SHE WILL MASTER TERRIFYING POWERS OF ENCHANTMENT...TO SAVE THE MAN SHE LOVES
In a land of sorcerers and elf warriors, powerful women weld magic--but the only things Elspeth wields are dirty pots and pans in a castle kitchen. That is, until she was...
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Theo's enemies draw swords, while Zephyr is gifted with a calamitous prophecy...from an unexpected encounter.
"The King said I was to offer you the chance to claim my head," Ludlow said. He dismounted from his horse. There was a shrill metallic hiss as he withdrew his sword from his scabbard. "Try and see if you can take it."
Her heart began hammering. Theo put her behind him and even gave her a little push away, almost reflexively. She stumbled, a little resentful. The last thing they needed was a fight. But men will have their pissing contests.
Doutlings creaking voice broke through the growing fog. "I am here at the King's behest as well. If you should take Ludlow's head, I shall witness to the court that he challenged you first." He threw down a sword sheathed in a scabbard at Theo's feet.
Theo picked up the sword, drawing it out of the sheath and extending his arm, examined it's edge for a moment. Then he turned and gave her a happy little look, raising his eyebrows as if to say, Shall I kill him? She frowned him down with a little shake of her head.
"Your lady is displeased." Whixley said.
"Clearly your father is indifferent to your return," Ludlow said. "Otherwise, he would protest this slaughter."
"Your slaughter, do you mean. I know my father's mind. He means us to finish this feud," Theo said.
"If he has heard anything of his son," Zephyr said, voice dry, "He already knows the outcome."
"Fighting humans—pah! I count that as no accomplishment. Fighting elves—now that is another matter," Ludlow said.
Theo turned back to Ludlow. "My father wants peace between us. Is it possible to have peace without bloodshed?"
"That will never happen," Ludlow said.
"Why do you hate me so? We were once the best of friends."
Ludlow would not answer. Zephyr watched his nostrils flare, but his knees bent into a fighting stance, his sword was drawn, and lip curled with tension. How much harder was it to kill an elf? A dart of worry struck her.
"Is Ludlow any good?" she asked of Doutling, who nodded. "The best," his dry voice rasped. Rats.
"The problem Doutling," Whixley said "is they may only maim each other. The king wouldn't like that. Wouldn't like it at all."
"If I do maim him, I'll be sure to finish him off afterwards," Ludlow said.
Indeed. She bit the side of her lip. Did Theo really have to fight this wretch?
