Page 81 of Fae Champion

A mouth and eye zipped over next to the still-hovering ear, and the eyeball studied me closely from a few inches to the right of Rush’s cheekbone.

My own sight slightly out of focus, I hazily returned its attention, finally realizing why that stormy gray iris was so familiar. It had taken me in with stark disapproval on more than one occasion—when it had belonged to Sandor.

No wonder the eyeball’s veins were still a bright, fresh red and pink. Sandor had only died that morning.

“What are you waiting for?” barked the mouth, making Rush, the fairies, and Azariah jump. I only blinked at the wide lips and the swath of dark stubble around them, wondering to whom that mouth had once belonged.

The queen’s voice, feminine and venomous, snaked through those masculine lips once more. “Kill her—now.”

Rush searched all around us, blind to the queen’s invisible weapons. The fairies and Azariah only grimaced.

“But she’s already defeated,” Rush answered, glancing here and there, unsure where to point those beautiful lips of his.

I blinked some more, the daze clearing, the sounds of the crowd coming into crisp focus.

“She doesn’tlookdefeated,” the queen’s voicegrowled. “Take her out before my subjects start believing she’s a god from the Etherlands.”

“But—”

Rush’s back went rigid, his chin pointed up, his eyes terrifyingly vacant.

Azariah retreated a few steps, and the fairies all flew off in a zip so fast their wings blurred. I didn’t turn to follow the path of their retreat.

“Rush?” I attempted, but my voice was a stream of flame that guttered before it formed his name.

His hand pulled away from mine as if I’d burned him, withdrew a dagger from its sheath. He leaned forward, pointing it at the red line marring my throat.

“May your memory burn forever in hell,” the queen hissed through that disembodied mouth. “And may your essence evaporate into nothing before it ever reaches the Etherlands.”

Blade firm, Rush pitched forward.

I scrambled out of the way as the dagger deflected off my arm, nicking me.

And Azariah bellowed, “The Gladius Probatio magic has spoken!We have a tie.”

23.DOUBLE STANDARDS ARE DRAGONSHIT

“There are no ‘ties’ in the Gladius Probatio,” the queen roared from where she stood in her viewing balcony. Beside her, the king appeared a second from keeling over, his skin obviously sallow and clammy even across the distance.

Repeatedly, I blinked, returning fully to my surroundings, though my body felt … too warm, slightly foreign, as if I’d welcomed something new and different into myself.

Rush, however, continued to crouch over me, his blade pointed my way, his body eerily, unnervingly still. Not even the broad muscles of his thighs quavered with the effort of holding himself there without moving.

Like a crab, I scuttled out of his way on my hands and feet. Only once I was removed from the trajectory of his dagger, did I whisper, “Rush.”

He didn’t so much as twitch. His eyes were dull and flat—vacuous and empty of his own will.

“The Gladius Probatio must have just one winner,” the queen bellowed, her fury so potent that her voice carried across much of the stands without any magical augmentation. “The fight shall continue until only one contestant remains standing.”

Meaning, until Rush stabbed me at her command.

“No,” cried out several someones in the crowd.

The queen’s nostrils flared before she settled her features into a placid calm I had no doubt she wasn’t actually experiencing. After gesturing rapidly at Ivar, who sprinted over, sliding to his knees in front of her, his hands cupping the energy he sent her way to increase the volume of her speech, the queen said, “We are governed by tradition, and have no choice but to follow the path it lays out for us.”

One of the little bird-sized fairies scoffed. I jerked my attention to where they now huddled together near Azariah. Three of them were glaring furiously at a tiny male with violet-black hair—Blackberry, as I’d nicknamed him before. His cheeks were flushed as he pinched his mouth shut, surely praying that none of the sentry ears had picked up on his dissidence. He curled in on himself until he might be little more than a colorful pebble, and the mist swirled across him, mostly concealing him from sight.

If only it were that simple for me to evade the queen’s scouring focus…

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