The Blood Curse by Emily Gee

raised arm. Knuckles bounced off his cheek, a glancing blow.
    Harkeld shoved to his feet, a roar in his throat, and grabbed Petrus in a bear hug, grappling with the mage, forcing him back. He’d wrestled hundreds of times, thousands of times, but never with such rage before, his muscles bunched with fury, his teeth bared. If he could get Petrus on the ground he was going to rip his head off—
    Petrus shifted his weight, twisted, hooked a foot around Harkeld’s ankle.
    They fell together, rolling in the mud, wrestling for dominance, grunting, snarling. Harkeld heaved himself on top. He laid a forearm across Petrus’s throat and pressed with his full weight, forcing the shapeshifter’s head back, choking him.
    Petrus’s knee took him in the groin, hard enough to make him yelp. Harkeld jerked back. They rolled again in the mud. This time, when they stopped, he was on the bottom. Fingers fisted in his hair, yanked his head back. Rain stung his eyes. The stink of mud and horseshit filled his mouth and nose.
    “You’re not better than us. You’re one of us .” The words were punctuated by a knee in his belly that made the breath whoosh from his lungs. “Innis saved your rutting life .” The knee dug painfully into his belly again. “You should be thanking her, not treating her as if she’s—”
    Harkeld bucked his hips and twisted, dislodging Petrus. They rolled again, grappling awkwardly. Harkeld tried to catch his breath, tried to gain dominance.
    They thudded hard against the stable wall. Lantern-light fell across them. Petrus’s face was inches from his. The mage looked almost beast-like in his rage, lips pulled back from his teeth. “You might be a prince, but you are worthless .” The words hissed into his face. “We should have killed you that first night in Osgaard. Taken your hands and blood and left the rest of you to rot .” Petrus head-butted him, cracking their foreheads together.
    For an instant, Harkeld saw only darkness—then the stableyard snapped back into focus: lantern-light, rain, fetid mud. He shoved away from the stable wall, trying to force Petrus onto his back. Petrus shoved back. Teeth snapped together half an inch from Harkeld’s ear.
    Harkeld kneed Petrus in the genitals.
    The mage gave a strangled cry and released him.
    Harkeld rolled away. He scrambled to hands and knees, panting. Petrus’s savage, unrestrained fury was startling. He’s as angry as I am. He wouldn’t mind killing me.
    And yet Petrus had saved his life more than once.
    He looked at Petrus, doubled over in the mud. Even as he watched, the mage straightened. Dimly, Harkeld saw the gleam of bared teeth.
    Harkeld hurriedly stood. He raised his fists, dodging Petrus’s first blow and taking the second in the mouth. He lurched back several steps, tasting blood.
    “Arrogant whoreson, looking down your nose at us.” Petrus swung again.
    Harkeld sidestepped and punched, connecting solidly with the mage’s cheekbone.
    Petrus retreated a few steps, shaking his head, panting. “We risk our lives for you, and you treat us like we’re less than human.”
    Harkeld spat blood. “I was right, wasn’t I?” His voice was as fierce as Petrus’s. “You are less than human. Stinking, lying witches .”
    Petrus snarled and charged.
    Harkeld hit him hard. The mage’s nose broke beneath his fist in a spray of blood. Petrus lurched back, lost his balance, fell.
    Harkeld bent, grabbed a handful of wet, muddy hair, and hauled the mage’s head up until it was inches from his own. “You lied to me .”
    “We were trying to save your life.” Petrus jerked his head, spraying blood, trying to break free.
    Harkeld tightened his grip on the shapeshifter’s hair. “You rutting lied— ”
    Petrus kicked him solidly in the chest.
    Harkeld heard the crack of ribs breaking. He released Petrus and sat down hard in the mud. A sound between a scream and a groan choked in his throat.
    Petrus rolled over and struggled to one elbow,