he puts on a helmet fashioned into a black skull with crevices for his two curling horns to poke through, I feel underdressed.
The image he strikes is fucking intimidating. He looks the part of a member of the Wild Hunt. My mind still reels from the fact.
I crack my neck from side to side, then pull my sword from my back, brimming with power. My crown of horns materializes as I prepare myself for battle. My fingers blacken and become tipped with claws. I don’t need to look in a mirror to know the black streaks of war paint will now be visible on my face.
The crowd cheers at the exposure of my primal form. Only the most powerful of the high fae have one. I guess it makes me look more like the Nightmares in the audience.
“How would you like to die, Aldrin?” Dante calls out to me.
“I don’t plan on dying today,” I snarl back.
“Aldrin, King of the Spring Court, when the sand in this hourglass runs out, your time is up,” the Mistress calls out, gesturing toward a massive hourglass in a frame. Two high fae hold it between them and turn it in a swift motion. I estimate I have half an hour to win this trial. “Fight well and good luck. Let the trial begin!” A gong rings with her words.
We begin to circle each other.
“Why the hourglass?” I ask Dante.
His lips press into a thin line. “If you don’t kill me by the time the sand runs out, the entire horde of assassins in the audience will erupt out of their seats, spill onto the fighting floor and rip you apart between them. Neither of us wants that.”
A fresh wave of horror runs through me.
I don’t spare a glance at the array of monsters calling for my blood.I can’t. It will undo me.
Instead, I focus everything I have on destroying the man before me.
He lunges at me and our swords spark as they slide along each other, the metal screeching. They clash several more times as I retreat backward under the force of his blows that have tremors rippling through my arms. The wind kicks up around us, flicking sand with it, as we each use air wields to strengthen our attacks.
We pull away from each other, panting.
Dante charges back at me.
Each step lifts him higher above the ground as he races up platforms of hardened air, until he is multiple feet above me. Then he leaps down, sword swinging in an overhead attack to slice me through. The power of his full body weight is behind that blow, and when his blade clashes with mine, it is enough to drag my feet backward. I surge raw energy through my weapon and shatter his, the metal pieces flying away from us in an arc.
I flow into an underarm swing while Dante is still in a downward motion, aiming to slice open his belly as his feet touch the ground. My blade is an inch away and moving fast when shadows burst out of his chest. They throw me back in a violent blow.
Inky claws wrap around me, but I block them with shields of air and somersault away, landing on the stone floor in a crouch. I glance up to where Dante has staggered back a couple of steps, weaponless.
A vicious smile curls my lips when I feel what lies beneath the pavers.
This could give me a winning edge.
We eye each other off as I slowly rise. Shouts from the crowd flood into my awareness, reminding me that I don’t have time for idleness. I do not want to be ripped apart by that mob. Would they eat me while I still lived? Tear off my limbs and devour my organs? I cannot think of a worse death.My mind skitters away from such thoughts, because they will ruin me.
“I expected more from a member of the Wild Hunt. Are you sure you’re not just their lackey? Perhaps you’re the stable boy who grooms their death mounts?”
“You talk a lot for a man running out of time,” Dante throws back, his aura rippling as he creates wields of pure starlight.
A cloud of needles dancing with blue electricity races for me, but I create multiple platforms of hardened air and jump above the attack. Then I pull on that life force lurking just beneath the soil. I throw my earth magic into it, expanding its many limbs until they are as thick as my waist.
