Page 59 of A Song of Air
He was keeping her busy.
Him or Everett or both, she wasn’t sure. One thing was certain, they were doing everything in their power to keep her away from the Resistance. He’d spent the next few days giving her task after task. From night watches, to patrolling the perimeter, to insignificant things that consumed most of her days.
She had no time to breathe, let alone speak to Malika or catch a glimpse of the Resistance. Spending so much time helping the community did nothing to quiet the tumultuous thoughts that plagued her. Her chest throbbed whenever she caught a whiff of Malika in passing, along with the scent of her sister. Malika never seemed to notice Bryson anymore. It made Bryson feel forgotten and small.
She knew Arlo was punishing her for bringing them to camp and lying. And Everett was probably backing him because he wanted to keep her away from Weylyn.
Maybe she did deserve a punishment for it, for potentially putting the camp in danger by inviting strangers in, but Arlo was letting his prejudice get the better of him. She was sure he didn’t know what to do with the Resistance. He couldn’t kill them because of Bryson’s proclaimed life debt, and he didn’t want to look hypocritical in front of his people.
He had barely spoken to Bryson since he’d berated her and had made Ev give her the tasks instead. Ev always did so with an angry gleam in his eye.
Things at the camp were shifting. Even the people inside. Her own people had grown hesitant, Malika had grown louder, Arlo had retreated beneath a dark and dangerous cloud, and Ev had become more demanding of her, and it felt like she couldn’t breathe.
When she finally got a surprising moment of free time, she felt herself wander towards camp. Her people were in the midst of sparring while the Resistance looked on. She felt the tension through the air, a charge of competition. Their camp always trained hard, but she could hear in the heavy clang of their swords the way they trained even harder, longer, faster.
She winced when Ev’s sword cracked against Oliver’s in a reverberating clang of thunder. It sent Oliver flying; Bryson heard the expel of breath right after his back slammed against the ground.
Ev laughed, and Bryson gritted her teeth against the teasingly cruel quality of the sound. It was followed by him walking over to Oliver and hauling him up from the ground. His clap on the back could be heard from far away, as could the laughter.
Bryson knew why he was acting this way. Because Weylyn was watching. They all were. She wanted to sigh. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she told Ev that he had nothing to worry about when it came to her supposed mate, he wasn’t going to believe it, and he was going to keep at it as if he had something to prove. To Weylyn. To the Resistance. To Bryson.
Bryson didn’t like that attitude. Instead of taking her word for it, of trusting in her loyalty, he became cruel and possessive. It wasn’t that she didn’t sometimes admire those qualities in a person, but they seemed very out of place for Everett, and it made Bryson very uncomfortable.
She tried to put herself in a place of understanding. He was competing with a mating bond gifted from Mana. He knew what that implied and the importance of it, so maybe he felt the need to challenge everything to demonstrate his own power to Weylyn.
An unnecessary pissing contest, if she did say so herself.
“An exceptional display,” Clay called out from the side of the Resistance. It made everyone quiet. “You all have yourselves a fine set of skills in your camp.” The glide of a blade sounded, the swish as it was twirled through the air, though he was nothing but a blur to Bryson. “Would anyone care to train withus?”
Bryson sucked in a breath and held it. The others would defer to Ev; they always did. And she knew without a doubt what his answer would be.
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth and a false air of confidence.
He would hate to appear weak in front of his competition.
She watched as he lifted his sword, and she didn’t have to look to know where he was pointing it. “But I want to fight him first.”
Though she couldn’t see Clay’s expression clearly, she could just make out the nervous confusion right before he turned towards where Weylyn sat perched against the stump of a tree. Leaning forward, watching, his black braid swaying.
Bryson had tried very hard not to look in his direction when she walked into the camp, but she couldn’t deny that she was aware of his exact position, of his gaze sliding heatedly down her backside. She could feel the unspoken words between them, like they were a whispered caress in her mind that she had to fight away at every turn.
She didn’t look at him then either. She couldn’t take her eyes off Ev. Her eyes begged Ev to look at her so she could ask him what in the actual fuck he thought he was doing. Bryson was very aware of the skills her boyfriend possessed. He knew how to fight. He was an excellent strategist. But he was going up against not just any Fae but a Fae that had already threatened his death.
Not that Ev knew about that last part, and Bryson had no plans on telling him that. It would just spark more animosity than there already was, and it wasn’t worth it.
Her hands began sweating and she rubbed them against her knees to push away the anxiety.
She watched as Weylyn’s figure extended slowly. She couldn’t see his expression, but she could feel his eyes on Everett. Every movement he made was unhurried and felt almost calculated. Purposeful. She didn’t know the Fae at all, but even she could note the predatory, murderous intent in the set of his body.
Bryson’s breaths grew labored. Her legs locked tightly against the ground, avoiding the urge to run and stand beside Ev, as if that could ward off the Fae’s approach. She couldn’t do that now. If she did, it would not only offend Ev but also make him look weak in front of everyone. She knew that, of course she did, and yet she wanted to do it anyway.
Weylyn prowled towards Ev, though when he passed Clay, the Fae put a hand on Weylyn’s shoulder, stopping his trajectory. “Wait,” Clay said. He sounded uncertain. “You can’t—”
Weylyn shook Clay off and leveled him with a stare that Bryson couldn’t quite make out. “The human wants to fight,” he purred. “Let us fight.”
Clay shuffled from one foot to another. She wondered if he could also read the potential danger and disaster that could come from this. Instead, he sighed and reluctantly lifted his sword in Weylyn’s direction.
Weylyn shook his head. “I do not need a sword.”
