Last Stand (The Black Mage #4)(91)

Before Darren could react, I contracted my arm, pulling the king in until the two of us were just a hair-width apart. Then I sent him soaring across the ice as far as I could throw.

I clenched my eyes shut as he landed flat on his back; his head hit the ice with a hard thud.

It’s not him, it’s not him, it’s not him. The lies weren’t working; I could feel myself starting to break.

Craccckkkk.

My eyelids fluttered open in time to catch Darren’s hand against ice.

I lunged to the right as a fissure ripped across the floor like a legion of teeth. I landed with my thigh just narrowly avoiding a large skewer of ice.

There was a crackle of bright yellow and gold as Darren pushed himself to his knees.

I knew what was coming next.

My casting caught the blunt force of Darren’s lightning at an angle, the energy crackling in a ball above my head. The effort to keep Darren’s magic at bay was like pulling my limbs from their sockets. The agony that tore up my spine and into my mind was like a molten trail of metal burning me from the inside out, incinerating the air in my lungs as it turned my senses to ash.

My vision faded to black, and it was all I could do to stand there and hold, the projection a bubble ready to burst.

It was boiling over, and my lungs expanded as I clung to my casting for all that I was worth.

Hold.

My heels dug into rock as every ounce of my will battled his.

Hold.

Spots of red mixed in with black, and I wasn’t sure if I would die from the casting or the flames writhing inside my head.

And then, like a bit of flint against steel, my magic caught. The casting ignited. A wave of cool relief washed over my bones as the weight disappeared.

My vision returned as I collapsed, keeled over with my face between my legs. The lightning was gone.

I spewed saliva and blood as I gulped in great gasps of air.

“You’ve gotten better.”

I glanced up through sweaty bangs. Darren was leaning heavily against a column of ice, one hand propped up to keep him from falling, his other on his knee as he swallowed, his crown askew.

The rapid depletion of stamina had taken its toll on both of us.

“My tolerance for pain got better,” I choked, “after a week in your brother’s dungeon.”

For just a moment, a frown graced his mouth, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Nothing more than you deserved.”

I forced myself to rise. “You didn’t think so then.”

The Black Mage approached, one step at a time as the hem of his black robe dragged along ice.

“Back then I thought you were someone else.” His eyes met mine, and what I saw was bitter and cold. A wasteland of desolation and hate. “My mistake.”

A trickle of heat slunk down the back of my neck as the two of us returned to our fighting stance, a bit worse for wear than before.

My mind raced as I tried to decide which casting to turn to next. From the throbbing ache in my head, I knew my stamina was dangerously close to its end. I had depleted close to a third of my stores on the trek up the mountain and Darren was no ordinary mage. He held nothing back; each attack was like a battering ram against my head.

I bit down on my cheek as I caught sight of gleaming metal across the away. I had dropped my sword before the lightning, and now I was too far to reach it. I had two arm sheaths with daggers, but they meant close combat if I didn’t cast. Darren would deflect any attack from a distance; my only hope was to press the advantage up close.

But that meant exposing myself.

I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to stand that close and do what needed to be done. All those years of training had never prepared me for the enemy being someone I knew. Someone I loved.

Someone I still—

Don’t finish that thought. I fished the first dagger from its holds and made my approach.

“Run out of magic already, love?” Darren’s smile was cold.

“You fought three mages and I’ve only had you.” I gave him my best smirk; it was too strained, and I knew he wouldn’t believe it for a second. “I think the odds are in my favor now.”

“You must have forgotten our duel in Langli.” Darren discarded the belt and scabbard at his waist. Then he reached into his robe. Attached to his upper arms were daggers identical to my own. “I don’t need magic to beat you, Ryiah. I don’t even need two blades.”

Darren pulled the first dagger to his palm, flipping the hilt up and then down with the flick of his fingers. I watched it spin outside his wrist.

Could this really be it? That our final battle would come to this?

The two of us circled closely now, our eyes locked on the other’s form. I could feel my pulse against my throat. It beat louder and louder as I took a daring step forward, the blade drawn back against my side.

Darren crooked the blade from his shoulder. He was going to counter my attack with the traditional grip. I might have speed with the reverse, but his stance had reach. He didn’t need agility when he knew every lunge would outdistance my own.

But we both had to play to our strengths. Dexterity for the reckless lowborn and brute strength for the boy who had it all.

It was anyone’s guess, but I was determined to win.

I was the first to lunge. Something about the wait, about wanting to end this before my emotions played a part, had me foregoing my regular approach.