The Unseelie grunted, exposing his fangs, but stayed on his feet.
“Stop it! They won’t attack unless we attack. They’re here to make sure I fight. Take Kalinda and leave,” Silva cried.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Kalinda, standing now, was pale but didn’t budge. Romano reached her and dragged her into his arms. She accepted his hungry kiss. “I can’t leave her.”
“We won’t.”
Silva’s pack, accepted in her House, slipped back to the other side of the circle where Silva stood, and didn’t move an inch more. Torin stood to the side, watching it all. As a Guardian, he may have gotten them there, but it wasn’t his job to be part of the battle unless they threatened Encantado.
Silva turned her attention to Kieran instead. “They loved you.”
“What do you know of love?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“You act as if you don’t know, Queen.” He said her title like a curse. “All you ever did was sit on your throne and let others die.”
She’d never been proud of her ruling years. She’d been too young, too confident in her power, just as she was when Kalinda was taken. She hadn’t learned from her past, but she hadn’t allowed her people to die needlessly.
“The Unseelie court held their own in Daemon. I had nothing to do with their lands from Seraph. You know this.”
“And what of the Unseelie trapped in Seraph?”
Unseelie in Seraph? It was impossible. They only mixed under strict guidelines of trade. The two Fae had never gotten along. The Seelie wanted to help humans, giving them magic and assistance. The Unseelie, however, had given them daywalkers and other paranorms that could feed on fragile human life. In retaliation, the sides had separated.
“There were no Unseelie in Seraph.”
Instead of answering, Kieran bellowed and leapt into the air. Silva matched him, snapping her wings open to lift into the air. They twisted, spinning and breaking apart. Kieran wasn’t able to fly like Silva, but he had power in his legs. The circle would keep her from only being able to fly so high, where he could also reach.
The Osaltirhiem kept battlers on even ground, forcing them to meet on terms either could win. It was the reason the Fae had designed it. Knowing this and being locked within the confines were two very different things.
Silva streaked forward, pulling her magic around her to turn her into liquid silver, strong and malleable. Kieran retaliated, wrapping fire around the sword he pulled from his back.
“I’ll cleave your head from your fucking shoulders.”
He’d try, he meant.
Silva grabbed her sword, infusing it with her power. The silver beast was made up of what she had control over, and the inset diamonds on the hilt amplified her gift. She elongated the blade until it fell apart in shards along a whip.
Keep him distant.
Flicking her wrist, her blade slithered, slicing through the air with a whistle, and wrapped around Kieran. He was fast, though, shifting into shadow and back in an instant to disentangle himself before advancing on her.
She met each step he made with a twist of her weapon, keeping him inching instead of barreling into her. This wouldn’t last long. He knew her weakness, what element could be used to cut her to size.
“Are you afraid, little queen? Afraid to face the truth?”
“I fear no one.”
“Your name terrifies my people, but not me. I’ll avenge them all.”
“I did nothing to your people.”
“You kept us in chains!”
Kieran leapt into the air, high above Silva’s head, turning so he flipped, angling his sword downward. The move was agile, graceful—deadly. As he fell, he blew his fire out behind him, which pushed him faster. She rolled, tucking her chin just as his sword sank into the rock where she’d been standing with a great boom.
