Maeve swallowed down the bubble of apprehension as she faced him. “You want me to fight you?”
Rowan stepped to her side, placing a hand of silent encouragement on her shoulder.
Aed tied back his pale hair, twisting it into a knot behind his head. His eyes were mocking. “Afraid you’ll lose, High Queen?”
The dig cut deep.
“Not to you.”
Beside her, Rowan heaved a sigh.
She really ought to learn to keep her mouth shut. It was more than unwise to fight with a god. But she’d been known to make mistakes before.
Aed arched one dark brow. “Do you accept?”
“What are your terms?” she countered.
“Maeve,” Rowan warned.
She glanced over at him. “He won’t hurt me.” At least, not too severely. “Will you, Aed?”
If the god wanted her dead, he could kill her on the spot. Likely with nothing more than a snap of his fingers. Instead, he kept her alive. If anything, it was merely to torment her, considering anytime she mentioned Faeven, he swiftly changed the subject.
“Swords,” he said easily, pulling one from the strap at his waist. He tossed it to her, and the blade glinted like lightning streaking across the sky.
Maeve inhaled sharply, an unbidden memory searing across her mind.She caught it, barely, the heavy weight of its hilt unfamiliar in her grasp.Heat seared across her lower back. Rowan’s hand steadied her.
He knew what memory plagued her.
“Since we all know what would happen if I used my magic on you,” Aed continued, oblivious to her unexpected loss of focus.
Maeve stepped away from Rowan, away from the comfort he attempted to offer her. With a tilt of her head, she gauged the god, reminding herself the past was not always what the mind believed it to be. “If I recall correctly, the last time we fought, I won.”
“Hardly,” Aed scoffed. “That was minimal effort on my part, at best.”
She would’ve rolled her eyes were it not for the rain. It had lessened and was now a light drizzle, more annoying than anything. “Let’s go then, god of death.”
He bowed, an excessive flourish. “Whenever you’re ready, my lady.”
Without warning, he brandished a new sword, pulling it from thin air. The blade was the shade of nightfall when the world was at its darkest hour. The gleaming serrated edge curved slightly and a skull with obsidian eyes capped its silver hilt. He twirled it carelessly, as though it were nothing more than a child’s plaything, but each cut through the air sent a wave of powerful reverberations pummeling into Maeve. So deep, she felt them in her soul. It was archaic, an ancient weapon that likely predated the god himself.
She looked down at the ordinary training sword he’d tossed to her.
“Cheater,” she grumbled.
His smile was caustic, but it fell away when she launched herself at him.
They clashed together in an explosion of magic and steel. With every strike against her, the ground trembled beneath her feet, knocking her off balance. He swung upward, his blade careening toward her like a swath of endless darkness. She dodged the blow.
Before she could recover, he was on her again, attacking once more, forcing her to backpedal. This time, she wasn’t fast enough to avoid him. Their swords met and the resounding force of it caused her teeth to rattle. Her bones trembled. Her aching muscles spasmed, protesting the assault.
But the god of death wasn’t so keen to let her give up.
Whenever she found herself on the verge of breaking, on the edge of collapse, he would withdraw, allowing her just enough time to catch her breath before he came at her again.
He battled her with agility and stealth. He moved around the training courtyard like the steps were a dance. As though it was natural. Whereas Maeve panted, drenched in sweat, and tried her best to ignore the searing pain coursing through her, Aed looked as though he were merely taking a stroll through the park. Again, he attacked. Again, she faltered beneath the ferocity of his power.
While Maeve could match his movements and read his advances, it was the way he watched her that frightened her the most. His eyes never left her face. They remained focused solely on her, tracking her every movement, her every breath, her every misstep. Each time he swung his sword, he continued to stare at her, to the point where, when she finally broke his gaze, he pounced.
