Loose Changeling: A Changeling Wars Novel

by A. G. Stewart

  Second. Like in a duel?

  My thoughts were cut short when Kailen stepped into the room. The white globes made him look older, more haggard. But perhaps it was not the lights.

  “How long have you been here?” I said.

  “I watched the first round,” he said. “I had to. I’ve done a lot of things wrong in my life, Nicole.”

  “Including trying to violate our laws,” the Arbiter said.

  Kailen's eyes flicked to the Arbiter before looking back at me. “Yes, well, this felt right. And I want to do the right thing. No matter what it costs me.”

  Were those gray hairs at his temples, or was it only the light?

  He unclipped the sword from his belt and held it out to me. “I want you to have this.”

  I didn’t reach for it. “Have it?”

  He cracked a half-smile. “Borrow it. You’re allowed to switch an item out with your Second after the first round, and your opponent can’t veto it. This sword is crafted. It will cut through almost anything—except other weapons. But its weakness is earth or stone. Try to cut earth or stone with it, and it will break. So don’t let him take a swing at you like he did in the last second of the round. It’s light, so keep it up, in the range of your torso.”

  I reached for it then, but mostly because I wanted him to leave. Would he spend his life's hours trying to help me? The metal tube was cool and smooth in my hand. I gripped it, and then jerked my arm down and up, the way I'd seen Kailen do. The blade snapped out, no discernible hinges or pivot point visible on the length of its bright steel. I could feel the sword's magic, the scent of honeysuckle not in my nostrils, but an impression on my mind. “You crafted this yourself,” I said.

  “I did. I'm not Talented, so it took me a very long time and more effort than I thought myself capable of.”

  “Thank you.” The words felt inadequate.

  “The second round will begin shortly,” the Arbiter said.

  “Does no one remind Haldor how long he has?” I said, irked by his interruption.

  “I am there as well,” he said.

  That shut me up. Kailen reached out and took a stray lock of my hair between his fingers. “Just win this.”

  I wanted to close my eyes, to lean into his touch, but this wasn’t the time for sentimentality. “Get out of here. Go. I don't want to be responsible for your aging. Promise you'll leave.”

  “I promise.”

  I took an experimental swipe with the sword. It cut through the air with barely a sound. I almost expected the air to begin bleeding. “What will you do if I don't come back to return your sword?”

  Kailen shrugged. “I don't want to think about that possibility.” He turned and left. I stood alone in the room with the Arbiter, the white globes of light making it feel colder than it was.

  “You must give up an item in exchange for the sword,” the Arbiter said. I picked out one of Tristan's wooden blocks and dropped it to the floor. The Arbiter's eyes flashed. “Very well. The exchange is complete.”

  I licked my lips. I wasn't sure if it was wise to say the words that hovered at the back of my throat, but I wanted to know. “Can you release Kailen's banishment curse?”

  “I could,” he said.

  “Don't you think he's suffered enough? He was only trying to save his wife's life.”

  “You should not speak of things you do not understand, Changeling. It is not just about what I want and what I don't want. I don't share the same sense of ethics and morals that mortals or even the Sidhe do. The Arbiter is a power unto itself.”

  “But he loved her.”

  “Love? What sway do you think this holds over me? Kailen did not just try to save Penelope's life. He tried to extend it into the hundreds of years; he tried to give her magic. He wanted her to be like one of the Sidhe. Could he have done it? Perhaps. But he would have thrown the balance of both mortal and Fae worlds asunder. And so I have devised this punishment.”

  Kailen had told me he'd tried to save Penelope's life—he hadn't mentioned trying to make her like one of the Fae. It cut me, more deeply than I expected to learn that he'd lied yet again. I rubbed at the spot in my chest where the hurt emanated from. It did nothing to soothe it. Maybe this was all his own business, but why keep it from me when everyone else knew? I couldn't dwell on it. I had a Guardian to fight and a nephew to reclaim. “And what about Changelings?” I said. “If we are raised in the mortal world and are Sidhe by blood, what does this make us? What relationship do you hold to me?”

  “Perhaps we will both find out. If you live. Changelings may have their place. The world ever-changes, Nicole, and we must change with it. And again, as we change, so must the world. Do you understand?”

  “Not at all.”

  “The second round will begin.” A distant bell sounded, and then the roar of the crowd, trembling through the stone at my feet and into my bones.

  I tried to steady my nerves. “Aren't you going to wish me luck?” I said to the Arbiter.

  The Arbiter let out an exasperated sigh. “I don't play favorites, and I don't believe in luck.” He tilted his head to the side. “You are attempting to joke with me. With your death possible in the next round.”

  “I hear it's the only way some people can face it,” I said.

  He pursed his lips. “Go. They are expecting you.”

  The door into the Arena opened. I gritted my teeth, squeezed Kailen's sword in my hand so tightly I thought the metal would dent beneath my fingers, and walked through the door. The crowd in the Arena roared at my appearance. Or perhaps they roared for Haldor's appearance. That seemed the more likely response. We strode to meet one another at the center.

  The red scarf Grian had thrown into the Arena had disappeared, as had the fire and all of the ice. My wooden wall remained, climbing into the sky, scorched and devoured in places, but still an impediment.

  “Changeling,” Grian's voice carried through the Arena. “You must remove the wall before we are to proceed.” Though her voice sounded serene, when I looked to her face, her brows twitched down. It couldn't have pleased her, this reminder of my ability. None could banish a Changeling's magic except a Changeling.

  I wanted to defy her, but I was fighting Haldor at the moment, not Grian. I didn't wish to show Haldor any disrespect. So I went to the wall, breathed in, and placed my hand upon it. When I breathed out, the magic came with it, shrinking the wall, turning it back into a simple wooden block. The block was half burned away. Something else I didn't know about my magic. And what of the stuffed animal-grushound? Grian didn't ask me to dispel that magic. So Haldor must have killed it. Did it remain a grushound in death, or did it shrink back into the stuffed animal it had once been?

  No time for this. I went to my spot across from Haldor. He'd had the chance to switch out an item as well. What did he pick? I raked my gaze over his armored form, trying to find a difference in his appearance.

  “The second round will begin!” Grian called out. She flung out the red scarf. It drifted, borne by magic, to the center of the Arena.

  He still had his sword and shield. My gaze caught on his belt. There, hanging from the leather, was a tiny chain, a glass bauble at the end. I lifted Kailen's sword. I didn't know what the bauble was. Perhaps I'd find out, though I hoped I wouldn't pay too dearly for my ignorance.

  The scarf floated between us and then, with a sudden movement, dropped like a stone to the Arena floor. Damn Grian and her tricks.

  Haldor moved before I was able to. He drew his sword from his sheath, lifted his shield, and charged toward me.

  My Talent saved me. I danced to the side and sliced an arc with Kailen's sword.

  Instead of hitting the shield, it cut cleanly through it.

  I think it surprised both of us. Haldor and I stood, frozen, my sword at the end of its arc, him with his shield still in the air. The top of the shield creaked away from the rest of it and fell with a clang to the Arena floor.

  “You have a crafted sword,” Haldo
r said.

  “I do.”

  He grunted and heaved the rest of the shield away. He drew his sword and the smell of lemon drifted into my nose. “Will it cut through this?”

  I shrugged and tried to make it look careless. “I'm not sure. How about we find out?”

  He gave me a grim smile. “It doesn't. I can tell by the look in your eyes.” He took a step forward, and I joined him in a dance of flashing metal and quick-footed movements. He thrust at me and I leapt back. I took a swing at him, and he blocked. Mark's lessons repeated in my mind. Step, parry, thrust, slice, parry, step, step, step. Haldor tried to press me back, toward the Arena wall, but I was too quick, my Talent too strong.

  Our swords locked. I found myself face-to-face with Haldor, our teeth exposed in grimaces, our feet sliding against the Arena floor. “What will you do...if you win?” he managed.

  “I don't want to kill you,” I said. I threw my weight into the push.

  “I know. But one of us must die.” He shoved against me and made a grab for Kailen's sword. I pivoted and slid smoothly away. Haldor overbalanced and was forced to take a half step forward. His back lay before me exposed. The crowd roared, sensing impending doom.

  I hesitated. The air seemed to go out of the Arena in a whoosh, like a thousand sighs all at once.

  Haldor recovered and took two steps more, before turning again to face me. “You could have struck then.”

  “I've never killed anyone.”

  The Guardian nodded, his lips pressed together. “It is always hard, the first time.”

  Did he expect me to kill him, or was he merely sympathizing with my plight, thereby engendering more sympathy in me and making it harder for me to make a killing blow? I wasn't sure if it was the former or the latter. I feared both.

  I couldn't fear. I had to be a weapon, as deadly and unthinking as the sword itself. I grabbed for one of the wooden blocks as the same time Haldor extended his hand.

  I'd meant to create another wall, but the Guardian was too quick for me. He tossed a ball of fire into the air, and it burned the wooden block to ashes before I could transform it. He was nearby, close enough. Before the ashes could hit the ground, I seized the perfume bottle and sprayed the air. With a huff of breath, I sent the droplets in Haldor's direction and changed them into acid.

  He pulled the glass sphere free from his belt and dashed it on the ground. Smoke curled from the broken sphere, lifted into the air, forming a shape. The acid drifted toward it.

  The smoke solidified from the ground up. Shimmering green scales, silver talons, a long and sinuous neck. Two webbed wings folded over its lizard-like body, large as a Clydesdale horse and just as heavily muscled.

  A dragon.

  As it finished forming, the acid hit it in the side. It tipped its head back and screeched—a sound halfway between the cawing of a crow and the strangled cries of fighting cats. I started to lift my hands to cover my ears and saw my sword in one hand. I had to fight. Fight or die.

  The dragon pivoted toward the source of the acid. Me. Its feline eyes narrowed, it crouched and then launched itself into the air. The Sidhe in the stands ducked, unwilling to become targets of the dragon's wrath.

  Ice crept along the Arena floor toward my position.

  “Come on!” I cried out.

  “You now have a sword that cuts through shields and armor,” Haldor said. He backed away, putting distance between me and him. “I have a dragon.”

  I had to get creative, and I had to think. Neither of which I had a ton of time for. I had so few things left to transform.

  The scarf.

  It still lay in the center of the Arena, in the direction the ice came from. I didn't have much choice. I dashed toward it, ignoring the frost that Haldor grew into a glistening wave. Above me, the beat of wings sent rushes of air across my face. What could a real, live dragon do? Were the stories true? Did they eat princesses and breathe fire?

  Focus. The scarf. The red cloth stood like a beacon against the white stone. I had to reach it before the ice overtook me. I breathed in, breathed out Talent, speeding my steps. The smell of dark chocolate hung thick in the air. I didn't look at the dragon anymore, or the oncoming ice. Just stared at the scarf, growing closer and closer, more real.

  I snatched it, flung the bit of cloth over my head, and transformed it.

  No longer a red scarf, but a structure of glass, large as an outhouse, covering and surrounding me.

  The dragon opened its mouth. The ice wave approached.

  The ice covered my glass structure in crystals. Almost as soon as this happened, fire rained down upon me from the dragon’s mouth. It melted most of the ice, though not all of it. Haldor added more on top of where it had melted.

  I frowned. Why would he do that unless he wanted to protect me from the dragon’s flames? I checked my glass structure. It had already begun to crack, but ice filled the gaps.

  Air. I hadn’t given myself any means of getting more air. How long would the air from an outhouse-sized structure last? And yet, if I left, I’d be vulnerable to both the dragon and the ice.

  “Think, Nicole, think.” I had a scarf, a perfume bottle, a coaster, and a sword that could cut through almost anything. This sounded like one of those lousy puzzles people try to make you answer to prove how smart you are. Mark hadn’t taught me about fighting more than one opponent at once. “The dragon first, then Haldor,” I whispered. Did the air already feel stuffy, or was it my imagination?

  I transformed the coaster into a shield. The perfume bottle I transformed into padded cloth, something like an oversized oven mitt, and placed it between the shield and my arm. I wouldn’t have much time for my next move. I’d have to be quick. I tightened my grip on both sword and shield. Then I reached out, touched the glass wall, and transformed the scarf into a five-gallon bucket. I hooked it onto my arm, using Talent-enhanced speed. The ice crashed down. I lifted the sword and sliced, again and again.

  The ice gave way before the blade and I hauled myself out. The dragon circled overhead again. I glanced to my left. Haldor stood with sword and his half-shield in hand. To my satisfaction, sweat poured down his brow. This fight had cost him.

  Step one, accomplished. Next step, distracting Haldor.

  I tucked the sword into my belt and leaned the shield against my knees. I stripped off my shirt and was met with jeers and catcalls from the crowd. Sidhe—not too different from humans sometimes. My sports bra covered my chest, so it wasn’t as if I was naked. I concentrated, breathed out my magic, and turned the shirt into a net of iron strands.

  Haldor appeared too startled for a moment by my sudden lack of dress to notice what I’d done. I grabbed the shield in one hand, the net in the other, and dashed toward him. Above me, the dragon’s wings beat, sending a breeze against my neck. Haldor glanced up and then at me, his eyes widening. He turned and ran.

  Ah, so his beast wasn’t as tame as he’d like me to believe, was it? The dragon may have been set upon me, but it seemed as though it didn’t care very much about collateral damage, either.

  Haldor wasn’t Talented in sword fighting. I enhanced my speed, gaining on him, trying to ignore the feeling of the dragon at my back, hoping that it wouldn’t choose this moment to unleash its fire upon me.

  Now or never.

  I lifted the net and threw, enhancing my strength as I did so. It flew over the Guardian, sending him stumbling. I didn’t wait around to see how that worked out. I had a dragon to ground.

  I turned just in time to see the dragon open its mouth.

  “Shit!” I managed before the fire billowed toward me. I lifted my shield and ducked behind it. The fire hit it full force, pushing me back. It licked around the edges, singeing my hair and arms. But the metal and the padding did their work, keeping me from any real harm. It gave me a second to think. How smart were dragons, anyways? When the onslaught had died down, I lifted my head. “Come down and fight me, you overgrown lizard!”

  The dragon’s feline
eyes narrowed. It dropped onto the Arena floor, its silver claws clicking against the stone. Well, that had been easier than I expected. Behind me, Haldor’s hill of ice continued to melt, forming puddles of water on the floor. Keeping my eyes on the dragon, I grabbed chunk after chunk of ice, dumping it in the bucket I’d created. My shield wobbled on my arm as the dragon stalked closer. I was sure I’d had stupider ideas, but I certainly couldn’t think of them now.

  The dragon opened its mouth. In the depths of its throat, the fire roared.

  Now.

  I dashed forward and flung the ice into its mouth. For a second I thought it hadn’t worked. Then the dragon closed its mouth, steam rising from its nostrils. It choked, swallowed, and began to cough, sounding like nothing so much as a cat with a hairball.

  Haldor still struggled beneath the net, trying to free himself from the iron strands. Time to finish this. I slung the shield over my back, strode over to him, and lifted Kailen’s sword.

  Haldor tried to bring his sword to bear, but both he and I knew he wouldn’t make it in time. I had to do this. It was me or Haldor, no other choice. I closed my eyes.

  The bell sounded.

  Really?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  My gaze found Grian in the audience. I wasn’t wearing a watch, but I thought the bell had tolled sooner than it had in the last round. She had that small, self-satisfied smile on her lips and I remembered what Kailen had said. Grian had her hands in everything.

  The crowd booed and jeered as Haldor and I headed to our respective resting areas. They’d seen death close in twice, and hadn’t been rewarded. Well, tough luck for them. This whole fight-to-the-death thing might be normal for the Sidhe, but I was raised among humans. I wasn’t so sure about it. I didn’t want another man’s blood on my hands, not even one of the Fae. And now that I felt more confident I could win, I started to question the necessity of a death.

  We’d made a pact with the Arbiter. Could it be unmade?