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The Boy… He had attacked me with magic. Magic that he shouldn’t have, magic as forbidden as mine. He had never said he had magic, he had never shown any sign of holding power, even when we stood in the training field. He was Fae, the Fae did not have their own power, it was why they had stolen the Lynar’s magic in the Black War.
My head spun from the impact of both tree and ground as I forced myself up, everything rotating and moving in ways it should not as I looked toward the Boy who was rushing toward me. His gate was quick and awkward as he stared through that expanse of fabric, the black layer rippling as he breathed.
“Boy?” Even the word spun as I forced them out. “It’s me.”
He didn’t stop as I croaked out the plea and he raised his hand again.
“Boy… Stop…” All of that magic was rumbling inside of me, it was screaming and pressing against my skin as it fought to escape, to attack. But not him. I couldn’t attack him. I wouldn’t.
A cold breeze whispered over me as I was pulled from the ground by a hand that did not exist, magic I didn’t know was possible lifting me, tightening around my neck as it held me there.
I screamed, I writhed, doing anything I could to fight against a hold I could not see. How do you fight against nothing? With magic, I supposed, but I couldn’t use that. Not against him.
I wouldn’t.
I couldn’t.
I sobbed at the realization, at the promise, even as the hand tightened the grip firm before I was slammed into a tree, every inch of my body compressed against the red bark. My body ached, my lungs screaming for enough air.
That stretch of black fabric rattled with each breath as he reached me. There was none of that acceptance and joy I usually felt from him, however, there was only dread.
“Boy…” I gasped, desperately wishing for his name, for him to stop, for him to step back. Instead, his physical hand clutched my throat, long fingers pressing and gripping and squeezing. He was forcing all of the air from my lungs with his bare hands.
His cold bare hands.
Cold hands that were all wrong. The fingers were too short, the palm too wide. The touch was all wrong.
Because he was all wrong.
“You… aren’t… the… Boy…” I forced out each word with the last of my air, my mind buzzing. He wasn’t the Boy, and I certainly wasn’t going to die like this.
A scream ripped from me as I raised my hands, pain slicing down my arm as I worked to let all of that magic that was skittering under my skin explode out of me.
Nothing happened but a few sparks of flame and wind.
My hands slammed into his gut, a rush of air popping against the fabric as he exhaled with a groan and stumbled back a step. His hands didn’t leave my neck completely, but the partial step he took away from me was enough to let me take in one frantic gulp of air.
My vision was popping in black and red, my lungs screaming and burning as I lifted my legs, using his hand against my neck and the firm pressure of the tree as leverage. The last of my air vanished as the pressure of his hand increased. That was until both of my feet and those heavy fighting boots made impact with his crotch.
He screamed as though someone had cut his bits from him and he stumbled back, the loss of pressure against my neck sending me to the ground. I gasped and gulped in air through the burn in my throat in desperation. My magic fizzled even as I forced it back to the surface; I would need it.
My lungs were screaming, my arm of fire as I clung to the narrow trunk of the red tree, pulling myself up as I faced the imposter who was already standing, already flexing his hands as lightning crackled between his knuckles. The threat of the attack was screaming between us as he laughed with a sound that I had never heard come from the Boy before.
“You are not the Boy,” I said again, each raspy word burning through the fire in my throat, the ache in my lungs. He laughed harder, pushing his hands forward and sending all of that crackling lightning toward me.
I lifted my own hands, forcing all of the burning waves of my magic toward him, thinking of water and ice and anything that would stop what was hurtling my way.
Fire sputtered to life, sparking from me as I sent it toward him. It wasn’t enough to stop the attack that was burning through the air from reaching me. It was going to hit. Then, in a pop of flame it vanished, leaving only a bit of smoke and flame behind.
I could only stare. I hadn’t done anything. I hadn’t felt anything rip from me.
Even the imposter stepped back as I looked at my hands, trying to figure out what happened as a shape as ominous as the Boy stepped into the clearing beside me. It was not the Boy, but I recognized him at once, the tangled waves of his dark hair, the smug grin, the black leather tunic and breeches that were stained with what I now recognized as blood.
Except, instead of eyes in a blue so bright they cut through the world, he looked at me with eyes of two different shades of sky, the color seeming to shift as I watched him, both eyes sliding to ice. That same feeling of before smothered me, some forgotten energy ripping me apart as every fiber of my soul screamed to attention.
The chill of his magic smothered me, all of the power that I had been trying so hard to release rising to my skin as if in answer. The heat of my magic pressed against my skin as though the sun had lodged itself inside of me at his approach and was in need of escape.
The spinning in the world came to a halt as I lifted my hands, staring at all that bright burning energy that was under the skin of my palms. I expected them to be glowing, but there was nothing but dirt and the charred scraps of my dress from where they had fallen away.
