Page 17 of A Song of Air
She swore she could hear Everett calling for her somewhere in the forest. He would have her head for not waiting, but by the time he caught up, it could be too late. She heard the voices off in the distance. Her mind waded through them, picking apart tone and voice. She didn’t recognize anyone speaking, but what she could recognize was the gruff, angry resonance vibrating through the air.
From the air, her familiar shrieked. The noise pierced Bryson down to her soul. Her heart jumped up to her throat, and she opened a channel that linked them together, only to hear her familiar scream directly through her mind.
She tilted her head upwards.What’s going on?!she demanded, her breath caught in her throat.
Arrows!her familiar cried, and Bryson heard the soft note of panic echo through her mind.
I’m coming!
Bryson began to move, jumping from one branch to another, hopping from tree to tree. The wind propelled her forward. She was weightless, breathless, as she flew through the skies, her magic carrying her like the wings of a bird.
When she caught sight of moving figures, her feet and magic slowed considerably. She tried to catch her breath, even while her heart was beating unsteadily against her ribcage. She prayed no one could hear it, so she took a second to compose herself. To hold the breaths within her chest and force calm over her body before she continued on from the branches.
She needed to be careful, catch them off guard, because if they heard her, it would be the end. For her and her familiar.
The wind hid the creaking of her steps against the wood. A soft gust hid the sound of her drawing out her bow and notching an arrow. The shriek of her familiar overhead hid the sound of the drawstring being pulled back. The sounds of their own loud voices hid the small inhale she took in preparation to kill.
Several bodies took up space on the forest floor below. They were rough edges of shadow and color. Nothing but voices that moved around, one with heavier steps than another, one shifting on feet that seemed to be two different sizes. There were several. Ten men by her count. She could smell the stench of their sweat and the ale souring on their breaths.
She even heard the tightening of a drawstring that didn’t belong to her. The thwack as an arrow was shot. Bryson tried not to flinch when her familiar shrieked once again.
Bastards, she thought, knowing that it was definitely the Kurreen. No one else would hunt for hawks around here. Not for fun or for food.
Bryson’s teeth gritted as laughter echoed through the forest below.
“I almost got it that time.” The voice was gravely, like the one speaking had swallowed a handful of pebbles. His lungs rattled, and she knew immediately that he smoked. Smokers’ lungs always rumbled with disease.
She would kill him first.
Painfully.
Slowly.
Hide,Bryson urged her familiar. She knew the hawk would take offense to that. She was a prideful bird and preferred to fly wings-first into battle every single time. Hiding was for cowards, but also necessary if she wanted to live.
She didn’t reply, but Bryson sensed her annoyance tickling the edges of her mind.
“Leave the beast alone,” someone else snapped. That second voice was nasally. He wasn’t the tallest of the bunch, either. At least, not that she could tell from the distance. “Looks like Rupp brought us something far more exciting.”
Twigs and leaves crackled, making a mess of the ground. Bryson held her breath as another human approached from the shadows and...
The scent of a fizzling drink—cider—perfumed through the air in a strong cloud. It was too strong of a scent to belong to a human. It was a pleasant odor, one she didn’t recognize, even as she combed through her mental list of scents of the Fae back at the encampment.
Alongside fizzling cider, the citrusy aroma of oranges permeated through her nostrils. It was a more subtle hint, and yet she caught it right before she saw the figures the smells belonged to. Two of them, trapped beneath an iron and ashwood-laced net.
“What have you got there?” the gravelly voice asked.
“Found them by the stream.” There was the tug of the net and it dug into their skin. A hiss of burning flesh. The frightened whimper of a child.
Her breath caught and the urge to loosen the arrow rose. That was a child down there. They’d kidnapped achild.
She tried to control her rage, shoving it deep down so she could first gauge their positions accurately, determine threat levels, and decide who she would kill first.
Smoker first, for daring to shoot at her familiar. Then the man who’d bound a child in poison.
She quieted her mind and listened and watched.
“A Fae and his half-breed.” There were chortles and snickers. They shifted, closing in a circle around said Fae and child. The child whimpered out of fear, and her heart broke at the sound.
