“How original,” she said, but her voice had lost its humor.
Leatha was a word from ancient High Fae, a dead language, save for the few hundred books within the mountain. It technically meant half-Fae or, sometimes generously, pixie. But that wasn’t colloquial usage. That wasn’t what Bruiser here had meant when he called her by that disgusting word.
Here, it meant, half-breed whore or bitch.
It was not something said in polite company.
“I can’t suffer a leatha thinking she can best me,” he snarled.
Really, she hadn’t asked for this fight. But the ones that came to her, she rarely expected. Right now, the most enjoyable thing in the world would be to crawl into her bed, across from her roommate Darby, and never think of this moment again.
But no, she couldn’t allow someone to call her that. She didn’t even know how he’d found out that she was half-Fae, but he’d kill her all the same for it. She could see that in his beady eyes. He’d rather she be dead than be beat by one of her kind. She knew the type. The racist assholes who abused people on the streets just because they could… because Fae had all the power.
Today would be different. Bruiser seen her fight and thought that he was entering a match he could win. He had no idea who he was dealing with.
Kerrigan reached down into the core of her magic, and then… she unleashed.
She took on the grunts first. A wave of air crushed one into the stone wall at his back. She raised her left hand into a claw. The ground sprouted upward out of the stones around the second man’s legs, holding him in place. The third at her back rushed toward her. She snapped her fingers and set him on fire.
She stepped toward Bruiser with passion in her eyes. But he didn’t look frightened. He should have looked frightened.
Then, he thrust his hand out toward her, clutching a rock tightly in his massive fist.
She froze in place. She couldn’t move. Not in the way that she had held Bruiser in the ring with her air magic. This was something else. As if her feet were glued to the cobblestones.
Her head snapped up to meet his eyes. How was he doing this?
She dove deep into her magic, which was already a wavering, stuttering mess. She could feel her well bottoming out. She had only found extra power out of the depths of her emotional pain, but she needed more of it right now.
“You’ll get what you deserve, leatha,” he crooned as he stepped toward her until he was right in front of her.
She glared at him and with the last vestiges of her magic, she broke free of whatever spell he’d cast over her. His eyes bulged in shock and alarm.
“How?” he sputtered.
Kerrigan had only enough energy to push his hand out of the way. The rock he’d been holding onto so tightly dropped and shattered into a million pieces at her feet. And then… he turned and fled.
Kerrigan laughed. She wanted to run after him. She wanted to see him suffer for calling her that filthy name. But she was drained. Her magic sat, an empty vessel in her body. At this rate, she wasn’t sure if she’d make it back to the Wastes. She stumbled a half a block before she collapsed onto the stones.
“Gods,” she muttered.
Her head pounded. Everything hurt.
“No, no, no,” she whispered.
It was happening. She knew why she was so weak. Why it felt like all of her power was draining out of her.
Another vision was coming.
She’d only had two in five years. Both times, she had ended up incapacitated. The visions worked like a siphon. One minute, she had energy, and the next… it claimed the powers for itself. And she had no control. No way to stop them.
She cried out hoarsely, praying to whatever god would listen that someone would find her. That Bruiser wouldn’t come back and claim her weakened body.
Then, her sight disappeared, and in its place a tangle of images flew before her eyes. The arena filled with people cheering for the start of the tournament. Black smoke and darkness. A figure clad in black. She couldn’t make out what the person looked like. Who it was. A girl hovering in the sky. Trapped. Screaming. A large crowd in front of a building. The people chanting and cheering like a mob. A figure stepped forward in a black cloak. Their features obscured by a red mask. Chaos.
“No,” she gasped out as she came back to herself.
Her eyes were glassy, and what she’d seen raced across her mind over and over again.
The first vision had been so clear, and the second had at least made sense. But this? What even was this? And why did it make her want to throw up all over the cobblestones?
Her vision dipped again. Her ears were ringing. She felt like she was going to die here.
A familiar voice sounded through the cacophony in her head, “Here you are.”
“Dozan?”
Dozan leaned over her. “Red, how many fingers am I holding up?”
“Six?” she muttered. “Wait…”
He said nothing more, just easily lifted her into his arms. She rested her head against his chest, ignoring all the reasons this was a bad, bad choice. But her vision was black at the edges. She had mere minutes.
“You shouldn’t walk alone on the streets in the Dregs after humiliating Basem Nix.”
Her eyes wrenched back open, fighting the spiral. “That was Basem Nix?” she croaked in despair. No wonder he’d been wearing that jacket.
Basem had started as a Dregs underling, who had reaped the benefits of new trade from the south to haul himself out of the slums. Now, he was a formidable merchant with terrifying, powerful friends. He was not someone she had ever wanted to meet… let alone get on the bad side.
“Why would I be fighting Basem?”
“It was a test, Red. You passed.”
She groaned, certain her head was going to split in two. Dozan was silent as he carried her through the back halls of the Wastes and deposited her into Clover’s empty pallet.
Kerrigan was unconscious before her head hit the pillow. Otherwise, she would have reminded someone to wake her for the tournament tomorrow.
3
The Tournament
Someone was shaking her awake.
Kerrigan groaned. “Just one more minute.”
“Kerrigan, are you out of your mind?”
Her eyes flew open to find a tall boy with short blue hair staring down at her. “Hadrian?”
“Yes, it’s me, you dolt. What are you still doing in the Wastes?” he demanded. “You were supposed to be at the arena hours ago.”
She jolted out of bed, her heart racing like she’d just performed a tight roll on a dragon’s back. She rubbed her hands over her eyes as she realized where she was. She was in Clover’s room. Her room in the Wastes. Oh gods!
“The tournament!” she gasped.
“Yes! You didn’t come home last night. We’re were all worried. I drew the short straw to come here and collect you.”
“Can you keep it down?” Clover grumbled from the pallet next to Kerrigan.
“Clover, get up! It’s the day of the tournament.”
“Scales,” Clover gasped, rolling over with wide eyes. “Are we late?”
“Late?” Hadrian asked with a stilted laugh. “We’ll be lucky if we make the trek back to the mountain before it starts. Now, get up. Let’s go.”