Page 88 of House of Embers
But there was no heartbeat left.
Barron had killed him.
Audria sank back onto her heels. “Gods, I’m sorry. I should have been able to do more.”
“It’s not your fault,” Kerrigan said as she came back to her feet. “It’s his.”
Barron Laurent was currently shooting lightning at her mate. A fury struck through her like the currents he was wielding. This was no official denouncement. That was already over. No one had come forward.
This was revenge.
Which meant Kerrigan didn’t have to sit on the sidelines.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Coronation
Kerrigan was glad that she’d opted out of her ceremonial gown. Pants were much easier to sprint in. Her magic was pulled in tight as she reached for her trusty air magic and blasted Barron with the force of her powers.
The air hit him square in the chest, and he reeled back a handful of steps. His eyes shifted between them as she entered the fight. Both he and Fordham had pulled out their blades, and sweat dripped down their foreheads.
“Need your leatha to fight your battles, Ollivier?” Barron taunted.
Fordham glared at him. His midnight hair had fallen forward into his face. “She makes her own decisions.”
“That’s right,” Kerrigan said as her fire magic answered her call.
She and Fordham had been fighting together so long that instinct took over. As soon as her magic headed toward Barron, Fordham moved, thrusting forward with his sword. Barron narrowly avoided Kerrigan’s fire and met Fordham’s advance with one of his own. Their blades rang against each other as the two sword masters tried to cut the other one down.
Even Kerrigan was impressed with Barron’s footwork. He didn’thave their specialized training or experience in fighting to the death in the gladiatorial ring, but Barron had been on battlefields. He fought with a ferocity that could be gained nowhere else, but he had been banking on fighting Fordham alone, whether through the denouncement or on his own terms. He didn’t understand what it was to rely on someone else as Kerrigan and Fordham did. She would put her life in his hands every time.
Barron shoved Fordham back. Lightning crackled in his hand, and he blasted a bolt forward. Fordham jumped out of the way, disappearing into his shadows and appearing on the other side of the grass in a blink.
“You coward,” Barron said with a taunting laugh. “You and your blasted shadows. You believe that you’re better than us.”
“I am,” Fordham said with a grin. “I am better than you.”
Barron faltered for a second, as if he hadn’t thought that Fordham would voice that thought. “You are nothing but a cursed bastard son.”
Fordham laughed, stepping away from another lightning bolt. He appeared at Kerrigan’s side next. “Cursed. Yes, the line was cursed because of our people’s insistence on enslaving others. The second that was over and I took the throne, our people began to prosper again. With the return of the dragons, we will once again be great, and none of that has anything to do with you.”
“You’ll die either way,” Barron said, holding his sword pointed at Fordham’s chest. “And I’ll smile to watch your dragon fall with you.”
Kerrigan dove out of the way as another lightning bolt rocketed toward them. Fordham had jumped in the other direction. Three jumps. How many more did he have? They were short distances, and Fordham was stronger than ever, but Barron didn’t know that. He seemed to be trying to prolong this bout so that Fordham was worn down. Kerrigan couldn’t let that happen.
“No one would accept you as king,” she taunted, her shield pulled up tight around her. The lightning crackled against its surface beforethe shield shattered. She shrieked and threw herself sideways, narrowly avoiding the blast.
“Everyone will accept the Fae who kills the king,” Barron boasted.
But Kerrigan had been the distraction, and Fordham jumped behind Barron. His blade slid forward through flesh and blood and bone. Barron cried out in pain, but then his hand clamped down on the blade. Blood flowed from his palm as he lit the sword up with lightning.
Fordham yelled as the strike hit him true and he dropped the sword. He shook his hand out as he stumbled back and fell to a knee, his head hanging low.
“Ford!” she cried.
The current had zapped through him quicker than either of them could blink, but it had hit Barron as well. He was on his knees, wrenching the blade from his side, blood flowing down his uniform. He came slowly to his feet. His white hair was fried and sticking up as he turned to face his opponent.
“Long live Laurent,” Barron snarled as he raised his sword to deal the final blow.
