Oberon’s seat was empty.
Titania was there, standing with her orange-and-gold streaked hair flowing over her shoulders. There was a corona of soft light around her that was only visible when you didn’t look at her quite straight-on but gave the impression she was illuminated from behind. Her perfect skin looked sun-kissed, dewy, and ageless.
But she wasn’t the serene Summer Queen. Her nostrils were flared, and her eyes flashed. She looked, well, pissed.
I kept facing forward but flicked my eyes over at Darion. He shifted his weight, and his head made small back-and-forth movements as he scanned the seats, obviously also surprised by Oberon’s absence.
My gut tightened as I resisted the temptation to look over at the New Gargs.
Where the hell was Oberon?
Titania looked at each of us with an expression of pointed annoyance, and I folded at the waist, bowing. Darion quickly did the same.
With a sinking feeling, I listened to the Queen of the Summer Court recite the rules of the battle. As I knew to expect, we were each allowed to carry an alternate weapon into battle. Other than that, there really weren’t any rules, aside from giving the King and Queen the authority to call the battle and declare a winner at any point.
She finished and flopped into her chair, slouching over to one side and propping her cheek on her fist. She looked equally angry and bored, and as if she’d rather be anywhere else.
Fuckedy fuck.
I’d have bet anything that she and Oberon were in the middle of one of their legendary quarrels. Their tumultuous relationship had spanned eons, and their fights could literally last years at a time.
Normally I wouldn’t care about the spats of the Old Ones, but I needed Oberon, not a bunch of petty Faerie bullshit. Because judging by Titania’s face, watching someone get slaughtered in the arena might actually improve her mood. In spite of the modern trend of Oberon halting champion battles before they ended in death, the Old Ones were a violent, hot-tempered, blood-loving bunch. There was a reason the oldest Fae lore was full of pointy-toothed gore.
I went to Emmaline for my weapons.
“He’s not here,” she whispered, not moving her mouth, as she lifted Mort’s scabbard over my head and positioned it on my shoulder.
“Nothing to be done about it now,” I muttered back.
She presented Aurora, still sheathed. I withdrew the blade, and the legendary sword glinted in the morning light.
“Stay strong,” Emmaline said. “Use his weaknesses against him.”
I only nodded and clapped a hand on her shoulder in gratitude.
Emmaline took Aurora’s empty scabbard and retreated to a box seat designated for my squire.
For a second, I closed my eyes and tightened my grip on Aurora. Then I turned, drew magic to form full rock armor under my battle gear, and walked to my chalked line to face my opponent.
Chapter 27
THE NOISE OF the crowd swelled as each side began cheering on their champion.
In the couple of seconds I had to observe Darion while we took our marks, I realized he was as not as tall as a typical New Gargoyle man, but almost as broad in the shoulder. He was powerfully muscled, a man who’d spent a lifetime working his body and wasn’t afraid to use it.
His stature was intimidating, but I’d been fighting larger men and women my entire life. Size wasn’t always an advantage.
The audience quieted. A short burst from the horns marked the start of the battle.
I turned my attention to Darion’s blade. Twilight, the blade of the Winter Court, seemed to absorb the light around it. The sword was identical to Aurora in design, but instead of the golden glow of Aurora, Twilight shimmered deep purples and blues, colors that reminded me more of a fresh bruise than the evening sky.
I instinctively took a classic fencing stance, my body turned sideways to minimize my opponent’s target, and shifted my weight slightly forward.
Darion wasted no time. With a few quick but carefully measured steps, he moved forward, swinging Twilight in an arc and twisting at the waist to add force to his blow. He was going for power right out of the gate, not bothering to protect himself much.
Anticipating a harsh impact, I gripped Aurora with both hands and braced my arms. My blade deflected his blow, interrupting the angle of his attack just enough to prevent a hit.
I swiftly switched back to a one-handed grip, danced a wide step to the side, and flicked my wrist. Darion was still off balance from his maneuver, his elbow raised to leave a small opening. Aurora glanced off his hip, and the New Garg side of the crowd roared.
I’d inflicted no damage, but even a touch would score me points if Titania decided to declare a winner before there was a fatality.
I hadn’t injured Darion, but apparently I’d really pissed him off.
His lips curled into a sneer. “You’re going to die, little stone girl.”
With a snarl, Darion gripped Twilight in two fists, lunged at me, and brought the blade down like an ax. The edge of the sword was aiming straight for my skull. By instinct I knew there was too much power to deflect. Instead, I dove and rolled, and Twilight smacked into the hard dirt where I’d been standing a split second before.
So far, his attack was all brute force, and he was going for deadly shots. He wasn’t trying to score touches, and as we circled each other, each crouched low, I wondered if he knew something I didn’t. Perhaps Titania wouldn’t be following Oberon’s practice of calling a winner before either champion died. Or maybe brute force was just Darion’s style.
He sprang again, going for a driving stab, and I darted out of the way, managing to land a solid hit against the Achilles of his rear foot as I moved. If he didn’t have stone armor, I would have sliced the tendon. He barely seemed to notice the blow.
I shouldn’t have gone for the touch. It kept me too close. He whipped around and landed a backhand blow on the left side of my lower back. Pain blasted outward from the impact, nearly paralyzing me for a second. Immediately after, I felt the slow ooze of wetness. He’d cracked my armor.
Clamping my teeth against the agony, I regained my balance and took a couple of shuffling side-steps to open some distance between us.
I made a few quick, puffing breaths through my lips to clear my head and refocus my awareness away from the pain. Then I let the sensation seep in, as Oliver had taught me, using the sting to fortify my resolve.
I attacked, my footwork lightning-fast and my wrist moving as if following some pre-determined choreography. It surprised Darion, throwing him back on his heels. He used his strength to fend me off, but I wasn’t going for points anymore. He’d wounded me. I intended to return the favor.