Page 1 of Fae Champion

1.SAVED BY THE SKIN OF ITS TEETH, CHOMP, CHOMP

I strained against a force like that of a thousand gales while every set of eyes in the queen’s fancy coliseum fixed on me. I couldn’t seek any of them out, not even Rush’s, not even those who had the potential to be allies, those also discontent with the queen’s rule. Their collective attention seared my skin just the same, like a bad case of both windburn and frostbite combined—there had to be some magic pointed at me.

And yet it barely compared to what was taking place on the inside. My certainty that whatever power was barreling through me like a dragon stampede was bolstering my fading life force—not taking it all the more swiftly—was wavering. Every part of my body vibrated, a terrifying sign that I was perhaps moments away from shattering into pieces. My teeth chattered as they hadn’t since the ice storms of Nightguard, and my eyeballs ached as I imagined they would instants before bursting like overripefruit.

Every internal organ squeezed simultaneously. Each rasping inhale was an expression of agony, each stuttering exhale a hope I’d somehow get one more—all while I pleaded to escape the pain. Even if it meant leaving my body forever, in that horrific moment I’d fucking do it—if only I knew how.

Despite my desperation, I couldn’t withdraw from the source of my torment. Couldn’t pull either of my hands away from the earth beneath them. Though I tried, my muscles wouldn’t obey, and my palms splayed and flattened to connect with the ground in as many places as possible.

Based on Azariah’s earlier pronouncement, the glamor that encased me in Zinnia’s form must have vanished entirely. But though that must also mean I was myself again, and I had years of devoted training in this body at my disposal, I found myself a victim of invisible forces I couldn’t see.

Couldn’t resist.

Couldn’t stop.

I’d studied and practiced all my life not to ever be this helpless.

Zako was failing me again. Nothing he’d taught me had prepared me for this, for much of anything I’d encountered in this cursed mirror world.

Azariah, that elegant, magical creature who was part unicorn and part Pegasus—and also the announcer of the Gladius Probatio—stammered, “My fellow fae … this is e-entirely unexpected. B-but you know our queen. Only the best, ah, entertainment for her subjects.”

Of all the things to be able to make out, his voice shouldn’t be one of them. Until I could decide whether I was to live or die, I should be allowed moments without the reminder that I washerprisoner. The stab wound through my back was no longer salient. It now thumped in tune with my heartbeat along with the rest of my painful parts.

A commotion near the dugout was loud enough to breach the daze that encased me, and Azariah called out again, this time his voice crisp, loud enough to be heard over whatever unrest was happening to my right: “The contestant might be an unforeseen royal, but our queen is ever fair and won’t show Zinnia any favoritism. The Fae Heir Trials have begun. The magical contract is already in motion and cannot be stopped. The match will proceed according to the rules, and things aren’t looking good for our newfound royal.”

Boots wove toward me through the delicate stalks of blood-red flowers. They were a shiny black, an incongruous detail when I was fighting for my survival.

My survival.

This was Russet Sterling, I urgently recalled, visdrake of Etherantos and friend to Lennox Heath, the asshole to whom I’d shown mercy the day before, and who’d returned only to shank me in the back when no one was looking. Russet Sterling would sliceoff my head even without the queen’s command, which would inevitably arrive.

The many weapons still strapped to my person were too far away, impossible to reach, even more so to wield. They hung, heavy and useless, from my waist and back. But my two slim throwing knives were on the ground close by, gleaming behind the verdant grass and vibrant flowers.

Silver glimmered in the sunshine as Russet pointed a sword in the direction of my face.

I tried to lunge for my knives, but my hands remained glued to the land of the fae, from which the queen drew power while also fueling it—in what must be a putrid cycle, since it involved her. She must even now be using the land itself to make me an immobile target for her next assassin, who competed under the guise of fairness.

She’d mastered the arts of deception and artifice. When it came to her, nothing was quite as it seemed.

Russet positioned himself alongside me. His sword shone as he clutched it with both hands and raised it above his head.

I didn’t need to be fully aware of my surroundings to understand this would be a killing blow. He intended to behead me—the queen’s preferred way to dispatch with inconveniences.

Cries of alarm wafted over to me while I once more attempted to reach for my weapons, to roll out of the way, to knock his feet out from under him, to do anything at all to defend myself.

Still, my hands remained fused to the earth.

Killed by dirt, I thought bitterly.That’s gotta be a new one.

I thrashed a bit, my body scarcely obeying my commands. I couldn’t just wait for my death on my hands and knees. If the queen refused me a noble death, then I’d secure it my own way, dammit.

No part of my body moved the way I wanted. I squirmed a little, spiking new waves of near-blinding pain. With my hair up in braids by command of the murderous queen, my neck was bared to Russet.

A guttural cry filled with rage and despair wove through my senses. I suspected it was Rush. But he and I hadn’t been quite anything. We’d been strangers pitted against each other on the queen’s invisible chessboard, and he hadn’t allowed me in. I was out of chances to see if my enemy’s agent might choose a different move next time.

Air I shouldn’t be able to feel undulated in my direction. Instantly, I realized what it was.

The sign of a death blow on its way.

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