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Malcolm glared daggers with his abnormally bloodshot eyes. The Navita put his hand on Kol's shoulder and met the smarmy consort’s expression with cold indifference. Malcolm shrunk back, making himself small.
Suddenly, Henderson used his jumping magic. Blinking out of existence then reappearing, he launched his fiery weapon. Sersha blocked it with a well-timed spell.
As she did, he unsheathed the sword Phalen had loaned him. Sersha pulled her own. Her eyes darted around the spectators' seats, which were empty save for us.
What was she looking for? Did she believe she'd find anyone up here willing to save her?
Henderson materialized a few feet from the Queen. He lunged with lightning speed, striking an arc of sparks against the shield she'd rapidly erected.
They clashed against each other in a flurry of steel and spells. A surprised squawk of alarm and disbelief flew out from between the redheaded fae's pink lips.
Kol leaned over the concrete railing. "Why is she reacting like that? It's not like it hurts."
"She's lost her tongue of flames," Raven answered with a gleam in her eye. "I'm sure that particular injury hurts her greatly."
My mate sounded like she was relishing the very thought.
Phalen tilted into my peripheral. "She's lost her what?"
"He cut off her braid," Kol explained. "It's from the story of Dali, a goddess with tongues of flaming hair. Raven is a fae-witch with a tongue of lame jokes. Maybe you can help her with that?"
"Why, Sir Kol, I would be most honored to assist your sister with her tongue in any way–ouch! Stop frogging my arm, Cas!"
"You're lucky you didn't get my boot up your ass."
"As if it would fit."
I tuned out Phalen's antics and paid close attention to Raven's reactions. My Little Bird might have been enjoying Sersha's slow demise, but she was still on edge.
The way it was going, Henderson would emerge the victor. I suspected the male was drawing it out, giving his enemy hope she might be able to beat him. It was a hope he would crush.
It was both brilliant and black-hearted. I hoped it would bring him some sense of recompense. The scales would never be even so he was entitled to play it as he saw fit.
As the fighting went on, the enclosed space filled with vapors and mists from the use of their varied powers and spells. Smoke drifted up and curled in on itself when it reached the rounded invisible barrier above the duelers' heads.
Even from our spot higher up, looking down into the ring through the shallow enchanted dome, it was getting difficult to see them clearly. We should have moved down to the small platform so Raven could see the end of the Queen and know for certain the second it was over.
I was about to suggest it when Nik sprung to his feet, sniffing the air. His beast released a low grumble.
Brokk pulled his son into his body as he searched for whatever danger the shifter had scented. Nik covered the other side of Kol with his nose still up in the air.
Phalen and I sandwiched Raven, our heads swiveling around, trying to locate whatever made Nik react. I couldn't sense anyone.
"What did you pick up?" I called to Nik, whose shifter sense of smell was far superior to most races of Other.
"Iron," Nik rasped, his eyes narrowing as he inhaled again.
A chill ran through me, tightening my chest. Nik, Phalen, and I wouldn't be weakened by the substance. Kree was immune to it, as well.
We were in the Faelands, though. Iron could mean death to its inhabitants. To my mate and her family.
"We need to get out of here," I stressed with urgency. "Kree, make a portal back to Embour."
Raven’s head snapped to attention, her eyes wide and alert. The bottom of her plaited rope of hair fell off her shoulder as she looked at me with an expression that was both determined and fearful. "We can't just leave."
"Kree," I barked, ignoring the heated wave of magic rolling off of my mate's petite frame.
Kree flattened her hands together and spread them wide. They didn't so much as flicker.
