Page 23 of The Crown of the Last Fae Queen (The Heartless and the Wicked #4)

“Agnarr isn’t here yet,” Rakel answered when the silence between them stretched too much.

“We’ll just have to wait. I knocked on his door this morning, but either he ignored me, he slept through it, or he slept elsewhere.

I have no clue.” She narrowed her eyes at her.

“Don’t look so pleased to hear that. If he doesn’t show up, then you’ll have to train with me. ”

Kolfinna’s smile faded into a scowl and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you even have it with you? The D?d Svaerd? Or will I train in another way?”

“Commander Alfaer will bring it later.”

That was … somewhat of a relief. The longer she didn’t have to touch that cursed sword, the better.

“Ah. There he is,” Rakel said, rising up to her feet.

Kolfinna turned to find Agnarr wandering toward them.

He was dressed the same as yesterday, in dark leathers that hugged his impressive build and black scaly armor.

He was definitely the tallest, and most muscular, man she had ever seen.

When he stopped in front of them, she noticed a budding reddish bruise on his cheek and a split lip.

Her eyes widened at the feature; so it hadn’t been an empty threat when Freyja had said she would beat his mouth into a bloody pulp.

“Wow.” Rakel must have been thinking the same thing because she sucked in her lower lip to keep from cackling. “Freyja sure did a number on you.”

Agnarr touched his cheek with a scowl, as if he had forgotten about it. “It’s not my style to beat down a woman, so … there’s that.”

“That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard,” Rakel snorted. “Anyway, I hope you didn’t do a number on her?”

His frown shifted into a sharp grin. “You could say that.”

“Agnarr—”

He turned his attention down to Kolfinna, his emerald-like eyes narrowing on her as he canted his head, examining her from head to toe. “You’re smaller up close.”

Small was never a word people used to describe her. But she supposed everyone appeared small to him.

“Let’s warm up first,” he said, jerking a chin toward the field. “If you want to wield the D?d Svaerd you need to be at a certain threshold of strength, or else the sword will just control you.”

“How are we going to warm up?” Kolfinna followed him a few feet away from the benches, casting a quick glance at Rakel who watched them with mild interest. Her hands grew clammy so close to the stranger; thankfully, he didn’t seem as rough and brutish as yesterday. “Do you want me to run laps?”

“No.” He balled his hands into fists and assumed a fighting position—one that she had never seen before. He waved her forward with a finger. “Let’s spar. No magic.”

She hesitated. Would he hurt her? Sure, he wasn’t glaring daggers at her like he had been yesterday, but it was clear he didn’t like her.

He must have seen the conflict on her face, because he scoffed. “I will not hurt the daughter of my commander. Now, come and fight me, or I’ll strike first.”

Kolfinna took a fighting position too, her legs spread wide, her arms up defensively, and her back straight.

She wasn’t great at sparring hand to hand, or with a sword, but she had learned a great deal from Inkeri and Blár.

Not enough to be impressive, she was sure, but maybe enough to hold her own footing. Or at least she hoped so.

Agnarr lunged at her, and she barely sidestepped, her knee coming up reflexively to jab him in the abdomen, but he swiftly moved away before it could connect.

His fist grazed her shoulder, sending her hurtling back.

He barely touched her, and yet pain radiated down to her wrist. She tried to ignore it, her steps light as she dodged his following attacks.

Sidestep. Duck. Deflect. It kept going on, her leg muscles cramping and her breathing becoming labored. Her hair came undone from her braid and stray strands were sticking to her sticky neck and cheeks. Agnarr hadn’t even broken a sweat yet.

“Are you going to keep dodging, or will you attack too?” he asked, slamming a fist at her chest. She jumped back, and his fist grazed her other shoulder, sending a jolt of pain.

“Are you going to finally land a punch?” she taunted.

The corner of his mouth rose into a feral grin. “Are you sure you can keep up?”

Heck no . “Absolutely.”

Agnarr kicked her, hard. Kolfinna barely raised her arms to deflect the force of it, but it still sent her skittering backward. She yelped, rolling on the ground and tumbling down until she landed on her back, the air knocked out of her. She inhaled sharply, coughed, and doubled over.

“ Agnarr !” she could hear Rakel yell. “What the hell?!”

“I didn’t think?—”

Kolfinna breathed out shakily. She could feel the heat clawing up to her cheeks. That was embarrassing. How was it that every time she trained, she was horribly humbled? It had happened at the Royal Guards, with Blár, and with Inkeri. Maybe she wasn’t as strong as she thought she was.

She pushed herself up to her wobbly knees, her gaze flicking over to Agnarr and Rakel. She was better at using magic, she reasoned. Fighting without magic simply wasn’t her forte. It was the only explanation that didn’t make her feel like garbage.

“You didn’t land a punch,” Kolfinna said as she rose up to her feet. She could already feel her healing magic working on her shoulders, and now her ribs. “A kick … doesn’t really count.”

Agnarr laughed, and it sounded both cruel and amused. “Another round, then, for our warm up.”

If this was a warm up, she didn’t even want to think about what the real deal would be like.

She leaped forward, intent on punching him before he could react, but he was too fast. He dodged and punched her. His knuckles scraped her cheek, and she gritted her teeth together as she was thrown back. She kicked before she could fall, but he jumped back, giving her time to right herself.

“You haven’t landed a single punch either,” he said with another grin. It looked even more sinister with the reddish bruises along his cheek and the cut on his lip. She wished she could hit him like Freyja had done—at least then he would stop looking so smug.

Kolfinna dipped away from a barrage of punches and jabs, her movements growing faster with renewed energy—the thought of bloodying his pretty face was rather motivating.

She lunged forward, her fist aimed at his face, but right when she thought it would land, he twisted and jabbed her abdomen, right above her stomach and below her ribcage.

A liver shot. She was flung backward, breathless, and momentarily light-headed, before a final kick sent her rolling to the ground again with dizzying speed.

Her back crashed onto the ground and she released a shaky breath.

The gloomy, grayish sky was twirling in circles around her and she had to blink several times to focus on what she was staring at.

A moment later, Freyja’s head poked into view.

Her strawberry-blonde hair was loose down her shoulders, and her silver eyes flashed like a cloudy sky ready for a storm.

Her frigid veneer seemed to shatter away to reveal concern.

Kolfinna had no idea when the fae female had come into the courtyard.

“Are you all right?” She extended her hand and Kolfinna gratefully accepted the help, allowing the woman to haul her up to her feet.

“Barely,” she replied with a cough, her hand instinctively going to her abdomen where Agnarr had struck her. It still throbbed.

Freyja placed her hands on her hips and glared at Agnarr, who stood a few feet away with a scowl painting over his handsome features. Whatever she wanted to say, however, disappeared as she turned back to Kolfinna. “Do you know how to heal yourself?”

“Doesn’t it just naturally heal?”

“Well, yes, but you can concentrate your healing magic on certain parts of your body. It speeds up the process.”

She was learning more and more about her elf abilities to the point that she couldn’t keep up. Shadow magic, light magic, and now healing magic? She was already overwhelmed with her fae abilities, which she needed to improve on—stone magic, nature magic, and rune magic.

Freyja swept a hand over the skirt of her flowing pale-blue dress, which had a trail of embroidered flowers dancing over the material. Its scoop neckline swooped low, showing an ample amount of cleavage, which Agnarr was brazenly staring at.

“We don’t need to beat her black and blue,” Freyja began.

“Don’t be soft on her.” Agnarr crossed his toned arms over his chest. Freyja was easily a head shorter than him, and she was a tall woman. “You are not one to be lenient.”

Freyja eyed the bruise on his face, and instead of scowling at him like Kolfinna thought she would do, her gaze softened. “I understand, but she will need her strength to wield the D?d Svaerd .”

“You don’t look beat up at all,” Rakel said, but it took Kolfinna a moment to realize she was talking to Freyja, who didn’t sport a single bruise or cut, as opposed to Agnarr’s discolored face. A laugh twisted her features. “Oh, you really did a number on Agnarr. I wish I could have seen it.”

Freyja’s own lips rose into a smile. “I could have beaten him worse, but I felt bad after the third punch.”

Agnarr’s tongue flicked out to the cut on his lip, and Kolfinna expected him to glare at the woman, but his gaze kept skimming over her figure, distracted.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Freyja blinked up at him. “Nowhere. Why?”

“You’re not dressed in uniform.”

Kolfinna stared at the graceful dress. Freyja looked beautiful in it, and she suspected that this was what a proper woman looked like in a dress—beautiful enough to make even a man like Agnarr, who seemed to loathe her, stare in awe.

Freyja pushed back a lock of wavy hair behind her sharp ear, and the movement made him stare at her neck, which her hand lightly fluttered over before dropping to her side.

“Yes, I know, but there are days when a woman wants to feel like a woman. Dressing in armor and leathers all day gets tiresome. You wouldn’t understand. ”

He frowned, and Rakel looped her arm around the other woman’s shoulders. “Yes, yes. I agree,” she said. “But let’s not get too sidetracked. If Commander Alfaer sees us chitchatting like this, and not training, he’ll have all of our asses?—”

Too late .

Kolfinna felt his presence before she saw him.

The heavy, oppressive mana made her flinch back and whirl on her feet.

Vidar walked toward them slowly, his wings spread behind him in two swathes of darkness, and his red eyes peering at her through his black helmet.

In his hand was the D?d Svaerd . She would recognize its thrumming power anywhere, but in Vidar’s hands, it seemed to be tame.

He stopped several feet away from them, his gaze flicking to the four of them. His three generals lowered their heads in respect.

“You should be training her,” he said pointedly at Agnarr. “What happened?”

“I beat her, twice. Maybe a bit harder than I should have, and she’s recuperating.” Agnarr lifted his shoulders; he clearly didn’t look as concerned as the other two women did. “We were warming up before you got here.”

“I see.” Vidar shifted his attention to Kolfinna. “Are you well?”

She straightened, suddenly feeling nauseous standing so close to the cursed sword. “I am.”

“Here.” He held the blade out toward her. It was just like she remembered it to be—a black hilt, the blade a darker shade of sin, and the energy more corrupt than she could ever handle.

Kolfinna reflexively took a step back, not wanting to be near it.

Panic swelled in her chest. She didn’t want to touch it.

She didn’t even want to look at it. She was still haunted by the way the blade had forced her to attack everyone.

How she had slaughtered fae soldiers without meaning to, the sword forcing her movements, making her a slave to its bloodthirsty desires.

Her stomach clenched tightly, another wave of nausea hitting her.

“Take it.” His tone was steely.

There was no room to argue, but she couldn’t help fear that thrummed over her. “Please,” she whispered, staring at the sword like it might attack her. “I can’t?—”

“You can and you will.” Vidar held the sword out for her once more, taking a step closer. “Take the sword, Kolfinna.”