The Clash of Yesterday (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 0.5)

Of course, the drugs had started hitting me again, and all thoughts of flying were forgotten. I believe that’s when Ronan flipped me on my stomach and rode me from behind, and, once again, we shared simultaneous orgasms. Somehow… we’d become attuned to the timing of our releases.

Weird.

At any rate, no time for sexy thoughts today. I have competitions to prepare for.

I stroll through row upon row of tents filled with Light Fae who traveled from other realms, from the Earth realm, and even from far across Faere to compete. Even the lower class are invited, although their armor and weapons are of such poor design and quality they never really stand a chance.

Luckily, none of these games and battles are to the death. All weapons are free of iron to avoid a killing blow made by mistake.

Today, skill games are on the bracket, and I’ve entered the archery, ax-throwing, and spear-throwing competitions. There will be team games later involving cunning to capture the other team’s flag, and those are fun because weapons and magic can be used. But I want to save my strength for tomorrow—the festival’s finale—where it ends with a last-man-standing gladiator free-for-all. I’d won in the past a handful of times.

So had Ronan, and I assume he’ll enter as well.

The atmosphere is inspiring. There are street vendors, musicians, children’s games, and pop-up pubs to hang out in. Everyone is happy, laughing, and catching up with old friends as well as meeting new. The queen doesn’t come down to mingle in the crowds, but she’ll give a speech tonight where she’ll go on and on about our history and the greatness of Faere while leveling censure against those who choose not to live here.

But she’ll also announce the grand prize for the battle game’s finale, which is always worth getting bloodied for.

A delicious smell hits my nose, and I veer off down a path between tents to an open area of food stalls set up in a circle with tables on the interior. I move to one displaying some sort of meat on a stick. While it smells amazing, I am not about to eat one of Nimeyah’s weird creations meant to resemble earth animals but instead are garishly different.

For example, chickens have neon-colored feathers and two-foot plumes on their heads, while cows have rainbow-colored fur that reaches the ground.

I see a small pen of neon chickens behind the stall and immediately angle away. Two carts down, though, a man sells distinctly normal-looking fresh fruit, and I buy a couple of apples from him.

As I turn to leave the stall, I run into what feels like a brick wall. As I bounce back, it takes me a moment to realize I’ve run into Ronan of the Bluffs.

In brown suede pants with matching boots, a forest-green tunic belted at the waist, and an empty sword holster, he looks good. There is no general need to carry weapons at the Festival of Creation because of the strict truces Nimeyah insists on, which the penalty for violating could be death.

Still doesn’t stop me from wearing a dagger strapped to my thigh under my simple cotton dress, which came straight from Nordstrom. While I’ll stick to the dress traditions in Brevala, I still stay true to my current self when I visit. No one bats an eye, though, because the normal fashions of Faere are so unique and over the top in their designs.

Ronan stares down at me with those vivid green eyes, and I get a flash of just how much I locked my own with his while we were having sex. There was no hate in them then.

Just as I don’t see any now.

“Eliana,” he says in a deep voice, and there’s even a small smile playing at his lips.

“Ronan,” I reply, feeling suddenly nervous and… a little hot under the collar.

I get warmer when Ronan, the Bluff Dweller, has the gall to run his eyes slowly down my body and back up again. The dress isn’t overtly sexy, but it’s off the shoulders, cinched at the waist, and swirls around my knees.

“I assume you’ve entered all the games?” he inquires casually.

To any Meadowlander or Bluff Dweller walking by, our interaction would be so highly unusual that rumors of something illicit happening would spread like wildfire. Yet, I don’t seem to have an ounce of self-preservation since I can’t make myself end the conversation and walk away.

Truly… I just don’t give a shit.

“Not all,” I admit, rattling off the skills games I’d entered. “I’m not bothering with the team events.”

“Saving up your strength for the arena,” he surmises.

“To thoroughly defeat you,” I reply with a cocky grin.

Ronan chuckles, and I hate that I think it’s a beautiful sound. His eyes turn a brighter shade of green as he leans into me. Voice dropping an octave so no one but me can hear him, he murmurs, “Care to wager a bet?”