63. Veyka

This was a test.

For Arran and I both, and for all of the terrestrial kingdom.

If Arran died, Annwyn would be thrown into chaos. Palomides would use his succubus to take over more than just mines. At least we'd foiled that plan by slaughtering them all. Palomides of the Mines would no doubt send his guards in every direction, to every land holding, to report on the outcome of this duel.

But why take the risk? Arran was the most powerful fae in millennia. There was every reason to believe he would win this duel, unless…

Unless Palomides knew that Arran had been injured.

I did not let any of the emotion ricocheting through my body show on my face or travel through the bond to my mate.

I forced a wide, wicked grin to my face, despite the rain. I was fucking cold, but there was no time for such mundane concerns as personal discomfort.

I turned that lazy smile to Arran. "I shall enjoy watching you cleave him into tiny pieces," I purred to Arran, just loud enough that it would carry through the rain to Palomides' ears.

Are you ready for this?I asked Arran. He could have his feelings about speaking through the bond later.

I received a low growl in response—and not the sensual kind.

Great.

I grabbed Lyrena's arm. A second later, we were on the opposite end of the killing field, far from Palomides and his sycophantic family. Kay and Vera could go where they wanted. I was certain Barkke watched from the shadows of the tree line, in his fae or beast form. I did not dare put my back to the still surface of the Split Sea. Legend said that its surface had not been broken in seven thousand years.

But I was living proof that legends were not always what they seemed.

In the distance, Palomides lifted his arm toward the sky. Even here, with a deluge of rain and all that space separating us, I heard his booming voice. "Begin."

Arran shifted, the motion blurred by the sluicing torrent of water. Even at a distance his wolf was massive. As big as the Black Knight, who stood unmoving in the center of the plain. Like he had not even heard Palomides order.

Arran stalked forward. At an angle—circling his opponent. I'd seen him do the same thing in the sparring ring. A slow approach, choosing the best course of attack. Waiting to see how his opponent would react—turn with him or expose their side. A good way of assessing the Black Knight's arrogance, using it.

The Black Knight stood solid, unmoving. He had not even drawn his broadsword.

A shiver of unease slid down my spine.

Just a raindrop.

Arran is the most powerful fae in millennia. Blessed with both flora and fauna gifts. There is no opponent he cannot defeat.

Except the nearest flora were the trees of the forest, far away even for Arran. That was why he'd shifted into his wolf.

One more snarl, and Arran bounded forward. I did not even have time to drag in a breath. He was that fast.

But the Black Knight still did not draw his sword.

He only lifted a hand to the sky.

Every hair on my body rose.

No. Impossible.

Lightning streaked down the dark gray sky, directly into the Black Knight's outstretched arm. Except his armor was not black anymore. He glowed with light—with deadly energy. Then he swung that arm down and aimed at my mate.

I swallowed my scream, closed an internal fist around the golden thread that connected us. I would not let myself be a distraction, could not let him die because of me.

Not again. It can't be happening again.

Arran twisted in midair, evading the deadly arc of sizzling power. His growl rolled through the water-logged plain, the ground seeming to vibrate as he crashed into the Black Knight, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

A lightning wielder—an elemental. What in the humans' bloody hell was an elemental doing here, serving Palomides?

My skin began to crawl again, that awful sizzling. The Black Knight had gotten his arm up, was trying to channel power from the sky. But Arran knocked him aside.

Who?

"It can't be," Lyrena breathed beside me. But I could not look away, did not dare.

Even as my mind spiraled. Lightning wielders were rare—had I ever even met one? Teo, my traitorous royal councilor, had been able to summon storms. But he was dead. A relative?

Lyrena was shaking her head beside me—she'd arrived at no firm conclusion either.

On the plain, Arran was a storm of death, a dance of fangs and fur.

The Black Knight shoved him off, managed to get the sword into his hand.

Arran pounced, dodging the blade, clamping down on the Black Knight's arm. Bone snapped—I heard it from the other side of the plain even through the rushing rain.

Blood. Blood flowing out, pooling, coating my hands.

I dug my nails into the flesh of my palms, trying to focus on the pinpricks of pain. That was rainwater wetting my hands. Not Arran's blood.

He'd injured the Black Knight. But the elemental did not cry out, did not show any sign of slowing. He threw up his other arm, drawing down another streak of lightning until his armor glowed brightly once again.

Arran was already running.

He did not make himself an easy target—like dodging arrows, he ran from side the side, changing his direction so rapidly the Black Knight could not predict. He sent down bolt after bolt of lightning.

"He's going to get himself killed," Lyrena muttered.

The scabbard could have protected Arran from the Black Knight's sword. But it would do nothing to stop him from being roasted alive from the inside.

The scabbard could not protect him.

Not from me, not from his soul-bonded mate…

"He's testing the range," Lyrena said. She was clear-headed. She could see what I failed to. Arran moved side to side, yes, but also farther and then closer. Testing the accuracy of that lightning.

But why? Why did that matter? Why not attack, wrestle the Black Knight to the ground, rip off his head?

I realized the answer a minute later.

Arran's movements had changed. No less erratic, but more controlled. Tighter. He was moving in closer, preparing to launch an attack that would be final. That must be final.

Because he was tiring.

Palomides knew it too. His chuckle should have been lost to the elements, but somehow it reached me on the other side of the plain. He had one elemental in his charge; maybe he had another hidden away nearby, a wind-wielder who could amplify and carry the sound. Nausea churned in my gut at the thought. My own kind… betraying me, again.

As I'd betrayed Arran, when it was my sword that pierced his chest.

My fault. My fault. My fault.

Not just the elementals—terrestrials, too. How could we fight the succubus when our own kind were betraying us at every turn?

When my mate was tiring on that blood-soaked plain.

Lyrena must have realized what was happening. "He is not fully recovered," she breathed.

My head was moving. Faster with each breath. Side to side.

"Veyka, you cannot intervene. We need the amorite." She grabbed for my hand. But all she found was air.