Page 19 of Prince of Flowers
I frowned. “Don’t underestimate him. Evander Skink is a terrible person, but a very talented summoner. Look out for his butterflies. He enhances them with magic, part of his summoner’s bond, years in the making.”
That was the difference between a summoner’s eidolon and a regular creature of the species. The average butterfly could be lovely to look at, but hardly posed a threat. Through time and practice, by expending his own arcane essence and investing it in his beloved butterflies, Evander had turned them into dangerous weapons.
Dying by Evander Skink’s hand would be humiliating, but at least it would be a beautiful death. If I had the talent and patience for it, I could have done something similar with my doves. But that was the different between me and Evander Skink.
“Your warnings are taken into consideration, and I thank you for your concern,” Sylvain said, his voice calm, the surface of a pond. “But to be clear, I still hate you.”
I’d almost forgotten that he did. Maybe Dr. Fang’s presence had served as a helpful reminder.
“We’ll deal with that later. Right now, I just want to wipe that stupid smirk off Evander Skink’s face.”
“Something we can actually agree on,” Sylvain said. “I’m not allowed to kill him, am I?”
I considered it for a moment, imagining a world free of Evander Skink and his taint, when the asshole in question called out in a musical, singsong voice.
“Oh, boys,” he said, the syllables mockingly stretched. Evander’s sickly-sweetness made my skin crawl. “I’m waiting.”
The onlookers cooed at the sight of him standing in a cloud of butterflies. Their wings were luminous, a glowing, gaudy pink, a color I didn’t think could be seen in nature. I did know that bright colors signaled danger, and poison.
Very appropriate, actually, for the Wispwood’s resident evil twink.
8
“A simple duel,”Bruna called out to the hallway, laying out the terms of the battle. “First blood wins. Nonlethal magic only. Violating these rules will be cause for disciplinary action. Understood? Do you accept these terms?”
Evander and I each nodded our assent, standing twenty or so feet apart. Sylvain lingered at my side, his breaths coming faster, deeper, the excitement manifesting itself on his very person. I wished I had more time to marvel at how some of the leaves on his chest had come loose, floating lazily in a slow orbit around him, as if dancing on an unfelt breeze. But Evander, dirty rat that he was, made the first move.
They rushed forward like a whisper on the wind, his swarm of butterflies, as swift as paper planes, as pretty as flowers. I placed my hand on Sylvain’s shoulder, pushing the force of my will through my skin, through his. He gasped, no doubt feeling the thrum of power coursing through his blood.
Summoners, again, came in all different flavors. Evander infused his minions with his own magic, augmenting their delicate wings and bodies to turn them into deadly weapons. I could do the same, lending Sylvain a portion of my arcane essence to do with as he pleased, amplifying his abilities in turn.
That was another difference between us. Some summoners, like Evander, preferred to exert total control over the actions of their eidolons, directing the precise flight pattern of his butterflies, their speed, as well as the angle of their approach. I’d done the same with my doves, but depending on the situation, allowing an eidolon to make their own decisions could be even more effective.
It was a matter of trust. As much as I wanted to win this duel, what I wanted even more was to see what Sylvain could do in a fight. A risky proposition, maybe, for a new pact between summoner and eidolon. But a little trust could go a long way.
Sylvain thrust his hand forward. Every tree that grew up to where we stood on the upper levels, perhaps even every plant down in the courtyard rustled, seemingly coming alive as their leaves detached from the branches, speeding toward Sylvain.
I joined the rest of the students with the low murmur of my awe. The torrent of leaves spun in a whorl at the edge of Sylvain’s palm. He looked over his shoulder at me and winked. My heart did an unexpected somersault.
“We’re only borrowing them for the moment. I’ll return them once we’ve won.”
Confidence. I liked that. The spinning wall of leaves served as a shield between the two of us and Evander’s murderous butterflies. Evander gasped as he understood what was happening, but too late. Each of his minions winked out of existence as they attempted to pass through Sylvain’s barrier.
A tingle of excitement went up my spine. Evander liked to enchant the wings of his butterflies, making them as hard and as sharp as knives. Sylvain could do the same, apparently, only with leaves.
It was tempting to tell him what to do, but with a self-satisfied chuckle, he extended his other arm and did exactly what I would have done. Ah, so he worked well independently, plus we were on the same page, anyway. And Bruna did say first blood, didn’t she?
Well, she never mentioned how many pints.
The leaves rustled like the wings of thousands of insects, the tranquil rush of them in the breeze of Sylvain’s making so relaxing compared to the bloody danger they presented to exposed flesh. Evander muttered a curse as the leaves swirled and hurtled toward him, every blade like a razor, a little knife.
He held his hand out, more of the butterflies materializing, coalescing into the shape of a massive, glowing pair of wings. A shield. Incredible. Evander and Sylvain were evenly matched. The leaves battered his shield like raindrops, like bullets, smashing again and again in their eagerness to break through, to break skin.
“Curious,” Sylvain muttered, tilting his head, assessing our enemy, waiting for Evander’s next move.
And move he did, gesturing again as he dissolved his shield into another swarm of butterflies. Evander muttered to himself, another spell. Their wings turned bright orange, tiny flames dancing along their bodies. Predictable. I opened my mouth to warn Sylvain, but he held his hand up.
“Incendiary enchantment,” he said. “Most curious indeed.”
