Page 139 of A Song of Air
Weylyn let nothing of his true thoughts show on his face. He merely regarded his brothers coolly, one after another.
They all shared the most beautiful aspects of their mother and the most terrible ones as well. Each brother was a distorted, reflective pool of another. The same, yet different. And Weylyn? He differed from all of them. As half-High Fae, he had not inherited horns or other Unseelie features. He’d inherited nothing but his mother’s coloring. He doubted he’d inherited anything from his father either. In truth, he had never even met the Fae.
His mother had drove him to madness and murdered him before Weylyn could even speak.
“Owyn,” Cass snapped with impatience. “The Hunt will begin soon.”
They had roused Weylyn before the sun even rose, forcing him to leave his resting mate. He had hated to leave Bryson when she had ingested that addictive, golden drug that he was too familiar with. He had hated to leave her alone in Unseelie at all, but he had to force himself not to show his worry.
Worry was a weakness.
Having a mate was a weakness.
Yet he was feral for her. It did not matter to him. He would behead everyone here if it meant protecting what was his.
“Your anger grows boring,” Weylyn mused. He dug his own spear deep into the iron-ridden dirt and leaned against the handle, smiling over at Owyn, flashing his teeth in a way he knew would drive his brother mad. He then turned to the twins. “And your insults are old. If you wish to harm me, you will have to try just a little harder.”
Owyn emitted a low growl that did not faze Weylyn at all. He dismissed him, turning towards Cassimir.
“Lead the way, older brother,” Weylyn purred. “The light will soon rise, and my spear has a taste for blood.”
Cass’ eyes flashed, but he did not say any more. He turned towards his beast and slapped its rump. The beast spread its wings and took off in flight, pushing gusts of wind against them.
“Spread out,” Cass ordered. “You remember the rules, little brother?”
Weylyn smiled. He could not forget if he tried. Unseelie was ingrained down into his very pores. It lived in his bones; the wildness sang through his blood and pumped through to his heart. He would die before he forgot his origins.
And no one here would ever let him forget.
That seemed to be answer enough because Cassimir smiled back, the gesture equally malicious. “The first to find the golden stag and bring it wins.”
“Mana be in your favor,” Weylyn said.
Just as the light began to peek over the trees, they all ran.
Weylyn’s feet banged against the earth like a drum. His heart pounded like a symphony. The hoots and laughter of his brothers was a wild song he would never admit he missed. This was life. This was freedom. For a second, he let himself forget everything. His past, the betrayals, his own sadness he’d fallen into after everything. The only release he could find had been glittering powder in his nose and then the sweet taste of revenge at the tips of his fingers.
For a moment, he was lost in the haze of The Hunt. He did not track or scout, simply let himself be. He peeled away from the others, putting enough distance between them so he could no longer hear them, and they could no longer hear him.
Killing the golden stag was a tradition that went back generations in Unseelie. Every year when the Hunt approached, those who participated would scout, track, and hunt the creature. Killing it brought magic down upon the land along with good luck and prosperity.
It was a matter of pride to find it before anyone else, and it had grown into a brutal competition between them.
One Weylyn had left behind, but now... Now he was back and his heart beat in time to his pounding feet.
The golden stag was one of the hardest creatures to catch because it did not often show its face. It did not dwell in a single spot. It was nearly a phantom. A ghost. Almost untraceable. Which meant that finding it was the ultimate achievement.
Weylyn slowed to a slight jog. As the sun rose, the pixies that danced through the air diminished their light, becoming mere glowing specks that he swatted away when they came too close. His head swiveled around the clearing he found himself in. A light, open space that glowed with magic. It seeped into the very pores of the ground and leaked from the bark of the trees, sprinkled down from the leaves, and drifted with the wind.
Golden specks that flickered in and out of being.
Flowers grew beneath the impression of hoof marks on the ground. Trails of gold shone brighter beneath the thin beams of light that pierced past the canopy.
Weylyn stepped deeper into the clearing, tightening his grip around his spear as he bent to observe the track marks. Bright silver and gold flowers grew where the stag had stepped. He ran his fingers across the petals and his skin came away stained silver.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he let out a sigh.
“So, you’ve come to kill me.”
