Warfare and violence weren’t the most treasured arts amongst the Elvyn, but they were necessary for a future Morkara to learn. And learn she did, her training thorough. It had come to good use during the war with her brother so many centuries ago.
Unfortunately, what was true for her was true for Darius too.
He fought like death incarnate, with the advantage of unfamiliar human combat techniques paired with his worldwalking abilities. He was always escaping the swing of her sword, evading lethal blows and exchanging them for shallow wounds, if any. His lips remained peeled in a taunting grin as they dueled, his attacks unwavering.
But she didn’t give up, even as her body grew weary. She kept her mind sharp, attuned to the whispers of her weavings. While she’d waited inside the Veil for the signal that Darius had arrived, she’d constructed a truthweaving, seeking guidance for success.
She hadn’t heard a thing in response until the battle with Darius had begun.
Now they whispered to her.
Told her where to turn.
Alerted her of Darius’ next move.
Even so, the battle felt endless.
When would her whispers guide her to land a killing blow? When would they shout, teasing out a weakness in Darius’ defenses? When would she have the ideal opportunity to end him?
Sweat slicked her brow and dripped into her eyes as the softest, quietest whisper answered her question.
You won’t.
You won’t.
You won’t.
It should have filled her with dread. It should have frozen her under a blanket of foreboding.
But it didn’t.
She’d suspected for a while now that she wasn’t meant to be the hero in this war with Darius. The prophecy had said so little about her, after all, and every truthweaving she’d cast about El’Ara’s future had been about other people.
Noah, the Morkara.
Mareleau, the Edel Morkara’Elle.
She may not be the hero, but she was meant to fight. Destined to face her brother like this.
Gritting her teeth, she sliced out with her sword, thrust with the talons of the collar that she wielded like a dagger. One of the claws hooked into Darius’ inner elbow, just above his gauntlet. He stumbled, his eyes going wide as he realized he couldn’t worldwalk away.
This was her chance.
She lunged back and swung with her sword. He arched away in time to avoid a deeper cut, earning only a thin slash across his throat. It was too shallow of a wound to slow him down. Her only reward was the sight of his blood running down his throat. Still, she didn’t give up. She shifted her stance, swiveled her arms, and slammed the edge of her blade against his abdomen. He released a grunt as the metal armor crumpled inward, her blade sinking into his skin. But at the same time, he tore the talon from his inner elbow and tossed it aside. Ailan ducked and rolled toward it, gathering it in her hand before leaping to her feet.
Darius now stood several feet away, blood trailing from the corner of his lips as he fiddled with the buckles and straps securing the front of his cuirass.
She gave him a wicked grin.
He may have the advantage of iron weapons, which delivered excruciating pain to pureblood fae, but his armor was human-made. Nothing better than garbage compared to the strength of Elvyn craftsmanship and armor harvested from the shedded scales of dragons.
Darius sneered back at her as he loosened a buckle.
Uziel took the chance to blast him with a ball of red flame.
Darius worldwalked away just in time and reappeared closer to Ailan—too near for Uziel to risk using his flame. He released the final buckle and tore his ruined cuirass off his chest. Blood seeped from his wound, but Ailan knew better than to expect enough blood loss to end his life. No, that blow hadn’t been a fatal one.
But it had made his vital organs more vulnerable.
