Even the torches couldn’t cast enough light for non-human eyes to see by when the next round began. Serephone shifted her vision, accessing the bit of her magic that allowed her to see sharper, farther, in the dark. And locked her jaw, because she’d only ever tried to use her vision for a few minutes at a time.

But the headache was worth being able to actually see. The three fae who stepped into the circle were armed, and ruthless. Stripped down to nothing but black leggings, hair streaming, chests and arms corded with the muscle of men, who trained for a living. Who trained before breathing. One toyed with a blade, twirling it so fast in his fingers she couldn’t quite keep up with the speed. It became a flash of silver in the firelight. He stared at her, expression pitiless.

The second carried a staff. No blade, just a long, polished rod of gray wood. His short hair fell in his eyes, eyes that gleamed at her, wolf-pale. The lack of a blade attached to the stick warned her. The most deadly of foes were the ones, who needed nothing but their bare hands to kill.

The third had his golden hair pulled back in a que, twin swords strapped to his back. He stood without fidgeting, arms at his sides, looking at nothing, as if he were simply waiting for the signal to begin. Or meditating.

Amnan stood at Serephone’s right, Anissa at her left. Amnan carried nothing, simply watched with the cool calculation of an immortal who’d seen many fights. Anissa caressed her staff, glancing over at her daughter on the edge of the circle several times.

Serephone’s only weapon were the blades she’d had on her body when she first come to the estate. A check of her spiders before leaving her bedroom revealed they were predictably low on energy stores, their poison spent. She didn’t have the supplies she needed to inject their small bodies again, and even though her magic could keep them animated, without the poison they were little more than an annoyance at worst, distraction at best. She was on her own.

The purple-robed officiant approached the center of the circle, hands inside his wide, silken sleeves. “This is the last round. If she survives, she will again be offered the oath.”

From his tone of voice, Serephone gathered it would be the last time she was offered such glorious servitude, and the refusal wouldn’t mean she’d get to go merrily on her way. Plus now she had her mother to think of. And she would be foolish to think Dawnthorne didn’t know about her sisters. If she didn’t take the oath, he could contrive to take one, or both, of them. If she took it…would he be satisfied with just her? A coin in the pocket was always worth more than four in the neighbor’s.

The officiant stepped away and Serephone tensed, awaiting the signal. She was tired, but adrenaline spiked her blood, bringing with it the illusion of vigor. On the edge of the circle, Maddugh spoke quietly to Kailigh, his own anger contained by the task of preventing his wife from entering the fray. But when her stepfather looked up and met her eyes, she knew he was holding onto his dragon by a bare thread.

The officiant cleared the circle and the battle began.

They were trying to kill her. Anissa intercepted the fae with the staff, while Amnan smoothly deflected the yellow-haired male, swords drawn from their sheaths in a bright burst of light. Serephone had no time to waste observing what the others did, her opponent was on her in a breath, a blade flashing towards her throat like a stream of light. She did the smartest thing she knew, and ducked, rolling to the side and gaining her feet to intercept another blow. There was no space to breathe, silence except for the soft pounding of feet in sand and the thuds of blows, the bright clang of metal. She yanked the shadows around her and darted to the side, cloaked in darkness for the precious few seconds she needed to get her feet under her. It didn’t fool her enemy for long, but long enough she was able to arm herself.

The bond with Amnan opened, a flood of knowledge filling her mind. Along with the understanding that it would soon burn out; she had to take advantage of this tiny ray of hope now.

She engaged the fae, muscles flowing through new movements as if she’d spent years on a training field. It was enough to mount an offense, and then Amnan was at her side. She didn’t bother to check for his former opponent; Amnan would not be here now, if the twin swords had not been defeated.

An inhalation from the crowd and a feminine grunt. Serephone grit her teeth, hoping Anissa was unharmed. The impression of pale blond hair in the corner of her eye and then Serephone focused on her own battle, falling into tandem with Amnan. They fought the fae backwards toward the circle’s edge; to push him out would be an automatic loss the same as if blood was drawn. Her bond with Amnan was fading, and with it the edge she needed to stay alive. The fight wasn’t about how well Amnan could defend her, but how well she could defend herself. Only this opponent didn’t seem inclined to give her a token win.

Amnan grabbed her, throwing Serephone out of the way of a blow she hadn’t seen coming, too distracted from desperately trying to think up a strategy. Thinking, and fights: bad combo. She ate sand, heard Amnan’s deep-chested rumble and knew he was on the verge of attempting a shift; Dawnthorne had said he’d dissolved the bubble thingy, but fae lied all the time.

“A shift is against the rules of the melee,” she heard an unfamiliar male voice say.

“Then forfeit,” Amnan growled.

Serephone rose, spitting out sand. Even that brief second of rest hammered home her exhaustion. She didn’t know if she could last much longer; as good as her shape was, she wasn’t conditioned to prolonged battle. She was, at heart, a farm girl.

Anissa stepped to Serephone’s side. “Forfeit, Bacchus,” she demanded. “There’s no point to a prolonged duel. She’s proven herself.”

Bacchus—what a name—gave Serephone a contemptuous look. “She is barely on her feet.”

“She’s been fighting all day,” Anissa exclaimed. “If you won’t forfeit, her allies are allowed to fight on her behalf.”

Anissa’s staff whistled through the air without more conversation, and Amnan leaped simultaneously. Serephone ran forward, pushing her legs. At least she still had her blade and hadn’t completely embarrassed herself. The three attacked mostly in tandem, but Bacchus was no prey. His burst of speed proved he’d been holding back.

Anissa cried out, stumbling, and fell to her knees. Serephone saw the blood, hesitated a split second. Did she go to her sister, or defend herself? But Bacchus stepped back, lowering his blade.

“Now I forfeit,” he said icily, and turned his back to walk out of the circle.

“Anissa,” Etienne cried out. “No, Iona, stay.”

Serephone dropped to Anissa’s side, and a gong sounded. Pushing bloody hands away, she looked at the wound, heart sinking. It was bad, meant to be a killing blow. Blood bubbled at her elder sister’s mouth, and the thin scream of a child’s cry caused Anissa to jerk. “Mommy. Let me go to Mommy!”

“Take care of her,” she whispered.

“Move,” Serephone heard Dawnthorne command, and then he was there, pushing her away. She fell back on her butt, but, for once, wasn’t angry. She heard the faintest inhalation from the kneeling Fae. He slid an arm around Anissa’s back as she slumped over.

“Damn you,” Dawnthorne whispered, and when he looked up at Serephone, his gaze was malevolent.

She didn’t flinch away. This wasn’t her fault, but it was a tragedy. Persia and Cin had never even known their sister. And Iona…Serephone couldn’t go there. “There’s plenty of blame to go around, fae Lord,” she whispered, a strange, wet heat in her eyes.

“When she dies,” Dawnthorne said softly, “so too will you draw your last breath.”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Maddugh said sharply, striding forward. “I can heal her. Give her to me.”

Dawnthorne snarled. “What can a dragon do that a fae cannot?”

“He healed Cin when she was dying from a gunshot wound,” Serephone said, scrambling to her feet with sudden hope. “She’s got like a minute left, maybe you should cooperate.”

She knew she’d pay for her terseness later. Her harsh words hid the ashes in her heart, though, and Dawnthorne needed to snap out of the grief descending on him. They had no time.

Maddugh knelt, Kailigh coming to his side and resting a hand on his shoulder. He placed his hands over Anissa’s wound. “Daughter’s sister,” he said gently. “Not tonight.”

Serephone watched the glow traveling through Maddugh’s skin and pooling into his hands. She didn’t know how much time passed, but slowly the blood stopped running, and the gurgling sound of Anissa’s faint breathing cleared.

Maddugh pulled away, voice dry and scratchy. “I’ve done enough to keep her alive. You’ll need a physician for the rest, and she shouldn’t move around for a few days.”

The fae Lord looked at Maddugh, but said nothing. Serephone didn’t understand Dawnthorne’s white-lipped rage. He lifted Anissa in his arms, rose, and strode away, several men falling in to escort him.

Lord Evervaine approached. “It appears your Lord is otherwise occupied, so I will act in his stead.” He gestured. “Until Aethan says otherwise, confine them all to their rooms.”

No one disagreed with him. He was the only Lord present. She didn’t know what a Queen’s Eye was, either, but it had sounded like a rank to be obeyed. Her mouth tasted like blood, and she realized she’d bitten her cheek in the tension, and though in normal circumstances she would have been angry at being grounded for something that wasn’t her fault—plus she was a damn adult—the sight of her motionless sister sparked anxiety. The same anxiety she would feel for Persia or Cinvarra.

“She’ll be fine,” Kailigh murmured, her hand on Serephone's back rubbing small circles. “She looks so much like Cinvarra,” her mother added, voice bemused.

Yuruth approached, the gray, gargoyle fae at his side. “We will escort you to your quarters,” he said.

Serephone nodded and they all left. Amnan and Maddugh walked behind the women, their solid presence comforting for Serephone and Kai, but perhaps not so comforting for the fae, who kept looking at the men. Yuruth showed Kailigh and Maddugh to their room across the hall from Serephone and Amnan. Their parents took a cursory look and joined them in Serephone's room, the fae excusing themselves with the promise of meals to be sent up soon.

Maddugh sat in the corner armchair and stared at his son. “I would wallop you, but you look like you’ve had a shitty few days.”

Amnan glanced at Serephone, and shrugged. “Hasn’t been so bad.”

Kailigh sat on the bed. “Has your father spoken to you?” she asked Serephone.

“He said Dawnthorne wasn’t involved with Ruthus. Something about going rogue.”

Kailigh snorted. “Lawre…Etienne…was never big on the truth. I thought it was cute when I was young.”

“You thought lying was cute.”

Her mother sighed. “You would have had to have been there. He hasn’t aged a day.”

“He looks like a frip,” Maddugh growled. “I thought you had good taste, but now I know better.”

Kailigh glanced at her husband, brow rising. “He is pretty, but I prefer a more rugged type now that I’m older.”

Serephone watched with amusement. Poor Maddugh couldn’t decide whether to be mad at the ‘pretty’ or pleased that he was ruggedly handsome. Men.

Maddugh eyed his wife a moment then spoke to Amnan. “Nahasha will send an emissary in the morning if we do not send word.”

“An emissary?”

“Well, a squad perhaps, in dragon form, threatening to burn down the grounds if we are not released.”

“They might have tightened their shielding since I came.”

“I’m sure Nahasha is cleverer than a fae.”

“Considering we are both of fae blood, I’m not sure how I feel about all the sneering,” Kailigh murmured as Serephone sat next to her mother.

“We’re honorary dragons in their minds.”

“Damn straight,” Amnan said.