Page 42 of The Realm That Falls to Her

The stag charges for her, and I don’t hesitate to strike. I focus now on the earth underneath the stag’s feet and watch, pleased with myself, as it skitters back, disturbed by something. Some of the players on ursinians try to follow suit, charging at Pyromey, but one by one the bears growl and unhappily shuffle back, away from the west side. Their players curse and chivvy them, but the bears will not move, avoiding the tiny spikes of augium I’ve now peppered across the ground between them and Pyromey.

I hear a voice scream across the space.

“Thorn!”

Then six hundred pounds of bear hits me.

Or rather—hits Parsley, but the force of it sends me flying across the arena. One minute I’m watching Pyromey, and the next I’m staring up at the sky, my skin burning from sliding across the ground and my hip throbbing from where I landed on it. I lay there, stunned and convinced I’ve shattered at least one of my bones. It’s a blessing I didn’t crack my skull open, but growing up with a healer will hone your instincts to protect your head whenever you fall. I’ve seen too many brain-damaged people to forget that. I hear a roar that I somehow know is Parsley—a mix of anger and distress—and reluctantly drag my head up, my entire body protesting at the movement.

There’s an ursinian bearing down on me. I can make out the player’s face even from the ground—it’s Turis. He’s the one who ran into Parsley, and now he’s coming over to finish the job. I try to collect my thoughts and my magic, my grip on it all shaken loose by my fall, as the bear thunders towards me.

Wistal and Jasand attack at the same time, bowling into the silver-haired fae. Wistal’s bull horns catch Turis’s bear in the right flank and Jasand leaps up, clamping his powerful jaws around his shoulder, pulling him loose with the momentum of his jump.

It gives me a clear view of the west side of the circle, just in time to see the orange-haired fae’s ursinian drive Pyromey’s off the edge of the cliff.

“Pyromey!”

Her viper eyes widen as her steed lows in fear, scrabbling for an edge it cannot reach. I pull on my magic with all the force I have, redirecting the augium beyond my line of sight, relying purely on sense—my feel of the metal and the mountain stone around it.

Turis’s teammates are dragging the orange-haired fae back from the cliff, sharp looks of concern on their faces. I manage to get to my feet and run closer, flinging myself down on my knees to peer over the edge, my heart in my throat.

“Another one of these would be great, thanks,” calls Pyromey.

It worked. Just a few feet down the plunging cliff face, Pyromey’s hanging onto the metal spike I drove out the side of the rock, holding on for dear life over the breathtaking drop below. I quickly make more handholds for her, and she pulls herself back up over the edge. Her tone before had been nonchalant, but I can see now how pale she is, and when she’s once more on solid ground, she leans back, taking deep breaths.

“I’m sorry about your steed,” I pant, feeling like I climbed the spikes myself. Pyromey’s eyes shine brightly, and even though I know she’d never let the tears fall, I can see her grief.

“We all go sometime, Lady Thorn,” she says, but somehow it doesn’t sound dismissive, more like a promise of adventure to come.

The trample of feet is still audible behind us, and we both turn, realizing at the same time that the horn hasn’t blown yet: the ball is still in play.

“Come on,” Pyromey says, grabbing a cradle from the ground and swinging herself up onto Parsley, who’s come snuffling over towards me. The bear tosses its head, and Pyromey holds her hand out to me. “He won’t move without you on him with me.”

I cry out as I clamber up onto the ursinian behind her.

“I think I’ve fractured my hip,” I gasp.

“Don’t worry. The healers are great with breaks,” Pyromey says, and kicks Parsley into motion.

I focus more on holding on than much else, pain spiking through me as we charge across the circle. There are shouts, and Pyromey shifts in the saddle. Something hot flares behind us, and the sound of bodies colliding against bodies comes threateningly close.

But at last, Pyromey jerks forward, her arm raised, and I look up to see the ball flying through the bone pillars of the opposing team.

The horn sounds, soon drowned out by the roar of joy from Pyromey and the others. We’ve won.

Pyromey leaps down from Parsley and is immediately mobbed by our teammates. All I can manage is a slow slide to the ground, my wounds screaming for relief. Wistal and Jasand are back in human form, jumping into each other’s arms as Vaccia strides towards us.

“I suppose your strategy worked, you madwoman,” she says to Pyromey, who looks smug. “I’ll try to forget about the nearly dying part.”

Thank the stars, the healers see to me quickly, erasing my flesh wounds and broken bones, and Destan meets me on the arena floor as the rest of the crowd descends to congratulate the winners and commiserate with the losers. Despite his brown skin, Destan looks almost as pale as Pyromey did after she fell.

“I think I might’ve died of fright at least twice during that,” he says, and I slap him on the back.

“Thanks for the support, Des. Where’s Ruskin?”

In answer, strong hands grab hold of me and pull me out of the crowd. Ruskin tugs me against him.

“You were magnificent,” he murmurs in my ear, and I laugh giddily, intoxicated by our win and, despite the near-death experiences, proud of myself.

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