THIRD BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘈 𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘺. 𝘈 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳. 𝘈 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴.
Two sides of the same coin are brought to the light...
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"I suggest you don't move if you don't want your head to fly away from your neck."
Xanthy froze and called for her magic, instead. A spell flew out of her lips as the air between her and her attacker exploded in a loud blast. The pressure on her neck eased. Xanthy stumbled away from the wall, putting her arms forward to brace for retaliation.
A rustle of fabric. Xanthy swept her hands towards that direction. Another uttered spell bathed the room in a dim ambience. A shadow whizzed from her left. There. Xanthy sent another spell in that direction which met a wall. Sparks showered her as debris shook from the compact wall. Okay. That's not concrete. She's in an underground tunnel or something.
Xanthy stepped backward, throwing spell after spell at random directions. Light footsteps ensued in the darkness, almost like a scratching sound more than an actual fairy moving. A ball of light formed in her hand just as the spell left her lips. She lobbed at the figure that lunged for her.
The light shot in a straight beam but instead of recoiling, the figure extended their hand mid-flight and the beam changed course. Xanthy ducked as her own spell charged at her, searing the uprooting more debris from the wall of earth behind her.
That brief exchange gave Xanthy a perfect view of her attacker. A faceless mask with no holes save for eyes. Tall. Lithe. White, loose robes. Long dark hair. Sword.
Xanthy's eyes widened as her attacker slashed at her neck. Sword. Sword. Xanthy ducked, rolled, and swept her leg behind her attacker's knees. The person—were they a fairy, a human, a half-blood? No time to analyze—stood up and moved to lunge at her again.
An illumination spell echoed along the walls as Xanthy splayed her palms open. "I don't mean any harm!" her voice sounded clipped. Desperate. "I don't even know where I am!" She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for pain.
"You're not a pixie," the person's voice—feminine—said. Xanthy opened her eyes to find that the woman had straightened. "What are you doing in Peltra?"
Xanthy swallowed the taste of earth from her throat. Ugh. Had she eaten literal dirt within the last few minutes? "Um, I'm a wanderer," she twined her hands together in front of her. "I was just passing through Peltra when I happened on your caverns," she raised her arms again—a sign of openness and surrender. "I swear, I'm not here to intrude on your peace."
"What makes you think I'll believe that?" the woman angled her sword against Xanthy's conjured light. A lump formed in Xanthy's throat. "You're obviously one of them."
"One of whom?" Xanthy pushed herself off the wall of dirt and knitted her eyebrows. "The army that attacked your city?"
The woman's hand tightened around her sword's hilt. "There was no army," she whispered in a tone that almost sounded like a hiss. "Just that floating woman and her infernal spells."
Xanthy's chest tightened. Spells. Woman. Has the Heiress finally decided to show herself?
"I'm not one of them," Xanthy shook her head. "I'm never one of them," she held out a hand as she dared to step forward. "I'm Xanthiene. I can help you."
