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Once the duel begins, we’ll be sealed off within the dome’s wards. There are seats for the spectators outside the sand circle, but no one sits, not even the judges, although there are three, throne-like chairs positioned to one side of the ring. Quite a crowd gathers, with many familiar faces from the “family” meal last night, and some that are unfamiliar.
I don’t have any trouble identifying the Liusaidh. She’s the elderly fae with moth wings that trail glitter with every step. She’s also the only one wearing a crown. Her crown’s made of white branches, flowers, and gilt, but it’s unquestionably a crown.
I’m slightly encouraged when I see her walk over to stand next to Dark. They tip their snowy heads together and murmur to each other as they watch Loyal walk onto the sands.
What does an entitled, one-sixteenth-fae arsehole wear to a magickal duel?
A Brioni, slim-fit, silk suit, evidently. And a fresh pair of Corthay loafers.
What. A. Wanker.
He lets his eyes roll down and up my trackies and trainers, then sneers at me before doing his bow. I return the favor.
Gabe and Charlie start the music, which makes me grin. I turn to bow to the judges.
As I do, Loyal spits at me. A slimy glob lands on my cheek and burns its way down to drip off my jaw.
Well, I did spit blood at Darwin during our first fight. Guess turnabout is fair play.
He waits, like he’s looking to get a rise outta me. And there was a time I’d have thrown hands for that insult.
But being with my boys has settled me, quieted my rage. Now I just let his spit drip. When we’re allowed to use magic, I’ll get rid of it. I’m not breaking protocol just because it feels gross.
Instead, I bow to each of the judges.
The Liusaidh moves away from Darwin’s grandfather in a sweep of her silver cobweb robes. She leans on a black, gnarled stick that looks much too frail to support her weight as she makes her way across the sand. She stops in front of me, lifts a shaking hand, and wipes off my cheek with her sleeve.
She turns her severe, black eyes on Loyal. “We are not animals. Challenging a mortal to a duel does not free you from the constraints of convention and civility. Watch yourself, young man.”
Loyal straightens and bows his head. “Forgive me, Liusaidh.”
She nods at him and walks back to stand beside Dark. She raps her walking stick three times on the ground.
A silvery wall rises up out of the sand and closes around us. It muffles both the music and the murmurs of the people watching.
I turn my head to look at Loyal, straight into his punch. His knuckles crash into my cheekbone and send me staggering a step.
But since I turned my skin to stone as soon as the ward went up, it also breaks his hand.
He keens, high and thin, at the crunch of bone. He clutches his hand to his chest; with the other hand, he twists his fingers into a sigil.
Flame roars out of his fingers and lashes across my eyes.
The dome, the sands, Loyal’s hate-filled face, the watchers ringing us, they all flare to white. The stabbing pain is almost familiar. It’s not quite as intense as when Darwin’s Empyrean spirit burned out my eyes, but it makes me reel. Fuck, I never did find out how to protect my eyes when I turned my skin to stone, and now I’m paying the price.
I drop to one knee and flatten my palm on the ground. The sand’s hissing as it billows up to surround Loyal in a choking, blinding whirlwind is deadened by the dueling dome’s wards, but I can hear it as it shifts around him. He can break through it with a dispersion charm—if he knows how to do one without the glass loop the basic spell requires—but it gives me a minute to get on top of the pain and regroup.
It gives the burning eyes in my head time to open.
I WILL BE YOUR EYES.
If I didn’t have my hand planted on the sand, I’d fall over in shock.
The profound disorientation of suddenly seeing the dome from high above my head, looking down on myself and the sandstorm engulfing Loyal, sends me to my hands and knees. I rock there for a moment, settling into a gaze that’s not my own. I don’t have any control over the direction. I can’t focus on anything. It’s like looking through a CCTV camera.
But I can see where Loyal is.
I push to my feet. He’s slightly to my right, weaving as he tries to fight off the whirlwind. I guess he doesn’t know a chant or sigil-based dispersion charm. That’s going to cost him.
