Ambrosia (Frost and Nectar Book 2)

Morgant led me through a corridor with mossy vaults that soared hundreds of feet high. My footfalls echoed off the stone walls.

This morning, I’d been up at dawn and dressed in simple black clothes for the duel. I wasn’t sure if I’d slept at all, but my mind could not stop obsessively raking over whether I’d discovered a loophole.

Skewering, not killing…I’d been running the words in my mind all night.

“Morgant,” I said, “the queen seems very precise with her language.”

He turned back to me, nodding once. “Just focus on killing the Seelie king.”

I wasn’t in a fit state for a duel. My mind felt foggy and muted, my nerves crackling with exhaustion and panic.

Morgant led me into a room with towering stone columns on either side and aisles full of Unseelie spectators. Amber beams of morning sunlight streamed in through narrow, towering windows, gilding the crowd of fae with antlers, hooves, and long tails. They were clad in green garments, some of the females wearing gossamer dresses spun like spiderwebs. All eyes locked on me, and whispers rippled throughout the hall. For a few breaths, I let my gaze roam around, taking in the strange beauty of this place.

At the far end of the hall, Mab was sitting on an ornately carved wooden throne that seemed to rise out of the tree roots, her pearled gown spread out at the base. A pale, delicate crown glittered on her white hair.

Torin stood before her. This could have been some sort of strange wedding except for the four archers flying above, arrows pointed at him. Another three had weapons trained on me.

A moss green carpet ran the length of the hall, the distinctive bright red leaves scattered like drops of blood against blue-black stones. Ruddy leaves bloomed from dark vines that crawled over every column and wall. This place was lush with strange vegetation.

As I stepped further into the hall, Morgant drew a rapier and handed it to me by the bronze hilt. He stepped away, arching an eyebrow at me.

From her throne, Mab twirled a scepter made of gnarled wood that snaked around a glowing sphere. She stood and addressed the crowd in the Unseelie language, her words booming over the hall.

A guard with long red hair translated what she said into English. “My subjects. Does anyone have any idea whom this lost Unseelie belongs to?”

Her words sent my nerves jangling with a desperate hope that someone would speak up and this disturbing spectacle might be avoided. A mother and her long-lost daughter reunited would certainly be a distraction, a spectacle so heartwarming that no one would need to see bloodshed today.

I scanned the crowd again, desperately searching for anyone who looked like me. And when my gaze landed at last on a set of coppery horns, my pulse raced faster. The man, broad and athletically built, was maybe old enough to be my father, with copper horns like mine. Black hair, dark eyes, olive skin and tattoos—he didn’t look exactly like me, but…

“Dad?” I said, desperately. ”Dad!”

His brow furrowed, and he shot a nervous look at a winged woman to his right. I had no idea what he was saying in the Unseelie language, but the tone strongly suggested this woman was his wife, and it was probably a frantic defense of his faithfulness.

My heart sank, and after another moment of awkward silence, the redheaded guard was translating for the queen again.

“No one claims the Lost One,” she said. “This duel will follow our traditional fencing rules. No daggers, no running about in circles. If you step off the mossy strip, my archers will shoot you. If you fail to do as I ask, I will throw the Lost Unseelie off our tower walls. I will find a more creative fate for the Seelie king.”

This last remark elicited a disturbing ripple of pleasure from the crowd, their eyes gleaming. I closed my eyes, slightly horrified that my own kind were so unrelentingly sadistic.

Then, in English, the Queen called out, “Take your positions. By the end of this duel, I require that you use your sword to pierce through your opponent’s heart, neck, stomach, or eye socket, until the sword protrudes from the other side.”

The world tilted beneath my feet. No loopholes, then.

“As I have already explained to Torin,” she bellowed, “if either of you tries to escape or thinks you can take down a queen, I will have my archers disable you. I will then throw Ava off the tower, and I will execute the Seelie king.” She smiled. “Am I clear?”

Fuck.

The queen had just doused the flames of every bit of hope I had. And now, my pulse pounded so hard I could no longer hear my own thoughts. A cold sweat broke out on my brow, and my gaze flicked back to the door, looking for an escape route. But an entire line of guards stood before the wooden doors, arrows aimed at us.

Dread spread its chill over my chest as I moved closer to Torin. If we were going to find any way out of this, we couldn’t panic.

Queen Mab smiled. “When the horns blare, it is time to begin.”

Torin’s pale eyes were locked on me, and he stalked closer to me, gracefully. Somehow, with a slight curl of his lips, and the poised way he stood, he did not seem to be gripped by the mind-bending panic that robbed me of breath.

My gaze flicked over his shoulder, and I wondered if it was possible for us to slaughter her before we were shot.

My heartbeat seemed to echo off the walls and arched ceilings. There didn’t seem to be enough air in my lungs, and I could hear every inhalation and exhalation of my breath like the creaking of a rusty hinge.

The horns blared, and I didn’t have another moment to think. Torin advanced on me, his rapier and his blue eyes glinting.

How casually he launched into action, attacking my sword. Completely in control of himself, while the bleak horror of our choices splintered in my skull.

Our swords clashed as I parried, simply trying to keep up with him. Was he going slow for me?

At least I was used to a fencing strip, the way I’d trained all along. No cemetery stones in the way, no tree roots. Maybe I should simply focus on staying alive until I mastered my panic.

Torin lunged again, and I parried. He was testing me, trying to feel out how I operated on the fencing strip, but I still had no idea where this was leading.

I will throw you off the tower…

I raised my blade and waited again for Torin to attack. He lunged, and this time, I counter-parried, swiping his blade aside and lunging forward myself. Torin darted out of range, and we fell into the rhythms of the fencing that we knew so well. After all those hours practicing, learning each other’s movements and quirks, this felt more like a dance than a fight.

A slow and excruciating death…

As I focused on the two of us, his beautiful face and the graceful way he moved, the memory of our kiss last night, my panic started to fade. As we moved—attacking, parrying, ducking—the world seemed to come alive around us, plants rising from the stones and the red leaves dancing in the air. When he attacked again, I countered. Back and forth we went—attack, parry, attack, parry, attack, parry—as the red leaves lifted into the air, floating in a breeze around us. The world was a symphony of clashing blades and fluttering leaves.

Maybe we could simply dance like this forever.

But as we fought, I struggled, finding the steel blade a little stiffer than I was used to. I could parry okay, but when I counterattacked, it felt slow.

As Torin leaped back, I rushed forward with a series of stabs and lunges, knowing that Torin’s speed would be able to keep up with every flick of my blade. Exactly as it was when we’d practiced together, he countered my attack with crisp parries.

“I am growing impatient!” the queen roared, her voice no longer a gentle whisper. “I want blood spilled in my hall.”

Her voice pulled me from my focus on Torin, and I slowed. This time, when Torin parried hard, he slammed his rapier into mine, snapping my blade in two. The ember-red leaves around us dropped to the floor, and Torin stared down at my broken sword with horror.

I stared at my fragmented blade, catching my breath. My body buzzed with adrenaline, and with something else—an unfamiliar feeling of power.

Torin turned back to the Queen.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line. “You must continue. Am I clear?”

“Her blade is broken.” Torin’s voice boomed over the hall. “I cannot fight her like this. That is not a fight.”

She stood, her lip curling and her dark wings spread out behind her. “So you concede? Are you choosing your own excruciating death? Would you prefer to be castrated and quartered?”

My breath left my lungs, and a maelstrom of red leaves lifted off the ground around us, whipping in the air. Was my own panic causing that to happen?

I whirled, searching for Morgant as fear burned through my veins.

“I have another sword,” Morgant shouted.

Surprise flickered that he would offer this to me without the queen’s approval, but he was hurrying forward anyway, handing me his own sword. This one had more supple steel and a hilt of pale gold. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He nodded once. I knew he was only giving me this because he wanted to watch Torin die, but I was grateful all the same.

I turned back to Torin, the new blade glinting in the sunlight, sharp as a viper’s fang. I breathed in, filling my lungs, trying to marshal that sense of control again.

Torin stepped forward, his eyes locked on mine, and the dance began once more, a graceful minuet of attacks and parries. The world was alive around us, a cyclone of red leaves whipping through the air.

As far as I knew, there was no plan beyond dragging this out as long as possible, beyond savoring every last breath, every last moment together, every step in this strange waltz.

At least, that’s what I thought.

But Torin had other plans.

As I attacked in a move I knew he could parry, Torin shifted his body in front of my blade.

The steel blade plunged clear through his heart.