Page 33 of Omen of ice
I tug at the strap securing my cloak, and it falls to the snow.
The leader of the group lets out a roar and sprints toward us.
“Fool,” I mutter and charge forward, unfastening the blade on my belt, then throwing it. It slices through the air, but in the dark, I miss the mark by inches, the knife claiming only a wisp of his sleeve before embedding itself in the tree a few feet behind him.
He retaliates, dropping his bow and producing a small dagger of his own. When he lunges toward me, I’m ready. Left and right, up and down. His attacks are graceful, and I appreciate the skill it takes to move like that. He slashes; I shift. I swing; he ducks. We’re well matched, but he’s repetitive. His style is flawless but lacks imagination. There’s no improvisation. One more cycle and I can—
“Aphelian, look out!”
I bring my blade up to protect my face as I whirl toward the sound of Valen’s voice, effectively blocking what would have surely been a mortal blow. Always meet a new direction with your guard up. Always be ready to swing. I bend and pivot as the second attacker strikes again, twisting my body just beyond his range.
“It’s a pitiful human, Royza. Kill it already,” the leader says with a growl.
Royza, the one who came up behind me, swings. I duck the blow and dip my fingers into the edge of my boot. As he rounds once again, I bring my hand up hard and bury another tiny blade in the soft flesh beneath his chin.
For a moment, everyone freezes. Royza’s eyes are wide as I watch the life drain from them, and then he drops, falling face-first into the snow. Bright red leeches out, soaking the white drift.
I turn my attention to the leader, who stares not at me but at his friend’s lifeless corpse. “He was my brother.”
“I warned you. I’ll give you one last chance to go back to the village—”
He roars in fury and throws himself forward. The two remaining Fae do the same.
Valen runs toward us, eyes glowing bright violet and a snarl on his lips. A spear of ice flies past me. Large, solid—and cold—it slices the air with enough force to tug a chunk of my hair free of the band holding it in place. The projectile strikes the leader as he dives for me. He goes down, dark red staining the snow surrounding him, his face frozen in surprise.
I face the next assailant—he’s the tallest of the group—as the last one circles Valen. He’s the fastest of them, clumsily dodging the sharp, icy projectiles. He’s unnerved by Valen’s magic, his eyes frantic, and it makes him sloppy.
“It appears that there’s more to the Winter Lord’s nephew than we knew.” My assailant’s lips rise into a wicked grin as we circle each other, both waiting for the other to make the first move. “Step aside and let us take him,” he offers. “We’ll let you live.”
I incline my head toward his fallen comrades without taking my eyes from his. “I’m not leaving until you join them.”
He shrugs and lifts his sword. “I was hoping you’d say that, human.”
We meet in the middle, blade to blade. He’s bigger than me, stronger, but I’m faster. More agile. I give in to the pressure of his weapon, letting mine fall back, then duck. His strike sails harmlessly above my head. When he rounds again, I drop my blade and tuck my fingers. As he brings his weapon down for the killing blow, so sure of himself with the loss of mine, I jam my hand forward, into his throat.
He clutches his neck and stumbles, sputtering flecks of blood as he falls backward into the snow.
His friend’s curse and the sound of Valen’s ice hitting the rocks and trees roar behind me. I turn, ready to leap forward, but as I start to move, Valen takes his opponent to the ground with an icy club.
I stop halfway to him and brace my hands against my knees to catch my breath. The remnants of adrenaline course through my system, and my head is still buzzing from the fight. “Are you all right?”
There’s no response, but the sound of Valen’s feet stomping through the snow has me tensing up.
“What—”
Valen crashes into me, twisting us so that our positions are reversed. The opponent I thought I’d taken down charges toward me with his blade up. He collides with us seconds before we all hit the ground.
The assailant’s skin pales, then turns translucent, finally crystalizing into solid, glass-like ice.
“You…”
Valen saved me.
Again.
“Tania—” Valen stares at me for a moment, then grunts and rolls onto his back. He’s breathing heavier than he should be, even after such an intense fight, and a wave of icy fear nearly steals the air from my lungs.
I push myself onto my elbows, and my body numbs. The villager’s blade is buried in Valen’s side, and there’s a growing pool of blood soaking into the snow beneath him.
