Page 11 of A Song of Air (Fae Elementals #4)

T he sun was shining on the other side of the portal, and it remained that way for days. Curiosity had Corvina’s head whipping from side to side throughout the journey. Their small party had landed in the kingdom of Ielwyn. They traveled by horse and carriage at a slow pace, though they spent most of the day walking and nights camping.

Nights were hardest for Corvina. She feared that every crack of a twig or breaking of a branch were humans coming to get them. To kill them. She hugged Basil close and tried not to flinch at the sounds. It was only Clay’s presence that brought even a smidge of comfort to her aching soul.

She wasn’t used to this. The walking. Despite having spent hours in the healing baths of Dana before they left, she knew she was at a disadvantage compared to the other Elementals. It wasn’t only that her magic was a touch weaker due to spending most of her life in chains, but also that the abuse she’d suffered had left her hands disfigured, which made holding a sword difficult.

It could be done, of course. She’d done it before in her final confrontation with Tobias. She’d wielded it like she knew how to use it. Clay had tried previously to teach her. She recalled the feel of his body pressed tightly against her backside, the way his warmth and fizzling cider scent enveloped her senses. How his hands felt pressed against hers. A sensual dream, one she didn’t want to wake up from.

That had been in the privacy of the darkness, though.

And even if Corvina had confronted her problems and they’d come out victorious, it was still a difficult task for her to volunteer during the afternoons in which they trained.

Shula and Iona moved together, fighting with swords and magic. There was an artistry in watching the way they moved. Shula moved like she was dancing, being chased by flames. Her whole body moved like fire, and her eyes glowed like vicious embers that would burn down kingdoms.

Iona moved like a force. Corvina had never seen a snowstorm in her life, but she imagined they were brutal. Cold. Calculated. Iona was fierce. And she showed no mercy. Even during training.

Corvina took a breath one evening, watching them work in tandem. She glared down at her crooked fingers. They didn’t necessarily need to be straight for her to be able to use her magic, but she needed them to hold a weapon. She wondered if there were any she could accommodate to her grip.

It wasn’t as though she wanted to fight, exactly. But it was what she’d agreed to the moment she’d decided to join the Resistance. To help them. To fight for a better world for herself and for her son. And to do that, she needed to know how to wield weapons in those moments her magic might fail.

“My lady...”

She startled, jumping slightly in her seat as Weylyn appeared next to her seemingly from nothing. He was silent, though she should have scented him from smell alone. It was sharp, a mixture of something spicy and sweet and penetrating.

He was regarding her with those glittering, golden eyes of his. His ringed fingers toyed with the ends of his long, black braid almost absently.

“Yes, Weylyn?”

His eyes sparked at her use of his name. Before she could question it, he held his hand out, palm upwards. “Would you care to train with me?”

It felt as though the camp had suddenly gone still to listen in on them. She wondered if this was surprising behavior for him and concluded that it was. In all the days she’d watched everyone train—the prince, the Elementals, and even her own companions Gale, Wren, Juniper, and Dawn—she’d never once seen Weylyn pick up a sword to fight.

He was always watching from the sidelines. A silent spectator who studied everyone’s movements from afar. She wondered if he was calculating, memorizing the manner in which everyone fought so that he knew when the time came—and she wondered if it would—how to defeat them all.

And if he was offering to train with her, what did that mean? Was there an ulterior motive? No, she didn’t think there was. Corvina didn’t trust easily, but she didn’t know why she trusted Weylyn of all people. Maybe because he was an outcast. She saw how the others whispered about him when he strode by, and it reminded her of when she’d been in court. The way the ladies snickered behind their fans and pointed at her like she was a spectacle to be ridiculed.

It drew her to him like a moth to the flame of a candle.

Slowly, she set her crooked fingers into his hand. “Yes.”

Something zapped between the two and she inhaled. It wasn’t the same sensation as when she touched Clay. It was brief, a soft demand. Like a push from Mana itself.

A soft smile touched Weylyn’s mouth and they stood. As he led her towards the clearing, she threw a glance towards where Clay was. Sweat clung to his body from his own training session with Julius. His green eyes flashed a brief second on the spot where her and Weylyn’s hands were joined. A moment later, he sent her a soft smile.

She hadn’t realized the tension in her own shoulders had eased. After years of dealing with Tobias’ jealousy and having to be careful with every move she made, it was comforting to see how Clay was different. If anything, he’d looked... confused instead of angry.

That brought her comfort.

Weylyn stopped in the middle of the clearing, dropping her hand. He went to grab a weapon. She thought he’d reach for one of the swords lined up near the cart. Instead, he reached for something smaller. When he approached her again, it was to press the hilt of a knife into her palm.

She stared at it then back up at him.

“Everyone else is training with swords,” she whispered, feeling heat climb to her cheeks. A second of humiliation tried to overtake her. Curse her gnarled fingers. She couldn’t even train like the others. It made her feel like a hindrance rather than a help.

Weylyn nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Her brows pulled together. “Why a knife?”

“You know why.”

Because she couldn’t carry a sword.

She wanted to look away. The burning behind her eyelids was almost too much.

“A weapon is a weapon,” Weylyn said simply. “It doesn’t matter how big it is.” He said the words like he believed them with his whole heart. “You could easily best me with a knife or a sword. This is for your own comfort and advantage.”

When he put it like that, she wanted to believe him. So she nodded.

“A small weapon can be easily hidden,” he said. “Sheathed beneath your skirts.”

Her face flushed.

“An opponent will take one look and underestimate you,” he continued. His voice was low, and she found herself straining to hear him. The others did as well, she noticed from her peripheral. “Surprise them in hand-to-hand combat, my lady. Now, attack me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Attack me.”

She didn’t know how she was supposed to do that. Taking a breath, she swung her arm in his direction. With a sigh, he lifted his forearm, effectively blocking her pathetic blow.

“Hit me with feeling, my lady.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

His eyes sparked. “Pretend I’m him,” he ordered, his voice lowering. It sent shivers along her arms. “Pretend I’m your bastard of a husband, come back from the dead. Pretend I’m him and you want to return every blow he ever gave you—”

Corvina swung with a cry. Her fear overpowered her for a second. She imagined Tobias really was alive and he was in front of her. For a second, she no longer saw Weylyn, but the man who had tortured and kept her captive for years.

All the rage she ever felt, the rage she thought she’d buried the past few days, came surging back up in a rush, like a tsunami crashing against a shore.

She attacked, a growl ripping from her throat that she barely recognized. She swung blindly and Weylyn dodged, all the while giving instructions. And somehow, through her haze of anger, she followed every single one.

She moved like she never thought she could move before. It was painful. It had her joints screaming, her scars throbbing, and her fingers crying. And yet she gave it her all. Weylyn parried back. He didn’t hit hard enough to hurt. She thought he was being cautious on purpose. Then he tackled her, and she went crashing to the ground. Her head bounded on the grass and the wind was knocked out of her.

From above, Weylyn was barely breathing heavily, as though this hadn’t been a workout at all.

“Now,” he said. “When you find yourself in this position, you take the knife from beneath your skirts, and you stab the bastard in the gut.”

The blade in her fingers repositioned, touching him on the side. “Like that?” she asked with wide eyes.

He smiled. “Exactly like that, my lady.”

Clay watched the scene unfold with narrowed eyes. Never before had he seen Weylyn train. He didn’t seem to be putting much effort into it with his movements and yet he looked completely fierce. His golden eyes flashed a violent color, and when he tackled Corvina, Clay’s hands tightened into fists. He flinched, barely resisting the urge to rush for his mate, to gnash his canines, to pummel all his violent instincts into the Fae’s face.

This was a strange moment and he wanted to watch it unfold.

“Are you going to intervene?” Julius asked from his side.

Clay slowly shook his head. He knew he should have been worried because of who Weylyn was and what he did. He liked to mess with their minds, slip into their most private thoughts, and annex their darkest secrets, only to whisper the words aloud and frighten them.

Clay should have worried he would do the same to Corvina. Yet as he watched, there was no menace coming from the other male. There was no mischief shining in his eyes. There was nothing that indicated that he wanted her to hurt. There was nothing but a sign of protectiveness.

And it was only because of that that Clay didn’t intervene.

At first, seeing the way their hands clasped together made a flash of jealousy burn in his gut. It quickly dissipated and turned into confusion before he smiled at his mate. Though he’d only known her for a short while, he knew what type of person she was. Their bond was strong. She wouldn’t look at another male even when or if other males looked at her. His jealousy was his own problem, and he wouldn’t burden her with it. He wouldn’t be like her dead husband.

So he would not interfere. It was her right, after all, to learn what the rest of them were learning. It was her right to learn to defend herself. It was her right to train and learn to survive in any way she knew how. And if protecting her meant he had to watch another male drop on top of her to train her fighting instincts, then so be it.

Clay would watch.

Besides, even if Weylyn had nefarious intentions with everyone else, he didn’t feel like he had them with Corvina. She was different. He treated her differently. Clay wondered if it was because they were from the same court. Because she was his lady and he revered her for it. Whatever it was, he knew deep in his gut and instinct given to him from Mana that Weylyn wouldn’t do anything to hurt Corvina.

That he knew for certain.