“That’s the last time you touch him,” Rosalina growls.
“Now you’re done for,” I croak.
Light glistens across the jungle and, with a scream, golden briars erupt from the ground, snaking toward us in great arcs. The shadowed figure turns from me then leapsontothe briars, bounding over them toward Rosie. He raises the trident above his head.
I see the shock on Rosalina’s face. She tries to change the briars’ path, bringing them up to strike the man, but he cuts them in half with a wave of the trident.
“No!” I scream, and a torrent of water shoots from my palms.
The man doesn’t even turn, just thrusts a hand behind him, a gale of wind blasting the water away.
The man jumps, poised to attack Rosie.
I’m across the jungle in a single instant, blocking her body with my own, feeling the sharp slice of the trident against my back. I push her to the ground, grunting as we roll away.
“Dayton!” she gasps, gripping me tight around the neck.
The shadowy figure paces, watching us, no doubt anticipating our next action. This man responds like he knows my every move.
And hers. Like he knows exactly how to counteract her thorns.
“I can take us back to Castletree,” Rosalina whispers.
“I’m not done yet,” I growl. “Damn, I wish I had my swords.”
“You do have something,” Rosalina says, touching my pocket.
And the token within it, which holds the Trident of Honor. I don’t have time to think through the gravity of what it means to wield a weapon of such caliber. I’ve always been one to react to the situation as needed, and right now, I need a damn weapon.
The foliage breaks behind me as the man approaches. I reach into my pocket and pull out the token, throwing it over my neck. I think of the trident. With a flash of brightness, it appears solid in my hands. A glow emits from it, illuminating Rosie in teal light.
“I promised Ez I’d protect you,” I say and I almost do something stupid, like finish that kiss I tried to give her earlier. At the thought, warmth spreads across my chest. I’ve never been so sure this bastard threatening her needs to fucking die.
I leap up, meeting his trident with my own in a metal clang. I press forward, but he steps easily over every root and rock. His movements are fluid, almost mesmerizing, as he mirrors my stance with uncanny precision.
We dance between the shadows of the trees, the heat of the jungle sweltering. Sweat beads on my brow as I struggle to keep up with the relentless assault. With each move, he anticipates my next step.
I need to outsmart him and end this quickly. I feign a stumble, expecting to catch him off-guard and strike at his opening. He meets my thrust, and the prongs of our tridents interlock. I drive my heels into the ground, putting all my weight behind the attack. Fuck, this bastard is strong.
Then, to my astonishment, he takes one hand off his trident. From his free hand, a blast of water erupts, striking me in the chest, shooting me backward. The man rushes forward and strikes his trident into the ground, pinning mine to the earth.
“Now, there’s a weapon I haven’t seen for ages,” the shadowed figure speaks, staring down at our interlocking tridents.
That voice …
He fought like he knew my every move because hedoes.
The shadowed man throws back his hood, and my old master stares down at me.
“Justus,” I breathe, staggering up on my forearms. “What are you doing here?”
“Still teaching you, apparently.” He flicks my trident into the air with his own, where I reach out a palm to catch it. “Follow me.”
Dusk falls over the island, casting everything in a hazy pink glow. Justus’s cabin lies perched at the highest point. The ocean stretches all around us, sapphire waters blending with the fiery hues of the setting sun.
The hut is simple, weathered wood and a palm-frond roof, built only from what the island has to offer. I rest outside of it before a roaring fire, flickering light dancing across the violet earth.
Justus sits across from me, stirring a bubbling pot of stew that is cooking on the fire. He’s one of the oldest fae I know. Long gray hair is tied at the nape of his neck with a leather cord, and he’s grown a scratchy beard. Nicks and scars line his weather-worn face, and his voice has the gravel of a stone bed. I think Rosalina had been quite surprised when I’d gone from a death match in one moment to bounding over and hugging the man the next.
