Page 3 of A Spark So Bright
The sky above her head was bright blue. So vibrant it almost hurt to look at, with fluffy clouds dancing through the air. Birdsong twirled around her, wrapping around her shoulders like a shawl someone had placed there.
Safe. Comfortable.
Where was she?
Rose wandered through the endless landscape, trying to find a door or portal she must have fallen through. But there wasn’t anything here at all. Just her, the meadow, and the quiet. She was so surprised, so confused, that all the fear melted out of her.
Until she blinked, and suddenly she was staring into the king's eyes. His warm gaze looked even more pleased with her. She might have even basked in that look if her body wasn't so sore.
Why did her chest hurt? And her throat? She remembered nothing happening that would have made both ache.
The king touched a hand to her head. "What is the last thing you remember, Rose?"
Her voice was oddly raspy when she replied, "I remember you telling him to touch me."
"And nothing after that?"
"A meadow," she whispered. "All I remember is a meadow."
The pleasure and pride in his gaze seemed to grow even stronger. "Your magic is just as I hoped it would be, Rose. You and I? We're going to work together quite a bit. And don't you worry. You won't remember a thing."
She suddenly had the realization that the High Priestess hadn't been jealous at all. Her pinched expression really had been worry. True, honest worry. Not for herself or her position, but because she must have known that Rose walking into this room with these two men meant she might not come back out.
As the king gestured for her to follow them, to leave out a door that led her away from the safety of the priestesses, Rose realized that her life was about to change.
And not for the better, as she had thought.
Two
Gunnar
Gunnar's back hit the dirt hard. Plumes of dust billowed around him, clogging his lungs with a reminder of the drought that had plagued the trolls for far too long.
He rumbled out a growl, the sound one that should have sent his attacker quaking in their boots. It was the sound of a male who would hunt down those he hated. He would put this person in their grave long before they touched him again.
Rolling, he just barely steadied himself before a spear sank into the dirt where he had been lying. His lungs burned. His throat ached with all the dust that had clogged it. Even his tongue felt thick in his mouth, but it didn't matter. He had to win.
Curling his hands in the dry earth, he pulled up a handful before flinging it into the face of his attacker. The male cursed, and the sound gave away exactly where he was. It was enough. Barely. But Gunnar had always been a good fighter.
He launched himself into the air with a cry that should have shaken the very ground he stood on. Claws flashing in the light, he used the dust and the disarray to do what he needed to do.
Wrapping an arm around the thick neck before him, he brought the warrior to the ground. He was smaller than this male, not by much, but by enough. The male flailed, trying to get him off his back, but he was unsuccessful. Gunnar wrestled him onto the ground, wrapping his legs around his torso and squeezing harder, harder. He would kill him if he had to. If that was what it took.
But then, at the last second, the big meaty hand of the blue warrior in his grip hit the ground. Once, twice, three times. A submission.
Gunnar released him, both of them wheezing as they rolled away from each other, coughing into the dirt. He was peppered with bruises. His entire body hurt. He was pretty sure one of his tusks was loose where the massive idiot had hit him in the face, even though they weren't supposed to do that.
"Fuck, Emil," he grumbled, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "That last shot was cheap."
"Well, it wasn't supposed to be easy, now was it?" Emil had already stood. He didn't look too much worse for wear, other than the very dark marks around his neck where Gunnar had been choking him. "Now get up. You're supposed to be celebrating."
Right. Of course he was. He was celebrating because, finally, after all this time, he was a warrior. He'd passed the last test.
The only test that mattered.
His life was going to change now. Forever. It was what he had always dreamt of and more. He was going to be a warrior, like his brother, like his father before him, as all the males in his line had become.
Standing, he reached for Emil's hand, and together they lifted their fists in the air. The cries of all the warriors surrounding them filled his ears with pride.
