Page 1 of Water and Wild

1

CONTROL

ELYRIA

“Let’s go again.”

Elyria planted one end of her fighting staff in the dirt, leaning into it. She drew the back of her other hand across her brow and wiped away a bead of sweat, then flipped her periwinkle braid over her shoulder, smoothing a few stray strands by her temple. The air hummed with the sounds of clashing steel and the heavy breaths of training warriors wrapping up their drills for the day.

“I think we can call it here, Lightbreaker.” Kerrigan was sweating too, his typically springy peach-colored curls flattened, damp against the sides of his face. His wings fluttered agitatedly behind his back. “We’ve been training long enough. Don’t you want to get back to the manor before Kit eats all the yeast rolls?”

Elyria grinned. “That eager to admit defeat, are you? I would’ve thought⁠—”

The sharp tang of magic filled Elyria’s nose, drawing her attention as a fae who was sparring to her right sent a gust of air at his opponent. An opponent who, in turn, leapt into the air with impressive grace to avoid the blow. Her iridescent wings shimmered in the sun’s warm glow as she landed behind the stormbender, drawing a knife to his throat before he could even spin to face her.

“Hey,” he protested, dropping his own dagger and holding his hands up in surrender. “I thought we said no flying, Kea.”

“I believe what you said was ‘How about no wings this round?’ and then you leapt at me before I had a chance to answer.” Kea planted a kiss on his cheek before lowering her knife and skipping round to his front.

“Sounds like you only have yourself to blame, Naj,” called Elyria, inclining her head at the couple.

“Story of my life.” Naj shook his head, slipping his arm around Kea’s waist before they skipped off together, leaving Elyria and Kerrigan alone in the training ring.

Elyria was still grinning when she turned back to face her partner. “All right, my friend. Your turn.”

Kerrigan gestured widely to their empty surroundings. “Time to pack it in, isn’t it? Surely you have more important things you could be doing than handing my ass to me.”

Elyria’s grin widened as she tightened her grip on her staff, pointing one end at her sparring partner. “Nothing’s more important to me than that.”

Sighing, Kerrigan moved one foot back, shifting his weight into a fighting stance. “Fine, then. But no holding back this time. No rules—wings, magic, whatever. I won’t be going easy on you anymore.”

Elyria barked a laugh. “Oh, is that what you’ve been doing? Please, by all means, then. Go hard.”

Kerrigan’s grin was feral as he leapt forward, his sword held aloft. Elyria drew her staff up just in time to meet the flat of his blade, deflecting it with a thwack as the reverberation of his blow echoed up her arm.

There was no time to recover. Kerrigan meant what he’d said—his strikes came fast, strong, testing. Elyria danced between them, parrying, feinting, attempting to find the gaps in his defenses. But the man hadn’t climbed through the ranks of the king’s army for no reason. He was good. She was better, but he was good. And he was clearly ready to be done with this.

Elyria just barely twisted out of the way as fire burst from his hand, whipping toward her like a flaming rope. Heat singed the air between them, forcing her back. Elyria reacted instinctively, tapping into the wild magic that sang under her skin. The ground trembled, thorny vines erupting from the soil, twisting toward Kerrigan’s legs. One snagged the hem of his pants as he launched into the air, wings flaring.

“Close, but not quite,” he taunted, sending another flicker of fire toward Elyria. Using her staff as leverage, she launched herself across the ring to Kerrigan’s other side, distantly aware of a crowd gathering along the edges to watch.

Inwardly, Elyria smiled. She always did love performing.

“Coming up?” Kerrigan said, pivoting in midair to keep Elyria in front of him.

Elyria made a show of looking at her bare shoulders, her wings still neatly masked from view, as was her preference. “No thanks,” she said, lacing her voice with faux sweetness. “I think I’d rather you come back down.”

Palm open, she swept her hand up toward her face, the vines that had broken through the cracked dirt of the training ring surging upward and snagging Kerrigan’s boot. Clenching her fist, she drew her arm down in a short thrust⁠—

And down came Kerrigan as well.

Dust bloomed from the spot where he crashed to the ground, sputtering a string of curses. He’d barely gotten himself untangled when she dashed forward, staff gripped with two hands, swinging for his midsection.

Their weapons clashed in a spray of sparks.

The sanity-scouring sound of metal against metal rang in Elyria’s finely pointed ears as the two warriors pushed at one another, neither willing to relent an inch. Murmurs sounded from the spectators still lining the ring around them. Kerrigan’s expression shifted—no longer teasing, no longer warm. Determined. A thin rope of flame slithered out from his palm, winding up the hilt of his sword, then the blade itself. Elyria’s eyes widened as it twined around both his weapon and hers. The metal staff in her hands began glowing, heat radiating through the rod until she had to release it with a hiss.

Elyria snarled as she leapt backward, her staff hitting the ground with a thud. She stole a glance at her hands, her vision darkening at the edges as she caught sight of the raw, red welts slashed across each palm. Power thrummed in her veins, pulsing, aching to be released, to strike back.