Page 45 of Between Smoke and Shadow

There’s no time to suck in a breath or to fully realize the fight has begun. Malek’s already conjured a beast. This one is different than his first. Where that creature had been tall and spindly with a wide body, this one is low to the ground. Its muscular body is shaped almost like an alligator, only instead of one sweeping tail, it has two. Its head is worse, flat and flared, with fangs protruding almost to the ground.

“Wyhel,” Nordan breathes. His voice trembles as the beast strides across the arena. It prowls with the surety of a bloodthirsty predator, undeterred by the vines coiling from Harrick’s outstretched palms.

Stark red, Harrick’s magic whips against the mat and the domed enclosure, growing larger and wider with each passing second. An ear-splitting crack echoes each time a strand hits the glass, and soon his magic looks more like a spiraling tornado than individual vines. Petra gasps at every sound and movement, her hands taut against her armrests.

I search Harrick’s face for something familiar, but everything is different.Heis different. Violent. Terrifying. Powerful. My knees tremble as I watch him. Magic swirling, building, coursing through him like a being of its own control. Harrick’s mouth clenches as he moves, raising his arms until they’re level with his shoulders.

Viana is right: he is not fully human. In this moment, he looks nothing less than a beautiful, monstrous god.

One of his vines strikes, curving around the alligator’s neck. Malek grunts, and the noise amplifies through the stadium. His beast snaps wildly until his teeth sever the nearest vine and then another. Malek screams, twisting his wrist, the beast moving with it. One of its tails whips to the side, like a lunging serpent. It cuts through the remaining vines. Eviscerates them as if they’re parchment. Harrick screams, stumbling as he sends another twist of vines toward the beast—and misses.

It’s a costly mistake. The beast lunges between the whipping vines, its fangs clamping around Harrick’s ankle. Blood spills onto the mat, and Harrick screams, throwing chaotic magic from his palms. It’s three tries before a vine latches over the alligator’s throat, but finally, the beast loses its hold. Harrick stumbles away, struggling to put weight on his injured leg.

“Kill him!” a royal screams from behind me. I don’t turn to face her, but I can feel flecks of her spit against my neck. “Kill him, Malek!”

Harrick screams again, this time not from pain but from power. Arms raised, he hurtles both the beast and his brother with a violent gust of air. They slam against the glass barrier, and the alligator evaporates into red mist at the impact. Malek howls as his magic dissolves around him, but he’s already conjuring as he gets back to his feet. The hazy red takes shape again, jolting into a solid beast.

This one is taller, thinner. A horrifying bird creature with an oblong, hanging mouth and endless sharp teeth. It jerks as it moves, as if a puppet with damaged strings. Harrick staggers a step back, arms still raised. Calculating. His vines have returned, snapping wildly around him, forcing the beast to stay back.

Harrick rotates his wrists, and as though spurred by Malek’s shift of magic, his changes too. It coils and writhes, then jerks and shudders. The vines morph into shattered stone until there are dozens, hundreds of them. They float around him like a swarm of vermilion wasps.

In one sharp lurch, the rocks catapult through the air. They slam against the bird creature, puncturing its body and exposed teeth. The creature lurches, moving forward despite itself. Malek lets out a heinous cackle.

“Is that it?” he calls. His voice wavers though, and I swear, Harrick’s lips tick at the show of weakness. With an echoing grunt, Malek twists his magic toward the creature, mending its injuries.

Harrick bares his teeth, but ignores his brother’s taunts. His hands are steady, fingers pulsing as he silently packs the stones into a gigantic boulder. It forms behind Malek’s back, and though some in the crowd shout warnings, the older twin doesn’tseem to notice. He’s focused on his beast, patching it together like a worn sock.

Through a faltering smile, Malek taunts, “I thought you’d do better than?—”

Harrick doesn’t give him time to finish. He hurls his boulder toward himself, clipping Malek’s shoulder on his way and obliterating the bird’s upper half. Malek collapses to the mat, crying out as his magic once again vanishes. Harrick balances his boulder in the air, letting it rotate. There’s a flicker of indecision on his face, so quick I might have imagined it.

And then, he drops the stone on his brother. It hits the same shoulder again before crashing onto Malek’s leg. There’s a brutal crunch, like a dozen sticks snapping at once. Malek screams and sends a violent blur of magic back to Harrick. It’s glass, I realize. A dozen jagged shards that slice across Harrick’s cheeks and throat. There’s blood everywhere now, streaming down his face and into the collar of his suit.

I expect Harrick to collapse, but he screams again, sending wave after wave of broken rock across the arena. It is only as Malek wails that I realize Harrick’s magic is not like his brother’s. His rocks are not erupting. They’re not fading or evaporating. Instead, they’re turning to solid, obsidian stone.

Multiple people in the audience gasp. This isn’t normal, I realize—and Malek might not stand a chance.

“Come on, baby!” Viana screams. She’s on her feet, leaning over the metal fencing between us and the glass enclosure.

A rock strikes Malek’s temple. Then another smashes his stomach. His shoulder. He’s taking too many hits to act unaffected, and before long, he’s not striking back. His magic has died, leaving his hands violent red with heat.

Harrick holds another giant boulder over his brother. If he dropped it on his chest, this would be over.

But Malek also might be dead.

The two brothers stare at each other, both with teeth bared like wild animals. Neither casts magic, but their hands glow red with heat. Their breaths are the only sound, heavy and unsteady, as if on the verge of collapse.

“Come on!” Viana shouts. “Call it! Malek is done!”

At Viana’s outburst, the arena comes alive again with chants and cheers, boos and demands. I can hear bets swirling in the rows behind us, and despite it all, some people are still laughing.

Harrick casts another stream of magic. It’s misshapen, uncertain, as it unspools from his palms. I watch, breath held tight in my chest, as he pauses. It’s as if Harrick can’t decide how—or evenif—he wants to destroy his brother.

He’s afraid, I realize, not of losing but ofwinning.

With his legs buried beneath stone and his body bloodied and bruised, Malek struggles to rise. His eyes flicker between Harrick and the looming boulder. And he must see it, that same horrible reluctance that I do.

He makes his final move so quickly I almost miss it. With a heave of his chest, he shoves his bloodied hands toward Harrick. A burst of water, no more than a bucket’s worth, surrounds Harrick’s face. It latches onto him, moving every time he does, until he’s drowning on his feet. He staggers, dropping the boulder where it hangs. It misses Malek by less than an inch.

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