Page 8 of Heir to His Court

The Knight stopped, turned, and swung again. I dove, rolling, and evaded the blow, hampered because I also had to dodge aggravating things like people, and park benches, and retaining walls of pretty white flowers I suppressed the petty desire to deliberately crush. Again.

“What do you want?” I shouted when I broke another attack and it retreated a few steps, showing some evidence of thought as it seemed to switch strategies. A handful of Fae started, giving me odd looks. “Parlay.”

More turned in my direction. I supposed it was difficult to ignore a person who was leaping and rolling all over the place. At least I wasn't immediately recognizable as Aerinne Capulette.

A surprised chuckle on the wind told me that my words were heard, and by whom, I suspected. I also suspected she would not allow the parlay until I was appropriately punished. For what, I wasn't quite certain. Though I wasentirelycertain I had somehow offended her. I was good at that, after all.

I ducked as it landed in front of me again, another swing of its sword passing over my head.

Reacting defensively wasn't working, I must go on the offense. I slid a little further into the cold analytics of my Skills, weighing the constant drain of power against the potential length of battle. I’d burn out fairly quickly at this rate, no matter my stamina seemed to have improved. The next time it swung at me I darted under its guard and grabbed its wrist, using its body weight against it.

I winced at the crash as it went flying, but heard no screams. Wonderful. No civilian injuries yet.

Then it was in front of me again. I'd already deduced from the utter lack of any attention being paid it, that the Knight was not on this physical plane but on the avatar’s plane Raniel and I played on. Which made sense, considering it was Juhainah’s creature and the avatars were strictly of her bloodline.

But as we fought, I began to second guess my theory that Juhainah was simply trying to teach me a lesson. Her creature’s blows could have killed me a half dozen times over if I was just a hair slower.

Battle rage welled up now that I accepted my death was the goal, the dark energy in my core rising to the surface in answer to the greater threat.

I screamed as the Knight attacked again; the Knight’sblade struck a blow. Blood slid down my arm as skin opened.

My Skills weren’t going to be enough. We attacked in concert, but we were till too young, despite our ancient bloodline. Despite ourpotential.I wasn't strong enough this way, not to defend myself from a creature that was countless thousands of years old, a possible construct of an Ancient.

But I refused to die like this. In the District of my enemy, prey of Dark Fae, leaving a power vacuum in my House and Danon alone as our bloodline’s only remaining child.

No.

Agony I’d never known tore open my back, fire arcing down my arms and legs. Pressure at my incisors and I almost cut my tongue before I realized my baby fangs had slipped their sheaths and grown, the shape of my mouth and jaw altering to accommodate.

Power ripped inside of me. The Avatar flickered out of existence. The broadsword sliced through the air toward me—

—and I leaped high with a powered burst of wings, and caught it in my pewter-skinned, taloned fingers.

I screeched defiance in its face, yanked it toward me as I dropped my hold of its hand, accepting the blow, ignoring pain and injury. We crashed to the ground as I grabbed its head between my long, triple jointed fingers and twisted, metal and whatever was beneath, ripping off its head.

I laughed as the cold wash of purple blood shocked me—I had truly thought it a construct.

I landed on the ground, the breath knocked from me as my head cracked painfully against the white paving stones, which cracked under my weight.

My focus broken, alarmed cries reached my ears. I cursed and tried to sit, but I felt as if I'd broken my back and every single rib as well as torn open my spine.

I moaned as adrenaline fled, and tried to fight the blackness. I turned my head painfully, and flexed gray skinned hands tipped in black talons with dismay. My vision cleared enough that I could pick out the alarmed, and growing angry, faces of the people who slowly began to surround me. I must look—I must look like—

Oh,shit.

“Dark Fae,” someone murmured, and there was a gasp throughout the crowd, a growing patter of angry conversation.

Yes. That.

I almost sobbed in pain, and frustration, because however instinctive the shift was, that instinct wasn'thelping me now.What was I? What had I—

Damn Raniel.

Do you think I'll be a dragon?my 12-year-old self had demanded, riding the dragon’s back.

I think you'll be a harpy.

I’d thought he was mocking me, in his dry, repressive voice. He’d been telling the utter truth, knowing I was too young to judge it properly.

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