Fine.
I flicker out of sight, the warrior dying a moment after his eyes widen in shock. Because I heavily encourage rumors that my human blood renders me powerless, no enemy expects anything but a mid-level, albeit well-trained, soldier.
I slash his neck in a blur of speed that lasts a fraction of asecond—speed and accuracy, my secondary Skill, though sometimes I wonder if it's a form of precog—then engage a second warrior. A third, grimly cutting through the ranks to peel away their advantage of numbers.
Nails drive into my temples in warning, forcing me to drop both invisibility and speed before I burn out.
I'd tried pushing past burnout once. With unpleasant results. Fortunately, my Fae side heals the brain bleeds within a month.
Numair and Juliette return to my side as I’m subsequently swarmed. Juliette cries out, and I spare a second to determine that she hasn't fallen.
We fight, evenly matched, and I think the battle might go in our favor?—
—until my illusions disintegrate under a new bite of power.
“High Fae!” I shout, though no one will have failed to recognize the weight and metallic tang of their power.
Two emerge from the trees. Our opponents retreat, no longer needed. I grip the hilt of my sabre, hyper-focused on the new threat.
“Fuck,” Juliette mutters, her face pale with the fear of any Low Fae. Most of us wield only a trickle of magic. Few of us possess Skills.
I echo her grim sentiment. Montague played us with a shiny safehouse full of toys while they recruited allies. When I survive this, damnit, I’m going to address the issue of our predictability.
These High Fae aren't from Everenne; our city claims only three now that my mother is dead. Renaud, Nora, and more recently, Baroun. Danon is close, so close the courtesy title High Lord is closer to fact. Embriel had been on the cusp.
“Retreat and scatter!” Édouard roars.
Tereille joins us, pausing at his mate's side to grin at the High Fae, eyes sparkling to match the loops of silver chain around his arm, the end tipped with a spiked metal ball.
“What fun!” he singsongs. We’re already retreating as Tereille makes his quip. “Outpowered, outplanned; outmaneuvered, outmanned.”
Édouard’s shoulders curl in before he catches himself. “Nosinging.”
I snort. I don’t know why Arddie bothers. It will only encourage Tereille.
“Aerinne, my thornbeauty, don't tell my love I told you so. It will drive him mad.”
“As requested, I will refrain from remarking on the Commander’s reckless reconnaissance.” I sigh. It’s better to just go with it.
“By the Realms, Rinne. . .” Édouard growls—then stops.
See? Too late.
Slipping into the trees, we run into a massive shield; the energy field contracts, forcing us back into the clearing. Only a handful of us possess strong personal shields, and this is not that. We won't survive two battle-trained High Fae. High Fae are to Low, what Low are to humans. Outpowered, outmanned, indeed.
Darkan! I need you.
He stirs in response to my inner tug, his distant attention drawing near with the pulse of a silent question. One of the High Fae smiles, a female with long red hair and copper skin, her brown eyes wide with delight. The male next to her wearshis nearly white hair in close-cropped curls, his full lips flattened. Silvery blue eyes set in a light gold face stare at us.
“Shield!” Édouard orders. He faces the enemy chin lowered, braced as if ready to charge.
The High Fae pace forward.
Aerinne,Darkan says, sharp voice absent his usual impatience or scathing, if affectionate, amusement. Almost brutal in its brusque focus.Someone has hurt?—
Help me!I fling everything at him.
Etlehar.?1Brace.
