Page 2 of Fae Champion

This was really it. Whatever power I’d hoped was trying to save me, whatever I’d wanted to feel from the earth beneath me, was only my vain imaginings.

I willed myself to have an important thought as my last, and if not that, to feel a blissful calm that would usher me to the gates of the Etherlands, where I would kick Zako’s ass for all his lies and useless preparation.

Instead, a singular resolve overtook the agony that had consumed me.No, I screamed past the whooshingin my head.Not like this. No, no, no, no, no! Fuck no. Not a pawn in a stupid game. Not without purpose. Not for a nasty queen who doesn’t deserve a single drop of the blood she sheds.

Startled gasps abruptly brought me back to my surroundings.

Too much time had passed. Had Russet decided to spare me?

My muscles still strung tight, as if the power of an entire lightning bolt continued to charge them, I dragged my gaze upward.

Russet’s sword was posed above his head, his face red with stunted effort. Sweat trickled down his brow as he strained to bring down the blade.

So it wasn’t mercy.

It was magic.

Someone or something was gifting me a reprieve—the land again, perhaps—though I suspected it’d be short. The queen would soon realize her emissary was struggling to deliver her message and would intervene.

Gaze pinned on Russet, I reached for any of my weapons. Daggers, a morning star, a sword, any of them would do.

The corded muscles of his forearms bulged with his efforts to vanquish the invisible barrier preventing his attack. His biceps groaned against his armor. His lips trembled from effort.

The sharp metal descended a hand’s length toward my head, as if it were grinding through stubborn stone.

My fingers didn’t move even a fraction ofthat.

I could cry. I could scream.

I didn’t, determined to win against this cruel magic that teased me with its power all while offering me up as a sacrifice to an unworthy queen.

By now, if my father the king were going to do anything to help me, he would have done it already. If Rush were to be more than the queen’s lackey, he would have run to my aid.

Russet’s sword lowered another bit. At this rate, when the blade finally did connect with my neck, it wouldn’t sever my head. He’d have to hack at it as I’d witnessed done just yesterday, never guessing I would share in that gruesome fate mere hours later.

I struggled to protect myself. All I managed was the fierce, internal cry of a warrior:Defend! Dammit, defend!The words didn’t even slip from my quivering lips.

The crash of distant broken glass sparked an eruption of startled screams. Moments later, Azariah’s voice, augmented to carry, exclaimed: “Oh dear ancestors of the Etherlands … it’s a dragon.” That one word I’d heard a million times in Nightguard shook with his fear. “No, not a dragon. A dragonhead. Save yourselves!”

Panic swept through the stands above me.

A dragon head? Where the sunshine would a dragon head be coming from?

My eyes widened despite the ache in my eyeballs. True enough, a dragon head zoomed toward Russet and me with the kind of speed that suggested this wasn’tjust a severed head but part of the full, magnificent creature capable of incredible grace and agility in flight.

Russet whirled toward the greater danger, bringing his sword up to meet the threat.

A streak of faded scales, the beast’s head didn’t slow as its wickedly sharp maw opened wide. The visdrake of Etherantos shrieked like a young child and scrambled backward until he bumped into my shoulder. Even to prevent him from toppling on top of me, I couldn’t get my body to move beyond stretching my head to the side.

But Russet didn’t fall—at least, not yet.

Up close, the dragon’s dark eyes were black as night, its teeth as sharp as the weapon Russet clutched uselessly, its nostrils snorting smoke instead of the fire it’d have when the head was attached to the body of a live dragon.

That jaw wrapped around Russet’s head even as the man thrashed. Row after row of spiky teeth clamped down on his neck.

Bewildered, I stared as Russet’s body stood on its feet for several seconds, blood pumping from the raw stub of his neck, spurt after arcing spurt. Bones crunched loudly enough to reach the stunned spectators. Just as noisily, the beast swallowed, and Russet’s head … disappeared.

Logic suggested there was nowhere for the visdrake to go when the dragon wasn’t attached to the rest of its body, but the only place Russet’s face—mouth open in a silent scream, eyes gaping wide, forehead scrunchedinto lines of terror—remained, was in a looping image in my mind.

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