Page 129 of King of Storms and Feathers

We hit the ground on the left side of the crowd in the town square, their bodies parting like the tide from the beach as Quin dropped me. We both scrambled to our feet, and I whipped Arrow’s sword up, then slashed it down. Quin blocked it with his blade, the metal clanging together as the force of the blow reverberated down my spine.

Despite me shouting the reaver chant like a woman possessed, my damned invisibility cloak flickered on and off, not holding for more than a few seconds at a time.

We fought back and forth, and Quin’s eyes blazed with ferocious energy, the brightest they had looked since my return. We clashed again, the sound of metal grinding on metal ringing out before we pushed apart, circling each other as the crowd chanted.

The smell of sweat tinged the air, and the energy of the Mydorian’s excitement sizzled along my skin, a field of power urging me to move faster, strike harder. I thought I heard the word Zali chanted on repeat. But that was probably just my imagination working to spur me on.

Before, on the balcony, it was clear to me that Quin’s veins were serum-flooded. Practically cross-eyed with the drug, he could hardly hold the crown on his head, let alone raise our father’s sword above his shoulders. Somehow, he had gained strength, and he was now faster, more determined to take me down.

When I got up close and saw flames leaping in his eyes, I knew exactly what he had done. The bastard was using fire magic to fight me.

He spat on the ground near my boot, emitting a pleased chuckle, as if that scored him a point. “A gold feather for your thoughts, sister. I’m certain they are fascinating.”

“You wouldn’t care for them, Quin. They’d injure your pride. And everyone knows how you handle such wounds… with the poise of a deranged child.”

Hate twisted his features as he attacked. I let him get close, stepping aside at the last moment, and he screamed like a banshee as he spun on his heel, and our swords swung and clashed, swung and clashed, over and again.

Years of combat training fired my muscle memory of attack angles, each one perfectly matched to take advantage of Quin’s weaknesses. This fight was a familiar dance, albeit a deadly one. My brother and I had spent years doing exactly this under the persistent tutelage of instructors and our parents, me whipping his ass and Quin exerting himself as little as possible.

Well, he would pay for his laziness today.

As I realized I could predict Quin’s every move, each angle he would choose to strike from before he even shifted his grip on his sword, renewed confidence strengthened my limbs. But unfortunately, fire magic elevated his efforts above his skill level, making him swifter, tougher, and I gritted my teeth each time our blades ground together.

Coated in a slippery layer of sweat, my arms shook as I dodged his swings again and again until his blade finally caught my bare shoulder. I spun out of the blow and swore as dizziness crashed over me and blood trickled down my arm. I felt no pain, only the numbness of ice-cold fury filling my veins.

I wouldn’t let Quin win. For Van and every single Mydorian, I just couldn’t.

Damn the fucking gold trade. Damn the raiders and every idiotic ruler who preferred their subjects sick and oppressed instead of hale and happy. And most of all, damn me for whatever I’d done to make my stupid brother need to subjugate and conquer me at the cost of our kingdom.

With a roar, I surged forward, hacking, feinting, kicking, thrusting, using every dirty trick I could think of. Yes, the fire magic enhanced Quin’s skills, made his movements graceful and nimble, but I fought with the fiery passion to protect everything I loved—freedom for Mydorians and myself.

And I was stronger than him. I had always been strong, even at my lowest point, when I was caged like a bird in Arrow’s pavilion, hanging off my gold chain at ridiculous angles, building muscles and endurance.

I could beat Quin.

I would beat him.

There was no other option.

The sky turned slate gray, and thunder growled above, the sound vibrating through the air and drowning out the noise of the crowd and the cries of three falcons as they flew overhead.

Curse the Storm King. I felt him above me. Felt his need, his desire to save me from Quin, as if it was a current that burned through my bones, distracting me.

Arrow needed a job to do. Right now.

I looked up and met his silvery gaze as he hovered above. “Van!” was all I said, certain that one long screeched syllable would be enough for Arrow to know what he needed to do.

For a moment, he frowned, fighting his need to stay and protect me. His wings beat the air hard, up and down, then he flew to the balcony, swooped, and snatched Ari into his arms. They disappeared through the doors of the Great Hall.

Good. At least now I could concentrate without worrying about them both.

“Auron khaban ana,” I chanted aloud, spinning, and then slashing wildly at my brother.

Thanks to my shoulder wound, I needed two hands to hold the sword, which shortened but fortified my strikes.

After a while, I gave up trying to keep the cloak in place. It barely worked, and I needed to focus on each breath and every move I made. My vision blurred, and I wiped sweat from my eyes. Then finally, Quin stumbled, his sword leaving an opening that my blade cut into, blood darkening his leathers over his thigh.

“You should have spent more time practicing, Quin…” I grunted and lunged, my blade tearing his leather bracer. “Not… drinking dust-damned serum and courting the favor of dark magicians.”

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