Page 3 of Pretense

“It’s your own fault. You’re the one who pulled me onto your lap in the first place.” Essie divested herself of the book and stacks of files he’d piled on her and hopped to the floor. “You only have yourself to blame if Ryfon and Weylind defeat you during your practice because your feet are still numb.”

Farrendel stretched out his legs, swinging them as if trying to get feeling back in his toes. “I can still defeat both of them even without my feet.”

“Don’t let Weylind hear you say that, or he will challenge you to try it.” Essie crossed the workshop and lifted the lid to her plate of breakfast. She picked up one of the pieces of bacon. It wasn’t hot, but it was still warm enough to be edible. As she nibbled, she reached for the fork, pausing when she noticed only a single piece of bacon was left on her plate. “Farrendel, my love, why do I only have two pieces of bacon? I know Miss Merrick always gives us three.”

Farrendel gave her that mischievous smile again. “It was getting cold and needed to be eaten.”

Essie gave him another fake glare. “It’s a good thing you’re handsome.”

Farrendel’s smile turned into a full-blown grin.

With him grinning, Essie couldn’t even pretend to be mad.

* * *

Farrendel crouched on a wide branch, a sword in each hand. He stretched his senses, searching for the first sign of attack. The quiet, thick forest of Tarenhiel spread around him, vibrant green with the new spring leaves.

A branch darted out of the thick greenery, headed straight at Farrendel’s face.

Farrendel swept it aside with his sword and sliced through it with his magic.

With a burst of magic, a wall of twigs and leaves rushed at him, as if trying to overwhelm him with sheer volume of magic and wood.

Farrendel blasted aside the oncoming magic, incinerating the leaves and twigs. He let his magic crackle out farther, eating the branches and plant growing magic nearly to its source.

Somewhere in another tree, his nephew Ryfon shouted, and a clumsy attempt at a shield shivered against Farrendel’s magic.

Farrendel held his magic steady, holding Ryfon at a distance to concentrate on searching for Weylind. Ryfon wielded his magic with clumsy force—much the way Farrendel had before he had gained more control. He was easy to find and counter.

Weylind, however, had more finesse and experience. Fighting him was a lot harder, especially when everything, including the branch Farrendel crouched on, could be a weapon in Weylind’s hands.

Ryfon tried another wave of magic against Farrendel’s wall of crackling magic. Farrendel did not even have to do anything besides let Ryfon’s plants wither to dust.

A slither of Weylind’s magic was all the warning Farrendel had before a branch whipped around his ankle and yanked him off his feet. In a heartbeat, Farrendel found himself hanging upside down far above the forest floor.

He could not cut the branch holding his ankle, or he would fall. He twisted, trying to see if there was somewhere he could catch himself.

As he did, another branch whipped at him. Farrendel parried it before it could pin his arms to his sides.

Before he could recover, a tornado of leaves and twigs and branches whirled up at him from below, trying to engulf him before he had a chance to fight back.

Enough of this. Farrendel blasted his magic in all directions, consuming the whirl of Weylind’s magic and slicing through the branch holding his ankle.

As he fell, he flipped so that he fell feet first. Catching a slim branch, he used it to swing over to a larger branch, landing lightly in a crouch.

Then Weylind was there, a whirl of flashing steel and magic. Weylind’s one sword was longer than Farrendel’s two smaller ones, and Farrendel had to leap back to avoid Weylind’s longer reach.

As he parried Weylind’s strike, he sensed Ryfon’s magical attack from behind him. Farrendel flung a wall of crackling magic to protect his back, then swept the magic forward to blast away Weylind’s lashing branches.

Weylind spun and launched himself into the air, his sword whipping toward Farrendel.

Farrendel parried and flipped to the next branch over to give himself more space. He kept the wall of magic in place, holding Ryfon back.

As Weylind came in for another attack, Farrendel could feel Ryfon’s magic building and growing behind him, until the trees were shuddering with the force of Ryfon’s magic bursting from him.

“Dacha!” Ryfon’s shout shook with fear, coming from a whirl of his own magic.

Farrendel recognized that fear. He had felt it many times himself when he had lost control.

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