Page 5 of The Queen and the Half-blood
There were five of them now. They grasped pikestaffs in their left hand and drew daggers with their right. Bright silver gleamed in the light of the corpse candles, and Lara’s belly swooped.
Sheehallion steel.
It wasn’t like any metal forged in the mortal realm—not an alloy of iron and carbon—but made from elements only mined in Sheehallion. All faerie creatures, including the Shee, abhorred iron. However, ever since the Raven Queen had taken the North, she’d equipped some of her allies with Sheehallion steel. Armed with such blades, powries could stray from the ruins they inhabited, and could venture out in daylight. But they’d done neither tonight. Instead, they’d somehow used the corpse candles to lure her into a trap.
“Captain,” she shouted, her voice shrill now.
She continued to back away, keeping her blade raised. Her mind racing, she glanced around the clearing. Shades. She was up to her neck now. Maybe she could fight off one powrie, but not five. The imps’ fiery red eyes burned as they continued to advance on her.
One of them grinned then, revealing long, prominent, rabbit-like teeth. Stringy grey hair flowed over his broad shoulders, framing a leathery face. And atop his head sat a dark-red cap—a grisly accessory that obtained its color from being soaked in the blood of his victims.
The powrie’s long, thin, claw-tipped fingers flexed around the hilt of his pikestaff, and then he rushed her.
Whoops cut through the clearing as his companions did the same.
Lara dropped into a fighting stance and slashed her dagger at him. However, the next thing she knew, she was on her back, and the powrie was driving his blade toward her face.
Iron met steel as she blocked him, the sound ringing through the woods. The powrie laughed before raising his pikestaff.
A scream ripped from her throat.
The Gods save her.
And then, the powrie who was about to stab her through the chest let out an unearthly howl. An instant later, a ball of flameerupted in Lara’s face. Crying out once more, she raised her free arm to protect her eyes, and when she lowered it, the powrie had gone, taking the pikestaff with him. Only its steel dagger fell onto the mossy ground next to her.
Blinking, she scrabbled to her feet. She didn’t know what had just happened to her assailant, but she needed to be ready for the others. Blood roaring in her ears, she scooped up the fallen dagger—for two blades were of more use than one—and crouched, readying herself.
But the remaining powries weren’t focused on her.
Instead, they were fighting someone else.
A tall, lean figure, cloaked in black, danced in their midst. The stranger wielded two long fighting daggers.
And as Lara looked on, frozen in place—her fingers clenched tight around the grips of her own knives—the newcomer drove a blade into one of the powries. With a shriek, the imp burst into flames, but its companions didn’t draw back. Instead, teeth bared, the other three rushed at their attacker.
Skillfully avoiding being stuck by a pike, and moving with fluid grace, the cloaked one slashed their way through the powries, dispatching the last of them with a vicious downward cut using both blades.
A final ball of fire erupted in the glade. Meanwhile, the corpse candles still hovered on the tree line, as if curious to see what would happen next, their pale glow illuminating the clearing.
Heart pounding, Lara straightened up, watching as the stranger turned to her. They then advanced, walking in long, smooth strides until they were around four feet distant. Stopping, they sheathed the fighting daggers at their back in one smooth movement.
A hand pushed back their hood.
Lara stilled.
A man stood before her—whether he was Marav or Shee, she couldn’t tell at first. A thick mane of long, tangled dark hair framed a pale face with high cheekbones and sharp features that made him look eerily fae. And yet, he didn’t have cat-like eyes, with elongated pupils, like one of the Shee. His eyes were slate-grey and slightly slanted, with round pupils just like hers.
Lara had never seen a man of his like. It was difficult to place his age. He could be just a couple of years older than her—or a decade. She marked the long, thin silver scar that slashed down one side of his face then. It started just above the left eyebrow to level with his mouth. A second scar encircled his throat.
“You should be careful,” he said, his voice low with a gravelly edge. “Didn’t anyone tell you never to follow the lights?”
Lara swallowed, heat flushing through her. Indeed, she felt foolish. “It enchanted me,” she replied, still breathless. “I don’t know how—”
“Lara!” A man’s voice rang through the trees, echoing in the mist. “Where are you?”
“Captain!” she shouted back, her heart kicking hard against her ribs. “I’m here!”
Meanwhile, her savior slowly backed away, even as his gaze never left her face.
