Amell smirks at the easy defeat.
Bastien doesn’t return the smile and instead lobs a fast uppercut that catches Amell right under the jaw. His head snaps back and rocks him off balance a few feet.
“Watch your tone with Thalia,” Bastien warns.
Amell swivels his jaw back and forth, rubbing it gingerly, but doesn’t appear perturbed.
His gaze comes back to me, and he says, “Let’s take that knife off your hands.” It disappears into thin air. “Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.”
So fast I barely have time to blink, Amell appears right in front of me to grab my wrist.
Bastien charges but with a flick of his free hand, Amell sends him flying backward. “Stay down, warrior. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Pulling my palm up, he inspects the cut, smeared with blood. Bastien is back on his feet and releases a war cry as he charges again.
Amell doesn’t even spare him a glance but enacts some sort of magical wall around us. Bastien slams into it with such force, the ground shakes. Ignoring him completely as Bastien pounds his fists in anger, I watch, mesmerized as Amell rubs a thumb over my palm, and my cuts instantly heal.
He drops my hand and turns to Bastien who has gone still as he takes in Amell’s ministration to my wounds. “I’m going to release this shield, but if you try to attack again, I will drop you in another realm. I mean her no harm.”
“Bastien,” I say in a pleading voice, “back off.”
It is with a fierce glare at Amell that Bastien takes a few steps back to give us space. The Dark Fae waves his hand, presumably to make the shield disappear, and fortunately, Bastien stays put.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Amell turns his attention to me. “Why did you summon me, child?”
It’s weird to have him call me child. He doesn’t look much older than me, but he’s Dark Fae and therefore doesn’t age. He’ll always look the way he does right now. Moreover, I’m not his child. He’s never done a single thing for me in my life.
But I don’t have time for petty grievances, so I explain my summons. “A sorceress has taken over my land using blood magic.”
Amell nods with a slight smile. “Ferelith. Big fan.”
My jaw drops and I glare at him. “You’re a big fan of hers?”
The Dark Fae snorts. “More like she’s a big fan of mine. She summons a great many demons from my realm and sends me plenty of souls in return.”
I shake my head, trying to get my bearings where this man—rather, fallen angel—is concerned. “Do you support her?”
“When it furthers my cause,” he drawls.
Too vague. “Does it further your cause?”
“It doesn’t hurt it,” he says blandly.
I curse in frustration and make my request. “I need to know how to defeat her. If I use blood magic, it won’t be strong enough. I don’t know enough about it. I’ve been led to believe that you may have passed on other magic that I could use. Is this true, and if yes, how do I tap into it?”
Amell doesn’t answer right away but rather studies me for a long moment. He circles me, his long wings tucked away, the tips dragging through the grass, but I don’t turn my back on him.
Bastien moves closer, despite Amell’s earlier warning.
Amell stops and his gaze slides to Bastien, mouth curving in amusement. “You’re very protective of my daughter, aren’t you, warrior?”
“She’s my sovereign,” Bastien growls. “Of course, I’m protective.”
Amell tips his head back and laughs from deep in his belly. “You’re only being dishonest to yourself.” His attention comes back to me. “To answer your question, you are half Dark Fae. You have the ability to wield dark magic.”
“Shadow magic?”
“Shadow magic, if it pleases you to call it that. But it comes from a dark place. Some consider it evil.”
“Evil?” I exclaim, then resoundingly add, “I am not evil.”
Another careless shrug. “That’s relative, isn’t it? I’ve often been told your actions determine your morality, not what’s inside you. However, you have my blood, and I can grant you the gift of my magic if you so desire to use it to regain your kingdom.”
“It’s not in me already?” I ask.
“It is,” he says with a slight smile. “But I need to awaken it, so to speak.”
“You’d do that for me?” I ask with immense suspicion in my tone.
“I would,” he replies.
“And what will it do to me? Will it… change me?”
Amell’s eyes flash with mischief, but I can’t tell if it’s sinister in its intent. “Of course, you’ll change. You’ll become more. What I would give you would kill a mere mortal, but because you have my blood, you can accept it, harness it, and wield it. You can combine it with your own powers, or you can add blood magic to create spells that Ferelith wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d be giving you the weapon you need to defeat her.”