Loose Changeling: A Changeling Wars Novel (25 page)

The grushound sniffed the air. With a low growl in its throat, it turned to Haldor. He did what any sensible person would do. He lifted his shield and backed away. This only seemed to ignite the hunting instinct in the hound. It bounded forward, the muscles of its heavy shoulders bunching as it leapt toward the Guardian.

I allowed myself a small grin of triumph. But I didn’t know how long a grushound fashioned of a rag would last. I had to think on my next move, and quickly. Unfortunately they didn’t have a timer, or even an hourglass, stating how long was left in the first round. I still had a few wooden blocks on my belt, and if necessary, I could try transforming the metal coaster into something other than a shield. Though my transformation magic worked well, the elimination process with The Arbiter had whittled my objects down.

But right now the grushound was clawing at Haldor’s shield, throwing its weight against him. I had to act on my advantage.

I had to kill Haldor.

My focus had been so strongly set on survival that I hadn’t thought about killing. How would I do it? Shoot him? Stab him with my sword? Transform something into an object that would crush him? Spray acid at his face? Each scenario that entered my mind was more gruesome than the last. I didn’t know if I had it in me.

I pulled the gun out anyways and started my way around the perimeter of the Arena, circling around to get at Haldor's back. If I was lucky, the grushound would take care of the Guardian for me.

But I’d never been lucky. It seemed to have as much difficulty with Haldor’s shield as I had. With each strike it took, the more floppy and doll-like it appeared. The object’s true nature showing through, breaking itself upon a crafted shield.

Haldor’s back met my eyes, only a few steps away, armored but not shielded. And there were gaps—between the pauldrons and the breastplate, between the breastplate and the skirt. His calves were bare. His head was uncovered.

I swallowed and took aim at his head, all of Mark's lessons and advice echoing in my mind. I emptied the clip. All of my shots went wide. One even hit the grushound. I wasn’t sure what I'd expected. To be magically good at gunslinging when I was under pressure?

The sword it was, then. I tucked the gun back into its holster, grabbed my sword, and rushed forward, bringing the blade in low. As soon as I swung, Haldor brushed aside the grushound, now limp as rags, and turned. He slashed down, catching my sword and sending it crashing into the stone floor. It shattered.

I looked into Haldor’s eyes and saw triumph there, as well as regret. He brought his sword up for another blow—a fatal one.

My mind seemed to know what my feet did not. I tried to dart to the side, but I wouldn’t make it. I closed my eyes.

A bell tolled, loud and resonant. I opened my eyes. Haldor’s sword whooshed by my right side, diverted at the last moment.

The first round had ended.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Saved by the bell. Huh. I didn’t think that sort of thing ever happened in real life. And here I’d been, only a moment before, reflecting on how I didn’t have much luck. Apparently I’d been saving it for the right moment.

To my embarrassment, my legs picked that moment to give up. They pitched me unceremoniously to the Arena floor. I could breathe again, and I took the opportunity to swallow large gulps of air. My chest ached, my arms burned. I’d survived the first round, but I had only a few objects left to transform, and I’d lost my sword. I still had the gun, but no more bullets. My gaze found Tristan in the stands, sitting at the feet of a very smug-looking Grian. Well, I wasn’t dead yet.

A hand reached down to help me up. Haldor’s hand. “You fought well,” he said as I took it. He gave only a slight pull and I was on my feet.

“I’m not done,” I said, my lips pressed together.

He gave me a short, quick nod. We broke away, each going to our separate sides. Maybe he thought the same thing I did—that one of us had to kill the other—better not get too closely acquainted.

I checked my items, trying to find something else I could fashion into a sword. Only plastic and wood. Any sword made out of these things would shatter more easily than my butter-knife one.

A door opened in the white wall of the Arena before me. So I got a rest then, before round two? Good. I could use some downtime. I strode inside.

The Arbiter waited for me.

“Changeling,” he said, his voice low, “you will have the chance to switch out one of your items before the second round.” A light flickered below his hood. Eyes. “Someone is here to see you. He says he is your Second.”

Second. Like in a duel?

My thoughts were cut short when Kailen stepped into the room. The white globes made him look older, more haggard. But perhaps it was not the lights.

“How long have you been here?” I said.

“I watched the first round,” he said. “I had to. I’ve done a lot of things wrong in my life, Nicole.”

“Including trying to violate our laws,” the Arbiter said.

Kailen's eyes flicked to the Arbiter before looking back at me. “Yes, well, this felt right. And I want to do the right thing. No matter what it costs me.”

Were those gray hairs at his temples, or was it only the light?

He unclipped the sword from his belt and held it out to me. “I want you to have this.”

I didn’t reach for it. “Have it?”

He cracked a half-smile. “Borrow it. You’re allowed to switch an item out with your Second after the first round, and your opponent can’t veto it. This sword is crafted. It will cut through almost anything—except other weapons. But its weakness is earth or stone. Try to cut earth or stone with it, and it will break. So don’t let him take a swing at you like he did in the last second of the round. It’s light, so keep it up, in the range of your torso.”

I reached for it then, but mostly because I wanted him to leave. Would he spend his life's hours trying to help me? The metal tube was cool and smooth in my hand. I gripped it, and then jerked my arm down and up, the way I'd seen Kailen do. The blade snapped out, no discernible hinges or pivot point visible on the length of its bright steel. I could feel the sword's magic, the scent of honeysuckle not in my nostrils, but an impression on my mind. “You crafted this yourself,” I said.

“I did. I'm not Talented, so it took me a very long time and more effort than I thought myself capable of.”

“Thank you.” The words felt inadequate.

“The second round will begin shortly,” the Arbiter said.

“Does no one remind Haldor how long he has?” I said, irked by his interruption.

“I am there as well,” he said.

That shut me up. Kailen reached out and took a stray lock of my hair between his fingers. “Just win this.”

I wanted to close my eyes, to lean into his touch, but this wasn’t the time for sentimentality. “Get out of here. Go. I don't want to be responsible for your aging. Promise you'll leave.”

“I promise.”

I took an experimental swipe with the sword. It cut through the air with barely a sound. I almost expected the air to begin bleeding. “What will you do if I don't come back to return your sword?”

Kailen shrugged. “I don't want to think about that possibility.” He turned and left. I stood alone in the room with the Arbiter, the white globes of light making it feel colder than it was.

“You must give up an item in exchange for the sword,” the Arbiter said. I picked out one of Tristan's wooden blocks and dropped it to the floor. The Arbiter's eyes flashed. “Very well. The exchange is complete.”

I licked my lips. I wasn't sure if it was wise to say the words that hovered at the back of my throat, but I wanted to know. “Can you release Kailen's banishment curse?”

“I could,” he said.

“Don't you think he's suffered enough? He was only trying to save his wife's life.”

“You should not speak of things you do not understand, Changeling. It is not just about what I want and what I don't want. I don't share the same sense of ethics and morals that mortals or even the Sidhe do. The Arbiter is a power unto itself.”

“But he loved her.”

“Love? What sway do you think this holds over me? Kailen did not just try to save Penelope's life. He tried to extend it into the hundreds of years; he tried to give her magic. He wanted her to be like one of the Sidhe. Could he have done it? Perhaps. But he would have thrown the balance of both mortal and Fae worlds asunder. And so I have devised this punishment.”

Kailen had told me he'd tried to save Penelope's life—he hadn't mentioned trying to make her like one of the Fae. It cut me, more deeply than I expected to learn that he'd lied yet again. I rubbed at the spot in my chest where the hurt emanated from. It did nothing to soothe it. Maybe this was all his own business, but why keep it from me when everyone else knew? I couldn't dwell on it. I had a Guardian to fight and a nephew to reclaim. “And what about Changelings?” I said. “If we are raised in the mortal world and are Sidhe by blood, what does this make us? What relationship do you hold to me?”

“Perhaps we will both find out. If you live. Changelings may have their place. The world ever-changes, Nicole, and we must change with it. And again, as we change, so must the world. Do you understand?”

“Not at all.”

“The second round will begin.” A distant bell sounded, and then the roar of the crowd, trembling through the stone at my feet and into my bones.

I tried to steady my nerves. “Aren't you going to wish me luck?” I said to the Arbiter.

The Arbiter let out an exasperated sigh. “I don't play favorites, and I don't believe in luck.” He tilted his head to the side. “You are attempting to joke with me. With your death possible in the next round.”

“I hear it's the only way some people can face it,” I said.

He pursed his lips. “Go. They are expecting you.”

The door into the Arena opened. I gritted my teeth, squeezed Kailen's sword in my hand so tightly I thought the metal would dent beneath my fingers, and walked through the door. The crowd in the Arena roared at my appearance. Or perhaps they roared for Haldor's appearance. That seemed the more likely response. We strode to meet one another at the center.

The red scarf Grian had thrown into the Arena had disappeared, as had the fire and all of the ice. My wooden wall remained, climbing into the sky, scorched and devoured in places, but still an impediment.

“Changeling,” Grian's voice carried through the Arena. “You must remove the wall before we are to proceed.” Though her voice sounded serene, when I looked to her face, her brows twitched down. It couldn't have pleased her, this reminder of my ability. None could banish a Changeling's magic except a Changeling.

I wanted to defy her, but I was fighting Haldor at the moment, not Grian. I didn't wish to show Haldor any disrespect. So I went to the wall, breathed in, and placed my hand upon it. When I breathed out, the magic came with it, shrinking the wall, turning it back into a simple wooden block. The block was half burned away. Something else I didn't know about my magic. And what of the stuffed animal-grushound? Grian didn't ask me to dispel that magic. So Haldor must have killed it. Did it remain a grushound in death, or did it shrink back into the stuffed animal it had once been?

No time for this. I went to my spot across from Haldor. He'd had the chance to switch out an item as well. What did he pick? I raked my gaze over his armored form, trying to find a difference in his appearance.

“The second round will begin!” Grian called out. She flung out the red scarf. It drifted, borne by magic, to the center of the Arena.

He still had his sword and shield. My gaze caught on his belt. There, hanging from the leather, was a tiny chain, a glass bauble at the end. I lifted Kailen's sword. I didn't know what the bauble was. Perhaps I'd find out, though I hoped I wouldn't pay too dearly for my ignorance.

The scarf floated between us and then, with a sudden movement, dropped like a stone to the Arena floor. Damn Grian and her tricks.

Haldor moved before I was able to. He drew his sword from his sheath, lifted his shield, and charged toward me.

My Talent saved me. I danced to the side and sliced an arc with Kailen's sword.

Instead of hitting the shield, it cut cleanly through it.

I think it surprised both of us. Haldor and I stood, frozen, my sword at the end of its arc, him with his shield still in the air. The top of the shield creaked away from the rest of it and fell with a clang to the Arena floor.

“You have a crafted sword,” Haldor said.

“I do.”

He grunted and heaved the rest of the shield away. He drew his sword and the smell of lemon drifted into my nose. “Will it cut through this?”

I shrugged and tried to make it look careless. “I'm not sure. How about we find out?”

He gave me a grim smile. “It doesn't. I can tell by the look in your eyes.” He took a step forward, and I joined him in a dance of flashing metal and quick-footed movements. He thrust at me and I leapt back. I took a swing at him, and he blocked. Mark's lessons repeated in my mind. Step, parry, thrust, slice, parry, step, step, step. Haldor tried to press me back, toward the Arena wall, but I was too quick, my Talent too strong.

Our swords locked. I found myself face-to-face with Haldor, our teeth exposed in grimaces, our feet sliding against the Arena floor. “What will you do...if you win?” he managed.

“I don't want to kill you,” I said. I threw my weight into the push.

“I know. But one of us must die.” He shoved against me and made a grab for Kailen's sword. I pivoted and slid smoothly away. Haldor overbalanced and was forced to take a half step forward. His back lay before me exposed. The crowd roared, sensing impending doom.

I hesitated. The air seemed to go out of the Arena in a whoosh, like a thousand sighs all at once.

Haldor recovered and took two steps more, before turning again to face me. “You could have struck then.”

“I've never killed anyone.”

The Guardian nodded, his lips pressed together. “It is always hard, the first time.”