Maybe so, but still, Alistair sent out a curse—the Forest’s Hunger. The trees surrounding them bent low, their branches reaching forward like hands. It was not a deadly attack, but it was time-consuming and irritating. While the Blair whacked at the branches with the Sword and the Payne deflected many with a shield, Alistair turned and ran through the trees, in the opposite direction of the falling Mirror—now minutes from touching down.
He wanted to draw them as far away from Isobel as possible, but he didn’t run for long. After half a kilometer, he collided with a tree.
“Fuck,” he growled, clutching his throbbing knee. He should’ve known this was where nobility would get him.
It was too dark to see clearly, but shining any sort of light would alert the two other champions to where he’d gone. He stepped forward, and a pain shot up from his knee into his spine. He stumbled and groaned.
Someone laughed behind him, high-pitched and girlish. Alistair turned, hands raised, as the Payne stepped around a thornbush, her cheek dripping blood where his branches had cut her. Alistair winced as he leaned on his injured leg. He was in no condition to run, which meant his only option was to fight.
The Payne must’ve sensed this, too, because she smiled widely and said, “I could play this game all night.”
Alistair held his breath as he waited for the Blair to appear, but the Payne remained alone. Maybe he’d gone after Isobel. The thought of his Sword left Alistair’s stomach in knots.
Alistair tried to think of a way to overpower the Payne. He had a few stronger curses at his disposal, but only a few.
He cast a Chimera’s Bite, which she deflected with yet another of her seemingly endless supply of high-class shields. He cast a Dragon’s Breath, then a Basilisk’s Gaze. The dark of the forest around them came alive with bright flashes of light. One of Alistair’s curses succeeded in tearing through her shield, sinking fangs into the Payne’s neck until she screamed. One of her curses knocked into Alistair’s knee like a hammer, and even over his own scream, he heard the sound of his bone shattering.
He crumpled. The radiating pain made him delirious, and he grappled to stand as she approached. The next curse he shot whizzed far off its mark and burned a hole straight through the heart of a tree. The Payne laughed as she stood before him.
“Any last words?” she asked.
He didn’t have anything left to say. No more spells or curses or plans.
Except for one.
The Lamb’s Sacrifice.
He clenched his fist, feeling its power course through the stone ring. He would rather die than use his brother’s death to kill another, even if it meant his own survival.
Maybe that made him noble after all.
“Just get it over with,” he said, his voice catching only slightly.
She lunged forward. Alistair swatted at her arm to block her, but as soon as he did, pain burst in his abdomen. He looked down to find a red stain spreading across his lower stomach where her curse had struck him. He coughed, and blood spurted from his lips.
“I always wanted to be the one to kill you,” she said smugly.
Alistair clutched at his stomach. His palm was hot and wet with blood. His other hand was braced against the oak tree beside him, fingernails digging into the coarse bark as he swallowed down the pain.
Trembling, he reached into his pocket where he’d stowed a few healing spells, but she shoved him to the ground. He groaned, his head smacking the dirt.
Even dizzy from loss of blood, Alistair was not without tricks. While she knelt beside him and rifled through his clothes for every spellstone he had left, he swiftly slid off the ring with the Lamb’s Sacrifice and tucked it into the sleeve of his sweater.
Then with one last, shuddering breath, he closed his eyes and went limp.
He felt the Payne rip the last of the spellrings from his fingers, and after she finished, she lifted his chin up and whispered, “Beg.”
She made a far better villain than he did.
When he didn’t respond, she laughed. “You didn’t live up to your stories, did you?”
She fumbled for his pulse, and panic flared in Alistair’s chest.
A loud crash rang out beyond the trees. The Mirror had fallen—and close. Elionor’s grip on his arm loosened. After a moment’s hesitation, she rose to her feet and rushed away.
Once she was long gone, Alistair finally felt safe enough to breathe. She hadn’t had the chance to finish him off, but her negligence wouldn’t stop him from bleeding out. His stomach continued to throb in violent pulses, and the world smelled sharp and metallic.