Page 36 of King of Fire and Flames

The Aldara mark on my throat sizzled, and I whipped around to face the dais. The Storm Prick himself sat beside Marcella, and Ruhh hovered behind him like a wickedly grinning bad smell. Arrow’s eyes speared through mine, piercing my heart.

With his knees spread wide, he reclined against a scrolled headrest of gold, his feather ear cuffs glinting in the gloomy light, and large palms resting on his thighs. He appeared to be at his kingly leisure, as if he didn’t have a care in the realms and was looking forward to witnessing my demise.

His purple-black wings were on display, erect as if ready for flight, contradicting the relaxed state of his limbs. I frowned, wondering if it really had been him flying over the Fen Forest while I was with the serpent fae.

Arrow’s lips parted, his chest rising and falling with an obvious sigh, and my heart stuttered in pathetic response.

Stupid heart. It needed to get a life.

“Did you bring me the blood orchid, Zali?” asked Azarn, beckoning me forward.

I pulled a single petal from my pocket and marched forward, placing it on my palm when I reached the bottom of the stone dais.

A servant ran down the stairs, snatched it from me, then delivered it to the king.

“What power does the petal hold?” I asked.

“That is none of your business.” Azarn strode back and forth in front of his family, who sat statue-still on their thrones as if unmoved by the unfolding events. Perhaps they knew better than to voice their opinions.

Only Arrow sat slightly forward, his fingers digging into his knees and knuckles white, far from relaxed now.

“Please remember,” said the king, “in today’s tournament, magic is banned and no killing allowed. Permanent maiming is acceptable, of course.”

Oh, of course. I would expect nothing less.

I swiveled on my heel and faced the queen.

A strange intensity shone in Estella’s eyes as she dipped her head, acknowledging me, not violence or determination, but something more mysterious.

She took slow, deliberate steps toward me, her movements graceful, as if we were about to dance around a ballroom. A hint of sadness touched her smile, and it felt as though she peered into my soul, uncovering my insecurities and failings, my every hope and dream.

“Do not worry, Zali. No matter what happens, I won’t use magic against you,” she whispered, her heavily accented vowels long, but her words clipped short.

“Wits and swords,” I said, bowing my head in respect. She was a queen after all, and quite a formidable one.

According to rumors, Estella was ancient, a masterful wielder of the Crystal Realm’s particular brand of star magic. With my own eyes, I’d witnessed her incredible skills with a sword, but I thanked the dust she couldn’t use her cosmic power during our battle today.

It couldn’t have been much past the early afternoon, and yet the last of the daylight sank behind the trees, the arena now lit solely by flames from braziers, torches, and the eerie mushrooms that scaled the stone surfaces.

Esen appeared and threw me a sword; the same one I’d killed Dorn with. I slashed it in front of me in a lemniscate pattern, controlling my breathing, centering my weight over my hips, and locking all thoughts of Arrow behind the door in my mind that I labeled: Danger. Do not open.

As Estella closed the distance between us, the forest beyond the ancient stone walls came alive, creaking and whispering, distant creatures snarling and howling. But the fire courtiers remained still and silent, not scratching with a claw or rustling a wing. A tense backdrop to the impending clash.

She whipped her arm out to the side. Her sword appeared above the crowd and whizzed through the air, landing neatly in her outstretched hand.

Moving fast, the queen struck first, her blade slicing through the air with precision. I blocked the attack with all the strength I could muster, my arms vibrating with the impact. She pushed me back, her eyes searching mine, that flicker of sadness moving from her lips to her icy gaze.

Estella moved with otherworldly grace, redirecting my strikes without losing breath. Each thrust was swift and exact, her blade stopping a mere inch from my body, over and over. Determined to survive, I took more risks, countering with lightning-fast strikes, my feet grounded, maintaining balance and strength.

After a few minutes, I was certain the queen held back her true strength. She could have taken my arm off three times over if she’d wanted to. Sparks of light trailed Estella’s blade. Not magic, but likely produced by the metal itself, which must have originated from the Crystal Realm, the land of her birth.

Under my breath, I chanted the Mydorian war song, repeating the last phrase again and again—Mydor blood will never fail.

We danced around each other, our swords ringing through the arena in a symphony of violence. Sweat dripped down my face, and my muscles ached, but as long as I could hold my weapon, I wouldn’t yield.

Our swords clashed repeatedly as we spun and twisted, grunting with each impact. Without magic, we were equally matched in height and strength, but she was faster. Her ferocity felt fake, an act to please Azarn, and I wanted to win more than she did, that much was apparent.

The grueling dance continued for ten minutes or so, my muscles burning, my lungs aching, but then the Mydorian forest of my childhood enveloped me, and my brain shifted into a different state, like it used to when I trained with my brother Quin. Before he’d attempted to destroy me.

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