Page 9 of The Maleficent Faerie
I advance, and the Princess tenses, knees slightly bent, fists ready. She’s wearing rings on all ten fingers—thick rings marked with the ancient symbols of the home realm, Faienna. Few texts and artifacts from that realm remain with us, but I recognize the markings. Why is she wearing so many Fae-marked rings? Perhaps they give her additional strength and skill for fighting.
I haven’t explored her aura again, or checked her for latent spells, glamours, and enhancements. That will have to wait until I’ve rested—or perhaps I can have one of my guards do it. I was responsible for probably three-quarters of the magic that went into making that passage into Caennith, and my powers were already low before that. I crafted an Endling to ride through the portal, then dissolved it to attack the Princess’s carriage, which drained my magic still more. Creating another Endling to ride on the way back was a bridge too far; I should have taken one of the Princess’s carriage horses instead.
As a result, I’m suffering the effects of magic overuse—and at the worst possible time. The fever is raging in my body, sending chills along my bones and soaking me in a cold sweat. I can’t hold the Endling steed’s form any longer, so I release it, and the smoke winnows away into nothing.
I need time to recover and replenish my magic.
Reaching over my shoulder, I seize my staff and pull it from its leather loops. With my hand cupped over the smooth green globe at its tip, I summon a raven.
I have a select group of ravens I’ve trained and gifted with higher consciousness, like the spies that I sometimes send into Caennith. But I can also use wild ravens anytime I like. I can summon the birds without my staff, but its unique magical signature lets my trained pets find me faster and serves as a beacon for wild birds, helping me link with them more quickly.
Within seconds a raven flies to me, perching atop the staff. With my knuckle, I stroke the glossy black feathers on its breast. “Go to Fitzell. Tell her to return here with an extra mount.”
The raven bobs its head and flies away, while the Princess stares open-mouthed. “Ravens can talk?” she asks.
“Of course not. It will communicate my message into Fitzell’s mind.”
She stares at me, wide-eyed. “That’s no less impressive.”
I keep the staff in my hand, both as a weapon and for something to lean on. Fuck, I’m a fool. I should not have attempted a kidnapping like this with my powers so low. But there was no time to refill them. She would have escaped my grasp, and this was too perfect an opportunity to miss.
The Princess bends swiftly, snatching a long branch from the ground. She hefts it and approaches me, placing her feet carefully. A fighter’s cautious advance.
“You’re not going to run?” I ask.
“I don’t think so.” Her lips curve in a half-smile. “I believe I’ll try to kill you instead.”
I force a caustic laugh. “Lofty goals, Princess. I am the Void King, the Maleficent One. You are no match for me.”
“Maybe not at your full strength.” She prowls nearer, still with that half-smile. “But you’re not at your full strength, are you? And I’m not keen on having my blood spilled on your gods-damned Spindle and then losing a hundred years of my life to a cursed sleep, so…”
“Like it or not, that is your fate.” I lift my staff, gripping it in both hands, ready to block her first blow. “A fate your parents sealed when they humiliated me before all Midunnel on the day of your birth.”
“And your humiliation justifies stealing a century of my life?”
I blink rapidly, trying to clear the fog that’s crawling across my vision. “The King and Queen had to be taught a lesson. They put their foolish religion and their inane fears above the good of this entire realm. They endangered both our peoples, the Caennith and the Daenalla.”
“Lies.” She darts in, her branch whistling through the air. I block the attack easily, but she rains more blows down upon me, and I can’t stop them all, not with this feverish furnace roaring through my body and this blur over my eyes.
The Princess lands a strike on my forearm, then my shoulder—then a hearty slam to my ribs, accompanied by a crack of bone. I suck in a hissing breath, backing away from her, curving my wings to shield myself.
Where is Fitzell? Why did I let her ride ahead? I should have told her I was feverish, asked her to stay behind—but I didn’t want to admit that I couldn’t handle a little human princess. Gods fuck me—
Another blow, this time to the arch-bone of my wing, then a sharp jab through the gap between my wings. The end of the branch rams into my gut.
“Enough!” It’s meant to be a threatening bellow, but it comes out as a cry of pain. I lift my staff, ready to hail vengeance on this absurdly well-trained girl—
But pain spikes through my head, and my vision turns black.
I’m pitching forward, crashing to the ground.
I can’t summon the energy to move.
Something pokes me tentatively—the Princess, jabbing my shoulder to see if I’m unconscious.
I’m burning, burning—the padding of my armor is drenched with my sweat, and I’m desperate to shred the leather pants I’m wearing, to tear them clean off. I need wind, a breeze, a breath, a drink of water—anything. I need magic.
With a violent surge of effort, I roll over onto my back, lying between my outspread wings. Where is my staff? I need it—I can call ravens to fan me, bring me water—
