The spiritstag. It was here to witness.
A creak split the night. My attention sharpened on Rhiannon. She had raised her bow and now pulled at the gutstring until the wood bent for her. An arrow with white fletching sat snug against the wood, the end of it close to her eye. She raised the bow degree by degree, sighting me.
I lifted my own bow and one of the arrows from my quill. It was awkward and long; everything about the weapon I held felt wrong. I wasn’t used to the shape, to the string, to the arrows.
Nonetheless, I fitted the arrow to the bow. The Rite required it—bows, swords, and magic.
I pulled the string to my eye, and my shoulder burned with the strain. Through the taut line, I fixed Rhiannon’s distant form into my sights. Then, as she had done, I raised the bow three degrees.
We stayed like that, two statues in opposition, until a voice issued into my head. The voice of nature.
It didn’t speak in words, but in a pulse through the marrow of my bones.
Begin.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
The spiritstag’scall had been given, and yet neither Rhiannon nor I moved. We remained with bows drawn, arrowheads pointed high.
Faun’s words came into my head:Think. Improvise.
I stared at Rhiannon, waiting. Watching. She remained still. What was she waiting for? I was a perfect target.
Then I felt it.
A fresh wind caught the tail of my braid, pushing it back from my body. There had been no wind tonight. Not until she’d called for it.
Magic. She was already tilting the field. With this headwind, my arrow would never fly far enough.
With the smallest flick, her fingers released. The arrow flew from her bow so fast, I lost sight of it the moment it was in motion. But I heard it, its keen whistle, like a bird cleaving the air.
Think. Improvise.
I dropped my bow and arrow to the ground. I yanked the quill full of arrows from my belt and let the shafts spill. I began backpedaling. My eyes searched the sky, ears pricked.
The whistle rose. The arrow came in fast, sudden. I tracked it a quarter-second before it would have hit me in the chest, and I shiftedmy body sidelong. I felt the wind off it as it raced past me and drove itself deep into the ground.
I stared. It stood upright in the grass, half as tall as me, the white fletching blowing softly in the conjured wind.
I jerked my head around. My eyes had begun to adjust; Rhiannon was already nocking another arrow, her fingers sliding over the shaft as she positioned it.
Run, Eury. Close the distance.
It was my only chance.
I burst into a sprint. I ran through the meadow, against the headwind, grateful for the linen tunic and pants Dorian had insisted I wear.
Every stride was proof he had been right: this was a test of endurance.
Her arrow found its place in her bow, and her eyes fixed on me. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. Perhaps she’d always known I would take this tack; no one rivaled her skill. She adjusted her aim as she pulled the string taut. She waited, patient, as I closed the distance.
Gods, half the meadow still between us. And she was a quicker draw than I had thought possible.
She released the arrow, this time with less of an angle. I wouldn’t have as much time to dodge.
I threw myself to the right, diving into the grass. I didn’t know if it was her doing, but the wind seemed to move with me. A half-second later, the arrow drove itself into the earth not a foot from my head.
I didn’t wait. I grabbed at the grass, ripping it from the ground as I pulled myself upright. I started running toward her even as she reached over her shoulder and slid the next arrow into place in one motion.
