The queen was already drawing her sword. It was a thing of darkness, the blade etched with runes and symbols so ancient that no one understood all of them. It was blackened, as if fire had touched it often, and sometimes glints of red flickered in that strange metal. If there existed a blade that were strengthened by blood, this would be the one.
Eilidh didn’t want to ask what truths hid in those softly spoken stories. There were questions best left unanswered, especially where the queen was concerned. All that truly mattered was that her mother was a warrior who had earned respect, and Eilidh was resolved not to fail her.
Although Eilidh wouldn’t leave the courtyard, her time in practice was clearly at an end. She lowered her bow and walked to the wall to put it away. She would watch her mother demonstrate the skill that she herself couldn’t master satisfactorily.
Before she was three steps away, Rhys said, “You do your family proud, sister.”
The queen stilled. It was the first time she’d heard her son speak so to her heir. If Endellion were anyone else, she might ask what had transpired to have Rhys call her sister in such a tone. As it was, all she did was say, “She is my heir, Rhys. Of course she does us proud.”
Eilidh looked back at Rhys as he bowed his head deeply and said, “I meant no slight.”
Endellion attacked. Her sword was a two-handed one, made for larger warriors. The harsh black blade was heavy in the air, and Rhys barely had time to stop its swing. The clang of metal on metal was loud.
Rhys drew his second weapon, a shorter blade to stab as he blocked with his sword, and with a ferocity none save the king would even dream to dare, he attacked the queen.
The clash of steel and grunt of exertion continued as the two warriors crossed blades time and again. At several minutes in, Rhys lost his sword. It hit the ground with a thunk. He was left only with a poignard, and that shorter blade wouldn’t do as much good against a weapon with long reach like the queen’s claymore.
But within another ten minutes, the queen had a cut on her shoulder.
“Tired, Mother?” Rhys teased.
“Momentarily distracted by worry that you are only half armed,” she countered with a wide smile.
“As if.” Rhys angled so that he was moving closer to the wall of weapons. “Your reach is absurdly far with that beast.”
“Some of us aren’t worried about pretty fights,” she returned, slashing at her only son with the kind of force that made the fight look far too real.
Rhys snorted. “Not all of us need a claymore to feel intimidating.”
The queen laughed and lowered her sword. “Daggers? Hand to hand? Sickles?”
“Ladies’ choice,” Rhys said as he lowered his poignard. He slid it into a scabbard and walked over to pick up the one she’d knocked out of his hand.
While his back was turned, the queen kicked out at his knee, drawing gasps from the crowd and Eilidh’s exclamation of “Rhys!”
He turned and grabbed the queen’s ankle.
Endellion dropped to the ground, pulling him off balance and swinging her other foot up and out to kick his forearm.
Rhys’ muffled grunt of pain was all but lost under the queen’s words. “You forget your childhood lessons,” she said as she scrabbled back to her feet.
“Never turn your back on the enemy,” Rhys recited as he pushed to his feet without use of his hands.
Eilidh couldn’t tell if he’d fractured his wrist or simply bruised it. All she knew was that he had the implacable look she had seen so often on his face. He wouldn’t cede defeat though. It wasn’t Rhys’ way, and their mother would be furious if he did so.
The sheer stupidity of what Eilidh was about to do should’ve stopped her, but if she was going to be regarded as the future queen, she needed to prove it. She felt like she was half-asleep as she reached out for a handful of throwing knives.
“Mother,” she said, giving warning at least.
But Endellion didn’t even glance at Eilidh.
The first blade flew through the air, sticking in the ground where Endellion’s foot had just been.
The queen spun around, hand on her hilt and blade half-drawn around. “Who dares—” The words died as she saw Eilidh, another knife aloft to throw.
“I’m better with distance than close combat,” Eilidh said. She shrugged and added, “My fragility of body made me learn to adapt.”
The queen met her gaze. “Would you fight me, daughter?”
“I would dissuade you from pushing my brother further this day,” Eilidh answered, cautiously avoiding any words that could elicit the queen’s worst temper.
For a moment, Eilidh thought Rhys was going to step around their mother and strangle her. His eyes were warning her off this path, but there were times when a future queen needed to prove her mettle. This felt like such a time.
The queen bowed her head to Eilidh and then turned to Rhys and did the same. “You both do me proud,” she announced. Then she strode over to Eilidh and in a rare show of maternal affection, the queen kissed her forehead. “Well done.”
The Queen of Blood and Rage swept away in the hush that had come over the assembled crowd.
A few moments passed before Rhys looked at the fae who stood in a circle around them and said, “You are dismissed.”
It was a polite way to tell them “be gone,” but her brother wasn’t known for mincing words. He played up his Unseelie traits, emphasizing his ferocity and candor both.
Once they were alone, Rhys turned to her. “Are you trying to get one of us killed?”
“You can protect yourself against anyone other than the queen,” she reminded him. “We both know that, brother.”
“And there are those who do not always heed our queen mother.” Rhys folded his arms with an uncharacteristic slowness.
“It’s broken, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged awkwardly. “I can fight with the one arm while it sets.”
Hesitantly, Eilidh suggested, “Come to the tower. I can help.”
Rhys lifted his brows in a silent question, but she wasn’t going to answer him here in public.
Mutely, he followed her toward her glass tower. No one stopped them as they walked. It was growing common to see Eilidh walking with her brother, her betrothed—or both. The assumption was simply that Rhys was protecting the heir by determining if Torquil was worthy of her.
As they reached the tower, they found Torquil there waiting outside the glittering building. His lips were pressed tightly together, and she knew that both fae would be voicing displeasure once they were inside the privacy of her tower. They might be visible to the faeries who stood outside watching, but as long as they kept control of their gestures and actions, no one would know that she was being chastised.
The three silently ascended the tower. Once they were inside, Torquil was the first to speak. “What are you thinking? It’s bad enough to be seen training with Rhys, but challenging the queen?”
“He is injured, and I offered aid.”
Rhys held up a hand. “I could’ve continued fighting. Mother has broken far more than one of my bones in her darker moods.”
Torquil raised a single brow.
“I know,” Eilidh said quietly.