CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
WATCHING FYAR FIGHT was an otherworldly experience. He moved like water through mastered stances as easy as breathing, the sword becoming an extension of his body rather than a simple weapon he wielded. He was conjuring so much magic, calling so muchento his side, that even Killian’s weak eyes could see how it bunched and curled, filling the entire clearing, surrounding Fyar like a physical shield.
Having been on the other end of Fyar’s sword before, Killian knew Fyar’s power, the strength of his blows and the precision of his swings were no joke. The king was a fighter with no equal, but if anyone were his second, it would be Lyra.
Lyra had taken the place of his injured guard, the first one Fyar had gone after. He’d escaped with his life but would be lucky if he ever used his right hand again—if he survived. Fyar’s attack, aimed at the hand that held the sword, severing the appendage at the wrist. It would’ve been enough to deter a weaker fighter, but Lyra had brought his best—his strongest and most experienced. The elf simply took the sword in his other hand and fell back, letting Lyra and the others take point while still offering assistance, eager for a chance at revenge.
Lyra and his men moved like one, circling their prey like apack of wolves, maws drooling and snapping in anticipation. They moved in formation, a smooth and practiced sequence. Hard to guard against and harder to break through.
Battle hardened and tough, Lyra’s soldiers were masters of their magic as well. Used to wielding it to aid them against their enemies. The only reason Fyar didn’t crumble was because of who he was, if it were anyone else they would have been long dead.
Smartly, Fyar kept Lyra at his front, never letting the golden-haired elf see his back. It was a crack of thunder when their blades met, both strengthened and backed by an abundance of magic most only dreamed of witnessing. A flash of lightning as the steel sparked, getting lost in the waves of gold that flowed like the ocean around them.
But absent four arms and four swords, not even Fyar could block every attack. While his attention was kept, the elves in the king’s periphery drew blood. Like dogs nipping at his heels, they waited for chinks in his armor, moments where he was left open and they attacked with a vengeance.
What Lyra seemed to have forgotten was that he wasn’t the only one who had fought on the front lines in war, and he wasn’t the only one who had commanded armies. Fyar was holding his own, even as his white robes began to stain crimson. But he couldn’t hold on forever.
Killian ground his teeth, seething. He couldn’t keep standing around doing nothing as his king fought for his life just a few paces away. There was no time to waste, every moment he wasted was another that Fyar had to fight on alone.
Tearing his eyes away, Killian turned his full attention to Kade.
Sensing the shift in him, the elf called Chrys stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t do anything stupid, mutt. You’re not the one who’ll pay for it.”
Killian ignored him, his focus solely on Kade. Trying to convey across the distance some semblance of the plan he was concocting.
They held each other’s eyes for a long moment, amber and onyx.
Kade’s breathing became faster, his bottom lip trembled. Killian took that as him understanding.
Raising his hands, Killian tilted his head, signaling peace. Surrender. He took a step forward. “What’s your plan after all this? You kill me, kill the king, and then what? March into the palace and claim it for your own? That easily?” Another step. He could almost reach his sword now. “See, I don’t think it is. I think if you were going to kill me, you’d have done it already.”
“Shut up.”
“I think,” Killian went on inching forward, “You need me alive. You need someone to testify before the council, before the court, and who better than the sword themself? They would never believe Lyra on his own—not with his history.”
Killian’s eyes flickered to Kade’s. Soon. Soon.
Chrys sneered at the jab towards his master. The knife at Kade’s throat slid a few inches, and blood pooled in the wound instantly. “Shut up! I’ll do it. Don’t think I won’t.”
“No, you won’t,” Killian said. “You can’t. Who’s the dog now?”
Chrys barked tired threats. His face went red with anger as he rose to the bait Killian dangled in front of him.
Ignoring him, Killian looked at Kade. He blinked. One. Two.Three. When his eyes came open the third time, Kade moved. Throwing himself against his captor, Kade smashed in Chrys’ nose with a sickening crunch.
It wasn’t enough to break his hold, but it was enough of a distraction for Killian to act. He ripped his sword from the earth and was on Chrys in a flash. He didn’t get to rip out Chrys’ throat with his teeth, unfortunately, but Killian was happy with how his sword had made it three quarters of the way through the other’s neck before getting getting stuck in his spine.
Making quick work of the rope, Killian pressed the dagger that was once pressed against Kade’s neck into his newly freed hands.
“If they come for you,” said Killian, “Don’t hesitate.”
Kade nodded, shaken but determined. “Make sure you come back to me.”
Killian grinned. “Always.”
Then, he turned and joined Fyar in the fray.
Fyar had managed to take down one by the time Killian joined in, but he’d taken more damage that Killian was comfortable with.
