Page 15 of The Curse of Golden Blood
She held the position, her muscles tense.
"Now repeat after me. Shael'tora em'varis." The Old Fae rolled off my tongue easily, the words for 'shield of light' that every fae child learned before they could walk properly.
"Shael'tora em'varis." I barely restrained my shock at her flawless pronunciation.
She extended her hands, face screwing up with effort. A faint shimmer appeared in the air before her—so thin it was nearly transparent, lasting only a moment before collapsing.
"A strong wind could break through that shield," I said dismissively. "You would be dead before you could finish casting."Where did she learn to speak in the ways of the Old Fae?
"I'm trying—"
"Trying is not sufficient. Results matter. And your results are..." I gestured at the empty air where her failed magic had been. "Non-existent."
Her hands clenched into fists. "Then teach me properly instead of standing there insulting me."
"I am teaching you. This is what failure looks like. Learn to recognize it."
The magic lesson had proven what I suspected—she was weaker than most mortals, not stronger. Whatever anomaly had prevented her marking, it had also crippled her ability to channel power.
I snapped my fingers and the platform answered. Weapons shimmered into existence between us—blades of every style and size. I didn’t miss her appreciative gaze at the sight.
“If magic will not bend to you, perhaps something less refined will. Pick up the practice blade.”
She didn't move, though her grip on the fabric at her sides tightened ever so slightly.
"Land a single blow on me. One strike, anywhere you like." I began to circle her, taunting her with slow, deliberate steps. "Do that, and the lesson ends."
I knew what her response would be before she uttered the words. "Let's begin."
A wicked smile spread across her face as her gaze slid over the blades. I expected her to pick up an axe or mace. Something large and monstrous.
To my surprise, she dropped to a crouch and grabbed a pair of short daggers. The blades were forged of shadowglass—a volcanic alloy laced with obsidian and tempered fae silver, light enough to dance with, but strong enough to pierce armor and redirect minor spellwork. Magic clung to them like a second edge, humming faintly against the wards lining the walls.
She twirled them over her knuckles with practiced ease before flipping them into a ready grip. As if they belonged to her. As if she was born with them in hand.
She wasted no time as she attacked.
She lunged to her right to throw off my read, twisted low, and launched the dagger in a clean arc straight for my chest. It struck true.
Right in the heart.
Except—it wasn't mine.
The body she hit vanished the moment the blade made contact, dissolving into smoke and light like shattered glass catching the moon. The illusion held until the final second, solid enough to cast a shadow. Just long enough for her to believe it was me.
The real me stood three paces to her left, watching her blunder.
She should have known better. In the fae world, illusions were as common as breathing. Every court wielded them differently—some crafted from shadow, others fromlight, still others from mist and memory. A fae child learned to question what their eyes showed them long before they learned to speak. Trust nothing at face value. Assume every opponent had three more tricks hidden behind their smile. We couldn’t lie, but we could fool the eyes.
Mortals never learned that lesson quickly enough.
"Deceiving cur," she hissed, whirling toward me and raising her remaining dagger. Her eyes were narrow, her posture tense. Gone was the weakness and fear she had barely hidden. Here was her true nature: sharp edges, deadly focus, and lethal speed.
"Deceiving is what we do best, little mortal," I said.
She stepped forward, dagger raised, eyes fixed on me like I was the only threat in the world.
So I broke her world.
