Mistake of Magic

by Alex Lidell

  Immediately, a wind picks up, raising a storm of sand to pelt our unprotected faces.

  I lift an arm to shield myself, but a casual pulse of power from River has the sand suddenly bouncing off an invisible shield, the grains streaking back down to their yellow sea instead of filling my eyes. “Nice trick,” I say, gazing around now that I can see again.

  “The sand is about to get worse, if they are smart,” River says, pointing into the distance, where the five males are gathering themselves together and advancing toward us like harbingers of doom. “The key for a new quint is to learn to combine their power.”

  I wait for the males around me to draw their weapons and become otherwise menacing, but the four seem totally at ease. I study their tall, lithe bodies and open faces, seeking the darkness that surely must lurk beneath their skin. I detect only calm. As if all this is little more than a dull but necessary wait before a meal.

  The four of them are even chatting. No, not chatting. Bickering.

  “It will be fine,” Tye says, his green eyes glittering as he yanks the flag from Shade’s hand. “It will be more than fine—it will be amusing.”

  “It will stop being amusing when you forget what the bloody hell you are supposed to be doing and decide to hump Malikai’s leg.”

  “First, my tiger doesn’t hump legs,” Tye says, sounding offended. “I think you’re confusing cats with dogs. And second, I don’t need to remember what I’m doing once I shift—if your hands aren’t growing out of your ass, you can tie the flag to me, and then all I need to do is run. Unless . . . Does my feline make you feel inadequate, Shade?”

  I glance back toward Malikai’s quint. They are a quarter of the way across the arena now and are, as River predicted, joining hands. My stomach tightens. “Children,” I say, my voice pushing between Shade and Tye, “pay attention.”

  The words have just left my mouth when a new blast of air and sand pounds against us, the assault harsh enough to make me stumble. Wind whistles in my ears, echoing off the stone walls of the arena. I can hear the other quint shouting at each other, but not what they’re saying.

  River grabs on to my shoulder to keep me upright.

  “Shouldn’t we join as well?” I call over the sudden sandstorm.

  “We aren’t a new quint,” River says calmly, extending his hand against the onslaught. The ground shifts slightly beneath one of the orange warriors.

  The male stumbles. Falls. The quint disconnects and the attacking storm dies away.

  “Tye will be fine,” River says, plucking the flag from Tye’s hand. “Go set up the flank. Once they are close enough, I’ll release Tye with the flag. That will force them to scatter, and you can pick them apart to your heart’s content. Try and keep the mess on the other side of the arena from Leralynn.”

  Coal and Shade, still in fae form, nod once and separate right and left, jogging around the arena’s sides as Malikai’s regrouping quint continues to advance on us, their assault of wind and sand once again stressing River’s shield.

  “They want to pin us against the arena wall,” River says casually, as if there isn’t anything deadly about such a plan. From down here, the walls of the arena look like jagged yellow stones, giving off more preternatural heat than glowing embers. “We’ve greater experience in direct combat, so Malikai will try to keep his warriors from having to cross swords with any one of us.”

  River holds out his hand and the ground rumbles beneath Malikai’s quint, though this time the males manage to keep their footing and the power of the wind pressing against us diminishes for only a moment. “It will be more difficult for me to hold them off when they are close, but at that point, there will no longer be a reason for them to approach us at all.” He turns to Tye. “Ready? You bite me while I’m tying this on, and there will be hell to pay . . . eventually.”

  Tye grins widely and, in a flash of light, shifts into a gorgeous tiger with white-stuffed ears and sparkling green eyes. The tiger swings his wide muzzle to River and roars, opening its maw wide.

  River swears and glances at the approaching quint, now halfway to us. “We don’t have time for this, Tye. Stand down.”

  The tiger paws the sand and snarls, the feral predator taking over Tye’s fae senses. But he is still there, my Tye. I can feel his essence, thriving and pulsing behind the teeth and snarls. He won’t hurt me. I know it in my soul, even as my common sense protests. The tiger standing before us, ready to rip River into shreds, will not harm me.

  I pluck the flag from River’s hand before the quint commander can argue and hold my palm out to Tye, catching his green eyes with my own. “I’ll do it,” I say, my voice soft. “Stand back, River.”

  The tiger’s nostrils flare delicately, his long tongue lapping at his nose. I take a step toward him and crouch, my palm still out despite River’s warning growl.

  The tiger yawns. Then condescends to step forward. My heart quickens, those sharp, white teeth glistening in the sun.

  “Good boy,” I whisper, fear and trust colliding inside my chest. “It’s me, Tye. It’s you and me.”

  Another step. His large orange head comes in line with my face, the powerful jaws strong enough to sever my jugular in a single snap. I stay still even so, waiting. Not breathing. A final step and the tiger’s head reaches me. Lowers.

  And rubs against my shoulder with enough force to knock me flat on my butt.

  “Very funny, kitty.” Climbing back onto my feet, I tie the flag around the tiger’s neck like a bright neckerchief, while the animal stands still but for his tail, which swishes back and forth like a pendulum. I test the knot and glance at River, who watches the exchange with a mix of rapt attention and amusement.

  “Good.” Taking my hand in his, River pulls me away from Tye, whose tiger launches across the arena, his wide paws kicking up sand.

  Someone in Malikai’s quint shouts, pointing to the tiger and flag, which streams like a scarf from the animal’s neck. The quint pauses. There is but a quarter of the arena separating them from us now, with Coal and Shade waiting far at their backs and Tye now going on a merry dance across the sand.

  River pulls me close to him. “The hard part is over,” he says, his grip reassuring. “You and I are of no more value to them.”

  I nod, waiting for the five warriors to turn back toward the flag and the greater threat that Coal and Shade pose.

  Two against five are not odds I like, but River’s sheer confidence in his quint brothers flows through his skin into mine. I wonder how many battles it took to forge that measured calm that he projects—as if even now, in the midst of a trial, we’ve all the time in the world to get it right.

  Two of Malikai’s warriors separate, their attention going to Shade and Coal. The sand flies from beneath their boots as they retrace the very ground they just conquered.

  Coal and Shade wait, luring their adversaries to the other side of the arena as ordered. Coal’s opponent reaches him first, and I wince for the orange-clad male as Coal’s blade strikes his ribs, dulled metal flashing in the sunlight.

  The male drops to his knees with a scream, the fire he’d been kindling dying in his palms.

  On the other side, Shade flashes into his wolf, the beast’s snarl a battle cry of its own.

  “Go!” Malikai shouts, and the three remaining fae—the ones who are supposed to be going after Tye and our flag—rush at River and me instead.

  My heart stops before leaping into a gallop. “They don’t want the flag, do they?” I say, even as I feel River’s power pulsing through him, his free arm drawing his sword. “They are going after me.”

  River pushes me behind him, his broad back covering me from the assault of wind and sand and steel. “Yes,” he says calmly, his voice rumbling through my body, purpose radiating off him as fiercely as the heat blazing from the arena’s walls.

  I swallow, my world narrowing for a moment on my quint commander. The dark hair at the nape of his neck is damp with sweat. His pulse, beating evenly
beneath the three runes that he accepted for my sake. His back, swelling with each slow breath, undaunted by the murder riding at us full force.

  The moment ends and I tear my gaze back to the arena. The three warriors are only ten yards away now. The first trial isn’t supposed to end in death, but those standards are based on immortal bodies, not fragile human flesh. The fae’s blades might be dulled, but their magic isn’t. What would be a survivable wound for fae would kill me outright. And the gleam in Malikai’s eyes says he knows it.

  Is counting on it.

  My palms dampen with sweat.

  Three fae warriors against one.

  Except I’m not blind. Not deaf. I can see the fury in the males’ eyes, feel the power of River’s magic slide. I reach for my dagger, the small weapon Coal insisted I carry. The blade is so insignificant that Malikai—now just a few paces away—laughs, the harsh sound vibrating through me. My body begs me to defend it.

  Something inside me rises to answer the plea, the sensation so native that I know the something inside me is mine—and yet I’m just as certain that I’ve never felt it before. Don’t even know what it is.

  The sand and wind pelt my face, and I bite my lip to keep from begging River to strengthen the shield. He is moving forward now, shifting to offense, and he needs that shield flexible to mount his own assault.

  My heart pounds at being left alone. Even as River’s blade becomes a whirlwind between me and Malikai, as Coal and Shade rush to our aid, their respective sword and teeth already pointed and ready to strike. Even as I trust the males to protect me, my need to protect myself roars.

  The something inside me pulses in answer. Grows hot. Shoves against its tether and demands release. I recognize the sensation now—it’s like what happened in the Gloom, when the quint connected and the magic pulled through me.

  Malikai takes one more step. He’s close enough that one lucky lunge past River’s blade will have him at my throat. His pale eyes gleam in the harsh sunlight, his tan face pulled back in a victory grimace.

  The terror inside me snaps the tether blindly, and the ground beneath us explodes in a column of sand and rock. Relief floods my body, making every nerve stand on end.

  River spins, his eyes meeting mine with a flash of the one thing I’ve yet to see in the commander—panic. With the next breath, he turns back toward the shaken attackers, who are already reclaiming their blades. River’s arms come out before him, as if it were he, not I, who just made the earth tremble. “We surrender!” he bellows to the sky, his voice echoing through the arena. “Stop the trial. Now.”

  The air around us thickens at once, holding everyone in place to stop the fight.

  10

  Lera

  My world roars around me, the exploding earth and River’s bellow of surrender ringing in my ears as the males herd me from the arena into the preparation room that we left a short eternity ago. The well of power I felt pulsing inside me is nothing but a phantom memory now, so nonexistent that I wonder if it wasn’t River who exposed the earth after all.

  A fine tremble vibrates my body. Malikai and his quint wanted to kill me. Would have killed me. Stars.

  River, who has yet to release my arm, now pulls me in front of him, running his hands up my arms and shoulders and neck until coming to rest on my cheeks. His broad, rough palms cupping my face, River peers into my eyes with an intensity that robs my breath, searching for something.

  Answers, probably. Ones that I don’t have.

  The raw emotion, a mix of fear and awe and something I can’t identify, turns the warrior’s face from beautiful to stunning. The rarity of seeing anything but command in River’s features—now twice in only minutes—makes my heart falter.

  “What the hell happened out there?” Tye asks, his green eyes still tinged with a feral freedom. His chest heaves, his fiery hair falling in sweat-soaked locks over his face as he paces in front of us. No, not paces—circles. Chasing a nonexistent tail. “What did I miss?”

  “A soon-to-be-dead third trial named Malikai went after our mortal.” Coal’s voice is low and cold, absent of emotion. Mimi once told me to fear a quiet dog over a growling one, because the former has already decided to attack and feels no need to warn you off. Watching Coal now, I understand what she meant. Coal crosses his arms, his dark eyes boring into River. “But that little explains the surrender, River. The bastards would have all been dead long before laying a finger on Lera. You know that.”

  “Yes, but Leralynn didn’t.” River rubs his face, his confident expression faltering for a weary moment. “Your mortal, Coal, discovered she had magic and took her safety into her own hands. I thought it best we not let the whole damn Citadel know about it.”

  For the first time since walking from the arena, I find my voice. “I . . . It wasn’t on purpose. I don’t even know what I did.”

  “You wielded magic, Leralynn.” River turns to face me again. “Earth magic. Same as what I have an affinity for, fortunately. It all happened so quickly that I’m confident the burst, crude as it was, will be dismissed as mine.”

  Shade comes up behind me as he did before the trial, oozing need and possession as he wraps a muscled arm around my waist, his other hand resting just above my elbow. Shade’s breath on my hair is warm and quick. He nuzzles his nose into the space behind my ear, his hair brushing my collarbone. The cocoon of safety envelops me at once, and it’s all I can do not to close my eyes and sink into the male’s hard shoulder, letting myself imagine that nothing but his earthy scent fills the world.

  “I’m all right,” I murmur to the male behind me.

  “I’m not,” Shade answers, inhaling my scent, his hold tightening.

  Tye stops his turning and drapes himself across a chair instead, one leg hooked over the armrest. “And why, might I inquire, do we not want the whole damn Citadel to know about Lilac Girl’s power? I, for one, am looking forward to seeing the look on Klarissa’s face when she finds out.”

  “Because of the Individual Trial,” Coal says, nodding his understanding to River. “We suffer a bit of humiliation now for the sake of preserving the mortal’s element of surprise for the one-on-one test. Which also means that we must either delay retaking the Quint Trial until after the Individual, or somehow ensure that Lera can manage to not come to our rescue next time.”

  A knock halts our conversation. Well, the males’ conversation, as I’m still unsure what all this means, much less what to say about it.

  “I’ll get it,” I say, extricating myself from Shade’s hold to open the door—onto a very befuddled Kora. She’s in uniform, the emerald shade of her belted tunic picking up the gem in her ear. Her blue eyes are as wide as mine must be.

  Running a hand through her short hair, as she seems to have been doing for a while now, the female looks around the room, shifting her weight uncomfortably. “I . . .”

  “I imagine there is some discussion taking place beyond these walls,” River says, his voice collected as he rises to his feet and bows, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. A transformation from deadly warrior to well-mannered prince, all in the space of a blink.

  “Everyone saw you winning,” Kora says bluntly. “The whole bloody Citadel came to watch you destroy Malikai. You could have wiped the sand with them, even when the bastards went after Lera. And then, a few heartbeats before your victory would have been undeniable, you . . . surrendered.” Kora stops speaking, the silence its own question.

  No one answers it.

  Kora lowers her face.

  “What conclusion do you draw from all this, Kora?” River asks.

  The female meets River’s eyes. “That you made a decision for reasons other than fearing for your lives. And that you will be paying a high enough price for it as is, without being asked to satisfy my curiosity on top of that.”

  A corner of River’s mouth twitches and he offers another small bow to our guide, while my own heart pounds. “And now you are here because we are still first trials
and are thus expected somewhere.”

  She nods reluctantly. “Breakfast.”

  “And if we’re not hungry?”

  “Quints are now expected to spend at least two meals a day at the mess hall—”

  “So the council can keep a leash on our schedules,” River finishes with a sigh. “And let me guess, Klarissa recommends that we start now.”

  The low din of the mess hall goes silent the instant the five of us step inside, our uniforms still soaked with sweat and sand. The long room is stunning, like the rest of the Citadel. Tall windows on three sides let in streams of sunlight, and thick oak rafters brace a peaked ceiling, giving the whole space a rustic charm. The walls are hung with colorful silk tapestries, the largest of which depicts a beautiful female with clouds of brunette curls and a harp so real, I can almost hear the ethereal music.

  River’s back is straight, calm dominance radiating from every inch of his body. If I feel like a disgraced insect walking onto a stage, the prince of Slait is striding into a throne room and heading straight for the meat table.

  As we walk to the food, I’m relieved to hear the voices slowly start back up.

  My mouth waters in spite of itself. Thanks to Shade’s hunting, we ate well during our journey here, but the Citadel mess hall must rival that of a palace. Thick slices of juicy venison, rabbit quarters, a whole crispy pig with an apple baked into its mouth. A separate table holds plates of fruit and cheese, the fresh aromas dancing with the smoky scent of meat. “Do I just—”

  River, whose plate is already filling, turns and hands the whole thing to me. “You can take whatever you like.”

  “You don’t mind if I cut in, do you?” Malikai’s poisonous voice interjects, and I feel River’s body stiffen for the smallest of heartbeats before his large hand settles on my waist.

  “Not at all, sir,” the prince tells the third trial, with such impeccable courtesy that I feel a shiver run down my spine. “We’ll return once you’ve made your selection.” Hand still on me, River guides me to a table where the others are already sitting, their plates nonexistent. River pulls a chair out for me and nods toward the food. “Eat, Leralynn. Malikai and his ilk will be sure to need all the food tables until the meal is over. It’s a common way in which third trials try to torment their juniors.”