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That was entirely too close for comfort.

Her power spilled forth in response. A clumsy twirl for momentum, the particles around her doing their part to keep her aloft, and she sent her taloned whips flying.

Oops. Uhhh…

Faldir tsk’d when the first incandescent rope wrapped around his wrist, stopping his arm mid-swing. The next went around his neck, and Lunara heaved despite her mistake, pulling with all her strength to topple him. Not an easy task when the deal was no magic beyond weapons and moving her own body but the opponent was an absolutely massive Demon in his rage.

For strength, according to the arsehole she was sparring with.

“That’s it, Lunara—bring him down!” Hedda crowed, cackling when her twin’s knee buckled into the dirt and caused a rain of dry needles to fall from the nearby evergreens. “Yes! Keep going! Make him eat grass for breakfast!”

“I’m…trying…” Lunara spat through gritted teeth.

Maybe if she managed it, he’d forget to ream her for doing the same senseless thing he scolded her about yesterday.

“Try harder!” Fern shot back.

Oh sure, like it’s easy. Maybe she should have a go.

Lunara loosed the closest thing she had to a growl and commanded the whips to tighten. If she couldn’t knock him over, maybe she could suffocate him instead.

Um. Why does that look like a smile on his face?

Oh, shite.

“Oh, fuck.”

Hedda’s sentiment mirrored her own when Faldir gripped both whips with his free hand and flung himself backwards. He hit the ground with all the force of an avalanche, yanking Lunara through the air with him. Her face and one shoulder took the brunt of the landing, a mouthful of sod and sandy grit her reward for refusing to let go, while he was completely unfazed.

“Well,” Hedda said, sighing dramatically. “One of them ate grass, anyway.”

Real funny, that one. Positively hilarious.

Lunara rolled to her side, coughing and spitting. Unfortunately, it was harder to tell than it should’ve been whether her head was still attached to her body.

“Weeping moons,” she wheezed, trying not to gag.

“That’s what you get for being stubborn,” Faldir rumbled, “and not following wiser instruction.”

Despite the fact that she didn’t remember letting go of him, he was crouched above her, his scarred face blotting out the sight of anything else.

She went slack, accepting failure and inviting the earth to swallow her whole. “Fortune favors the bold?”

“And death welcomes the stupid.” He scoffed, looking away as he cleared a mess of wine-red hair from his mossy eyes. “Why’d you go for my cursed hand again? We talked about this—you have to unbalance your opponent. Take away the connection to their strength. If you tangled my feet up like I told you to do, I’d have been useless and you would’ve won.”

“I know. I got distracted and…” Lunara cringed, not wanting to explain exactly what had stolen her attention. “I’ll get it next time.”

“There is no next time today. You’re too tired for this.”

“That’s what I said!” Fern called in the distance.

“Why do you all keep banging on about how tired I am?” she shrieked.

Sort of. Her lungs were still trying to remember how to do their job.

“One would think, Sorcerit”—Faldir peeled her up and set her on wobbly feet—“that you might start listening if everyone around you is saying the same thing.”

Lunara bent over, hands on her knees, and tried to find her breath. “Most of you also tell me, repeatedly, how wonderful roasted carrots are. Since you’re wrong about that, why in the realms would I listen to the other shite?”