by Anthea Sharp
Slowly, the king turned his head and looked at them. Nyx felt that sapphire gaze like a blow. The Bright King’s eyes were filled with knowledge and raw power—inhuman and incredibly ancient.
“Don’t look,” Marny whispered.
Hastily, Nyx turned his eyes away.
The music stopped, the dancing stopped, the creatures at the feasting tables set down their goblets, and the entirety of the court turned to regard the two mortals who dared to enter the Bright Court.
Never in a million years had Nyx imagined something so far outside normal reality. With Marny beside him, he walked up to the dais in the center of the clearing. Part of his mind was freaking out, pointing at the faeries and screaming, but the other part stayed calm, focused.
“Your Majesty,” Marny said, bowing to the king.
Damn, she was amazingly fearless. Following her lead, Nyx bent at the waist, pack shifting on his shoulders.
“Greetings, mortals.” The king sounded amused. “You arrive in the flesh, instead of wearing the guise of avatars. How unusual. And foolhardy.”
“Sometimes you have to take risks,” Marny said. “We’ve come in search of someone.”
“Yeah,” Nyx said, at last finding his voice. “We’re looking for my sister.”
“I know well enough what you seek,” the king said. “Did you think you could enter my Realm and take pieces of it away with impunity, Nyx Spenser?”
He couldn’t answer that. Pleading ignorance wasn’t going to get him very far, he could tell that much.
“Is she here?” Marny pressed.
“Quiet, Mistress Marny,” the king said. “You are not the one who owes the debt.”
She scowled at the king, but didn’t say anything more.
“I’m not letting you keep my sister in exchange for a few leaves,” Nyx said, anger clearing his head. “That’s hardly a fair trade.”
“Who said it must be fair?” The king gave him a sharp smile. “However, your words have merit. You may win your sister back—but payment is still owed.”
He gestured, and in the depths of the shining trees something moved. Something white, with tall branching antlers of pure ivory. As it paced forward, Nyx saw a girl upon its back.
“Emmie!” he cried.
She swayed slightly as the White Stag entered the clearing, her gaze unfocused. It was disturbing, the way she looked right past him.
“What have you done to her?” he demanded, wanting to dash up and deliver a solid roundhouse to the king’s jaw.
“She remains woven in dreams,” the Bright King said. “Would you prefer she wakes and sees that all of this is real?”
He swept one long-fingered hand over the court, and the creatures cackled and giggled. A nymph with dripping hair bared needle-sharp teeth at Nyx, and Pinebough growled menacingly and shook his spear.
“Maybe not,” Nyx said.
What next? Could he run over and grab Emmie off the stag? He scanned the court, seeing way too many armed creatures who wouldn’t hesitate to fight at the king’s command.
Marny caught his gaze and tipped her head to the bonfire at the edge of the clearing. Its rose-colored flames reflected warmly off the metal-barked trees. Too far away for them to reach, especially if he was lugging his sister. Which meant the king had to let Emmie go.
“Well, mortal, have you anything to propose?” the king asked.
“I do.” Nyx drew in a breath through his nose. “Trial by combat. If I win, Marny and I take my sister back to the mortal world.”
“Safely back,” Marny added, then turned to look at him. Worry and hope sparked in her warm brown eyes.
“It’s okay,” he said, though of course it wasn’t. There were any number of ways this could go severely wrong.
The king laughed, the sound chiming like a clear bell over the court. “Do you think to challenge me to personal combat?”
“No.” Nyx wasn’t that stupid. “I thought I’d fight a champion of your choosing.”
He glanced over the gathered creatures, weighing his options.
Pinebough and the other spriggans were formidable, but breakable if he could get in past their guard. The sharp-teethed hairy things could be a problem, but Nyx was fast on his feet, and any living creature had its weak points. He didn’t see any elfin knights standing around, which was fortunate.
“Ah. Clever enough.” The king nodded. “Very well. I choose as my champion—”
“Me!” The voice rang through the clearing.
The Bright Lance strode forward, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a hard line. When he reached the dais, he went down on one knee before the king.
“My liege,” he said. “I beg you, allow me to fight this upstart mortal. He must pay for his many slights to the Bright Realm.”
“Including the fact that he so ably eluded you?” The king’s voice held a cutting edge.
“He had aid,” the guard said. “That annoying sprite—”
“Speak no ill of Puck in my court,” the king said. “Annoyance or no, he serves his purpose and it is not for you to judge him.”
“I stand reprimanded.” The Bright Lance bowed his head. “Still, will you choose me for your champion, my king?”
A heartbeat of silence fell over the clearing, and Marny shot Nyx a scared look. Too late to back out now. He’d said he would fight whomever the Bright King chose.
“I choose you,” the king said, and the watching fey folk cheered. “Nyx Spenser, I agree to let you battle my champion, the Bright Lance. Should you win, you may retrieve your sister and, along with Mistress Marny, safely pass from my court. Should you lose, I will keep your sister in payment for your meddling in the Realm of Faerie.”
Oh, crap. There was no way in hell he could afford to lose. Nyx studied the imposing figure of the Bright Lance. But how could he win?
Expression taut, Marny took his hand. “You can do this. I have faith in you.” She lowered her voice. “And I won’t just be standing there watching, if you know what I mean.”
He nodded. Marny knew better than to try to interfere in the fight, but she would be alert for any opportunity. And trying to reach Emmie while the court was distracted.
“Good luck,” he said, shrugging out of his pack and handing it to her.
“You too.”
“Clear a space,” the king commanded.
The creatures of the court sprang to do his bidding, moving the tables and couches aside, then gathering in a rough circle. Marny, a pack slung over each shoulder, edged toward where the White Stag stood. Emmie remained quiet and unresponsive upon its back.
It hurt Nyx’s heart to look at his sister, so he concentrated on running through a quick set of warmups, trying to loosen and limber his muscles.
The Bright Lance paced into the center of the cleared space. He was taller than Nyx, his breastplate engraved with swirling designs. At his side hung a slender sword, and he had a small round shield upon his back.
“Um, don’t I get to choose my weapons?” Nyx asked.
The court laughed, and the king’s champion smiled.
“I believe the choice is whether or not to use magic,” the Bright Lance said. “Which do you prefer?”
Ah, dammit. Nyx shook his head. They’d boxed him right into that corner, hadn’t they?
“No magic,” he said.
The Bright King raised his hands, sketching strange symbols in the air. A moment later, a ring of knee-high scarlet flames encircled the two combatants.
“Fighters must remain in the circle of fire,” the king said. “No magic may pass the barrier. At first blood, the combat is ended. Make a fine sport of it.”
Clearly that last comment was for his champion, who looked more than ready to draw his sword and cut Nyx that very instant.
Great—on tonight’s entertainment bill was “bait the human.” It was obvious everyone in the court expected the Bright Lance to win. Well, except for Marny, who was making her slow, imperceptible way over to the White Stag.
/>
Time for him to provide some distraction. He cracked his neck, went into a defensive stance, and beckoned to the Bright Lance.
“Come at me, bro.”
“Gladly.”
With no further warning, the faerie knight rushed forward, blade already in motion.
Nyx waited until the last possible second in order to take his opponent by surprise, then dropped and swept his leg out, hoping to bring the knight down. The Bright Lance’s sword swished just past his ear, but his opponent was too nimble, and leaped over Nyx’s outstretched leg. Still, he’d missed his strike. As he overshot, Nyx danced back.
Despite the fancy armor, the faerie moved quickly and easily. He didn’t equip his shield, which meant he still didn’t think Nyx was much of a threat.
Okay, first order of business was to disarm the Bright Lance. Nyx pulled out his nunchaku, gave them a quick twirl, then dropped into a ready stance.
“You consider two sticks an adequate weapon?” the faerie scoffed.
Nyx didn’t bother replying, just kept his eyes on his opponent’s blade. In order to entangle the sword, he’d have to let it get close enough to cut him. Good thing he’d spent years sparring, watching angles of attack and training his body to react quickly.
Life wasn’t just about playing video games, after all.
The Bright Lance pulled his sword back and charged. Adrenaline sizzling through him, Nyx sidestepped and flung the nunchaku out. The chain slung around the hilt of the sword with a satisfying clunk, and he caught the flying end of the stick as it wrapped back, landing in his palm with a hard slap.
He wrenched and the sword flew out of the Bright Lance’s grasp. Nyx pivoted, letting the momentum carry the blade away. Regretfully, he had to release his nunchaku, too. Both weapons sailed through the air, clearing the circle of flame.
The faerie let out a cry of rage as the watching creatures scrambled to avoid the sword and nunchaku. From the corner of his eye, Nyx saw Marny grin. She was nearing the stag—but still not close enough to snatch Emmie from its back.
“Clever,” the king said from his vantage point upon his throne. “You humans can be the most surprising creatures.”
The Bright Lance bared his teeth. “Cleverness will not win you this match.”
Quicker than thought, he rushed forward. Nyx threw his arms up into a block, but the faerie bore him to the ground. Damn, the guy weighed a ton. Was he able to adjust his body mass at will?
The Bright Lance got one arm across Nyx’s throat and began to press.
I don’t think so.
Grabbing the top of the faerie’s breastplate, Nyx pulled hard. Overbalanced, the Bright Lance tumbled forward and Nyx slithered out from under him.
Time to get serious. He scrambled up and reached under his sleeve for one of his sheathed throwing stars. As the faerie knight rose, rage burning from his silvery eyes, Nyx flung the sharp-edged shuriken.
The star blurred, and the Bright Lance ducked aside with quicker-than-human reflexes. Instead of hitting his neck, the weapon pinged off the faerie’s armor and spun away to land outside the scarlet line of flames.
Dammit. Nyx only had one more in the sheath—the other shuriken were tucked in his sack. Stupid.
The Bright Lance rushed him again. Nyx leaped to the side, almost stepping outside the circle of flame. The watching fey folk murmured, their eyes bright with anticipation.
Quickly, Nyx pulled out his remaining throwing star and held it between his fingers. The goal now was first blood, and he literally couldn’t throw away his last chance. He’d have to wait for his opponent to get close.
Too close. But it was necessary.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The scarlet flames surrounding Nyx and the Bright Lance flickered, painting red reflections on the faerie’s armor.
“Enough of this foolishness, mortal,” the Bright Lance said. “I am here to fight you, not dance with you.”
“Okay, then.” Nyx rushed forward, foot lifted to deliver a double kick.
The feint worked. The knight focused on the first, weaker kick while Nyx rebounded into a roundhouse. His right leg whipped out, the top of his foot connecting with the Bright Lance’s temple, but instead of going down, his opponent only staggered backward a pace.
As Nyx whirled back into his stance, the faerie rushed him, one bare hand outstretched. The Bright Lance’s nails were filed into points, easily sharp enough to pierce the skin.
Ah, crap.
Feeling like he was moving in slow motion, Nyx stepped to the side, prepared to use his opponent’s momentum to send him flying past—ideally, all the way out of the circle. But the Bright Lance corrected, and Nyx had to drop to his knees on the grass to keep those fingernails from slicing across his cheek.
The faerie pivoted, too fast for the human eye to see, and lunged, bearing Nyx down and pinning him to the ground. His breath went out in a huff of pain. Dimly, he heard Marny call out, but all his attention was on the icy rage in his opponent’s eyes.
“And so it ends,” the faerie hissed, raising his fingers into claws above Nyx’s face.
“Yep,” Nyx gasped.
The knight had gotten a knee right into his solar plexus—but though he might be down, Nyx wasn’t done.
Holding the Bright Lance’s gaze, he whipped his hand up. The edge of the throwing star sliced the side of the faerie’s hand, and he gave a howl of pain. In that moment of distraction, Nyx threw his opponent off.
He scrambled to his feet and sucked in air, trying to get his breath back. His ribs ached where the knight had landed on him, and would probably hurt a whole lot more once the adrenaline surging through him subsided.
“Hold,” the Bright King said as his champion gathered himself to attack. “First blood has been drawn.” He nodded to the trickle of purplish blood encircling the Bright Lance’s wrist.
“But, my liege—”
“Silence. The terms of combat have been fulfilled. Much as it pains me to say it, the human has won.” The king sounded unhappy, but not as pissed as he might be. Maybe he’d enjoyed the show after all.
The monarch snapped his fingers and the scarlet flames vanished. Slowly, the White Stag paced forward, bearing Nyx’s sister. Marny walked at its side, one hand protectively on Emmie’s leg. Her gaze met Nyx’s, full of approval and unwavering confidence, and he let out a long breath.
They’d won. Barely, but he’d rescued his sister.
Although they weren’t safely home yet. He wouldn’t put it past the Bright King to pull some last-minute shenanigans.
“I claim victory,” Nyx said. “Now give me my sister.”
The king regarded him, endless ages echoing in his eyes. A deep sorrow and joy whirled there, and for a moment Nyx swore he glimpsed stars.
“I release your sister from the Bright Court,” the king said. “The White Stag has agreed to bear the three of you safely from my domain. Will you accept?”
“Yes,” he said.
“No,” Marny said, sending him a panicked look.
Nyx frowned as she shook her head at him, but it was too late. He’d accepted the king’s proposal—and really, safe passage out of the Realm was a good thing, right?
“Mount yourselves upon the stag,” the king said, gesturing. “He is strong enough to bear three.”
The White Stag gracefully went down on the gold-tinged grasses and gave Nyx an expectant look from its dark eyes.
“Nope,” Marny said. “I’m not taking this ride.”
“Get on.” Nyx slung his leg over the stag. Its hide was soft as velvet. “It’s our ticket out of here.”
“Yeah, but to where?”
“Mistress Marny,” the Bright King said, and there was a low tolling in his voice, a bell warning of an approaching storm. “Do you wish to remain here in my court? You are most welcome to do so.”
“Not really.” Marny edged closer to the stag.
“Then mount and depart. Or stay and revel among the fey folk for cen
turies, leaving your mortal cares behind. The choice is yours.”
“Crap,” she said. “Frying pan, meet fire.”
“Get on, already,” Nyx said.
It worried him that Emmie was still so unresponsive, but if he had to, he’d send her off with the White Stag while he and Marny stayed behind to battle their way out of the Bright Court.
Why did Marny have to be so stubborn?
Finally, she handed him his pack, then set her hands on his shoulders and seated herself behind him on the stag. She leaned forward, her warmth pressing against him, and whispered, “Think we could steer this thing over to the bonfire?”
“I’ll try.”
Though without any bridle or reins he wasn’t sure how. Maybe the deer would respond to a few kicks in the side.
“Excellent,” the Bright King said. “Your visit has been most entertaining. Fare thee well, mortals.”
The White Stag rose, jolting them a little, and Nyx held on to his sister.
“Emmie,” he said. “Wake up. Are you there?”
She made no response—which was probably a good thing. Once they returned to the human world, though, if she didn’t snap out of it he was going to come back to the Realm and kick some faerie ass.
The king waved his hand in dismissal, the harp struck up a jaunty tune, and the stag turned regally and began pacing out of the court. To their left, the bonfire glittered with rosy flames.
“Turn, please.” Nyx kicked his heel against the beast’s side, softly at first, then harder.
The White Stag ignored him, and he didn’t want to make it buck or rear by bashing too roughly at its ribs. Marny added her prodding, then leaned hard in the direction of the bonfire.
“Come on,” she said. When the stag refused to turn, she let out a frustrated breath. “We have to jump off and drag Emmie over to the fire.”
Nyx nodded. “On three. One. Two.” He tightened his grip on his sister and prepared to leap off. This was going to be a little tricky.
“Three.”
Neither he nor Marny budged. Their legs were stuck fast with magic to the sides of the White Stag. He cursed under his breath and tried to pry at least one of his legs free. Marny huffed out a sound of annoyance, and he could feel her attempts to twist off the deer, too.