Page 4 of Hijack the Seas: Seismic

“—causing the idiot twins to run off, thus making them more lost. They finally calmed down, realized what had happened, and became determined to find Mircea again and, thus, a way home. I believe they planned to stuff him through the nearest portal—”

I very deliberately didn’t say anything.

“—but they followed the wrong man. They aren’t used to having human-like senses, and I smell more familiar, being half demon. . .” he shrugged.

“And the fey were shooting at me because?”

“They weren’t shooting at you; they were shooting at me,” he said tersely. “You got in the way and are damned lucky you didn’t take an arrow through the head. You need to leave.”

I frowned as he pulled his slightly less slimy boots back on. “Wait. Why were they shooting at you? They looked like Alorestri. Aren’t the Green Fey supposed to be your people?”

Or partly, anyway. Genetically speaking, Pritkin was a bit of a patchwork quilt, but his great-grandmother had been Nimue, Queen of the Green Fey. Which explained what he was doing here because the queen had recently passed away. That had come as a shock to everyone because fey didn’t die all that often, other than in battle, and that went double for one who was a daughter of Poseidon and thus a demigod.

But dead she very definitely was, and thus a successor was needed. So, all the claimants, those closely enough related to the queen to qualify and crazy enough to try it, had been invited to participate in a contest to vie for the throne. Or to die trying, which appeared more likely.

But as far as I knew, the contest hadn’t started yet, so what the hell? The Green Fey might not like Pritkin much, considering him demon spawn due to his father’s blood, but they didn’t usually try to kill him. He was one of their princes, after all.

That won me a short bark of a laugh when I pointed it out, although Pritkin didn’t sound happy. “Tell them that.”

I would if they’d stop being homicidal weirdos for five seconds, I didn’t say, because I wanted to stay on track. “Don’t they know you might be their next king?”

Pritkin had more colorful phrases in reply, perhaps because it was the last thing he wanted on Earth—or Faerie. He’d once longed to be accepted by his mother’s people but had finally realized that a part human/part demon/part fey child would never be good enough, even if his fey blood was from the royal house. He had, therefore, concentrated on the human part of his lineage and left his dreams of being a fey prince behind.

But we were currently in an all-out war for survival against another king of the light fey, Aeslinn of the Svarestri, and his godly allies, and needed all the help we could get. Nimue’s army was strong and battle-tested, and they knew Faerie as we did not. And as king, Pritkin could command it.

But he had to win it first, which was why I was here. I had no problem at all cheating my ass off if it helped him and damned if I cared what the fey thought about it. There was just one thing I didn’t understand.

“Is trying to kill you part of the contest?” I asked, just as Pritkin’s head jerked up.

He was staring at something in the trees I couldn’t see, but I threw up a time shield anyway because Faerie.

And had no sooner done so than a dozen spells lashed it in a storm of magic that made the whole world crackle around us.

Chapter Two

Sons of bitches!” Pritkin yelled and jumped up, only to have me tackle him before he ran through my time spell. “What the—”

“I’m aging out their weapons. Don’t touch it!”

He stared at an arrow a few feet away that some bright spark had shot into the midst of all the magic being flung around. Maybe it was reflexive, or maybe the fey archer had thought it might get through the spell as their curses had not. But he was learning otherwise.

Pritkin stared at it as the wooden shaft cracked and splintered and dusted away, as the white fletching curled up, turned brown, and then was gone, too, and as the metal tip corroded, rusted, and flaked off. The last little nub of what had been an arrowhead fell to the ground, and a fey voice could be heard yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Pythia!”

Caught that one, I thought wryly, even before my translation spell crackled in my ear.

And then the fey were gone as well, melting into the forest like leaves on autumn’s wind, which was good because a moment later—

“Are you alright?” Pritkin said, clutching my arm as my spell faltered and fell apart, dissipating like smoke.

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Harder here.”

He nodded curtly. And then unleashed his magic, which I assumed was of the demon variety since the blob perked up. Talons of fire went screeching after the fey, with fiery bodies glimpsed briefly in the air like demented birds.

I couldn’t see them well; they were only flickers in the vague shape of winged creatures and were quickly lost among the trees. But the fey didn’t seem to like them much. I heard screams, warning cries, and then more screams, and the vicious little half-smile on Pritkin’s face told me that at least some of his bolts had hit home.

“Okay, that went well—” I began right before he grabbed me again.

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