Page 42 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
I glanced over my shoulder and smirked. “Then maybe you should learn to cheat too.”
I knew Non-Royal Fae didn’t harness any elemental powers, so I enjoyed teasing Eryn about it.
Moments later, we skidded to a halt in a sunlit clearing, the light cascading down in golden rays through the shifting branches. The autumn air felt cooler here, calmer. Birds called in the distance, and somewhere nearby, a creek whispered over stones.
I doubled over slightly, hands on my knees, catching my breath. Eryn barely looked winded, of course. She straightened, brushed a leaf from her shoulder, and cracked her knuckles.
“Alright,” she said, stepping closer. “Now that you’re warmed up, let’s work on that punch.”
I groaned. “Again? I thought I was getting better.”
“You’re getting better at not breaking your own fingers. That’s about it,” she teased. “But if you want to be more than just pretty fire and moody lightning, you’re going to have to hit harder than a butterfly.”
I rolled my eyes but squared my shoulders, fists raised the way she’d shown me before. Eryn took up position across from me, bouncing on the balls of her feet with a predator’s ease. Her expression turned serious.
“Now focus. Keep your guard up, core tight. And don’t flinch when I hit you.”
I barely had time to register that last part before her fist came swinging toward my shoulder. I yelped and ducked, just missing it.
“Oh come on,” I muttered, straightening.
“You flinched,” she said flatly. “Do it again.”
We went back and forth like that—me trying to land a proper hit while Eryn dodged and corrected my stance with quick, stinging jabs to my ribs or arms when I slipped up. Sweat dripped down my spine. My hair stuck to my face. I was breathing harder, and my knuckles ached from poor alignment.
“That’s it,” Eryn barked. “Step in with your whole body, Elara. You can’t just throw your arm and hope it lands. You have to mean it.”
“I am!” I snapped, frustration bubbling up. “I just—ugh—it’s hard when you keep hitting me!”
“Good. It should be hard. You think they’ll go easy on you when war comes?”
Her words struck me like a physical blow. I froze, lowering my hands slightly. “War?”
Eryn exhaled, brushing a strand of lilac hair from her damp forehead. “Yes. Thrandor is preparing. Whatever King Aymon has locked away in that castle of his… they want it.”
My heart dropped at the mention of his name.
I blinked, confused. “A weapon?”
Eryn nodded. “We don’t know what it is. No one does. Not even Aymon’s highest generals. But the kings have started whispering. The borderlands are bristling. Zayn left to return to Windaria—probably forced to by his repulsive father…”
I stared at her, my heart skipping a beat. “Windaria? Zayn’s from Windaria?”
Before she could respond, a slow, amused voice drawled from the shadows near the tree line. “She tells you everything except the good bits, doesn’t she?”
Makar stepped into the clearing like he’d been there all along—lean, wild, and infuriatingly confident. His dark red hair was wind-swept, eyes gleaming with something between mischief and calculation. He gave me a once-over, head tilted. “Nice form, though you still drop your left elbow when you throw.”
I bristled. “Thanks for the commentary.”
He only grinned, walking a lazy circle around me. “You’ll need more than a decent punch if you want to survive what’s coming. Which is why I’m here.”
I turned, following his movement. “Here to annoy me into submission?”
He chuckled. “Tempting. But no. I’m here to keep your head from becoming a sieve and help you control your magic. Shields up, Elara. Now.”
I groaned, dragging my fingers through my hair. “Why do I need to keep a mental shield up while Eryn’s trying to break my jaw?”
“Because in battle,” Makar said, his tone suddenly sharp, “no one attacks you with just fists. They’ll claw through your mind if you’re not protected. Charm you. Trick you. Control you. Some won’t even need to touch you to make you fall.”
