Page 37 of A Song of Air
“What have you got there?” a gravelly voice asked.
“Found them by the stream,” their captor said.
Another man closed in, bending so he was looking directly at Clay. His drooping eyes widened as much as they possibly could. “A Fae and his half-breed.”
Clay’s anger spiked, but he kept his voice calm. “Now, gentleman... let’s be civil.”
This only caused their raucous laughter. “You hear that?” the one in front of him cried. “A civil Fae! That’s like saying an animal has manners and thoughts!”
He didn’t like the direction this was going. He wondered if they’d be stupid enough to remove the net from their bodies. If they weren’t, then he’d have no other choice but to end them, using as much magic as he could possibly muster. It would hurt, but he could do it.
Was it wrong of him to want to give them all a chance, though?
“Look, you guys really don’t want to do this.”
They ignored him, laughing at Basil’s whimpers. “How much do you reckon they’ll take them for?”
Clay’s entire body tensed, and he tamped down the growl that rose in his throat.
These men were slavers.Kurreen.
He thought they’d blown up along with the whole fucking West Isles when Shula and Iona unleashed their magic upon them.
The man bending down was leering at Clay. “For a Fae, he’s got a pretty face. They’ll want him for the brothels in Vellm. As for the brat, he’ll fetch a pretty penny for a slave...”
Oh, fuck no.
Clay was about to unleash the force of whatever magic he still garnered inside despite the net, but there was a whistling in the air. The sound of something striking flesh.
“What the f—”
Chaos ensued. Clay twisted as much as he could, covering his body over Basil’s to protect him. Arrows flew from the trees, and he watched with wide eyes as a body dropped from above. A gust of wind blew through the field, knocking the human men on their asses.
Clay’s breath caught.
Is that...?
He didn’t finish his thought before the wind picked up. The scent of magic cackled through the air. Somewhere, a hawk screeched. Magic was potent, and the wind swirled and swirled, lifting a gust of dirt around him and Basil.
Bodies grunted and fought, and death became imminent.
He heard knees hit the ground. A voice crying, begging, “Please! Mercy!”
But there was no reply before the man choked on his own blood.
And then there was silence.
The wind died down immediately, the dust clearing. Clay blinked dirt from his lashes, staring at a set of boots that stomped over to where he and Basil lay. He tensed, keeping his waning magic at the ready.
“Are you two alright?”
He looked up, finally placing a face to the whispered voice, and what he saw had him jolting.
A Fae woman stood before him. She leaned back on her heels, wielding a bow and arrow. The woman’s bright orange hair flittered with the wind, the curls pushing away from her scarred, freckled face and brown eyes, discolored with white as if she were scarred there as well. It made for an eerie stare. It was almost deliberate, the way the wind moved. Like it wasn’t exactly a force of nature, but emanating fromher.
The scent of mist and rain, of a crisp, warm summer breeze encompassed her, permeating, relaxing. Like a touch of coolness against fevered skin on a hot day.
“We’re fine,” he answered, staring at her curiously. “Wait. You’re—”
