Page 96 of The Filigree Key

Lowering into a crouch, I watched the mass of sluagh circle the same spot like a cloud caught in a slow-moving vortex. Soul-snatchers, they were said to be neither living nor dead. More spirit than creature. Claim one, and I would master the true essence of air.

“It’s not too late to return to the pixies,” Ossian whispered. “You can attempt mastery one at a time. This is a flock that fights like one. You will have to take them all down or none at all.”

His words fell on distracted ears. As I watched the twisting fog, my thoughts returned to Marten. He’d learned to harness his air affinity under the nose of everyone. How many times had he shirked his chores and snuck off to practice? And why?

Out of necessity.

You weren’t elected into the Circle of Nine unless you were powerful in your own right. Whether it was sibling rivalry or his true passion to become a robed elder, he had toiled in secret to master every aspect of his power not just for the coven’s betterment, but for himself. For his own freedom to choose where his life led—out from his talented sister’s shadow.

Then he’d been forced to turn his back on that freedom and take a vow to protect me, to hide me from the Stag Man’s notice by sacrificing the magic he had fought so hard to master. And now he was paying the price for my mistakes, imprisoned in the Unseelie Court.

“I didn’t understand you until now, brother,” I murmured, rising.

The oak tree rippled to life, green roots and red heart and blue veins along its trunk. It called to the final element as I stepped quietly into the clearing, summoning it home.

A moan like the groaning of trees lifted from the sluagh. The white fog spun faster, scraps of mist like grasping hands and screaming mouths reaching for me. Flinging up a glowing hand summoned a shield, and the spectral creatures broke upon it like foaming waves upon a beach.

Then I stamped my foot, a line of green flames zipping along the earth into the heart of the fog. A second later, a tree of green light sprouted from the earth, branches unfurling. No sooner did it bud out than the whole tree ruptured in a shower of flame-like leaves.

The white fog exploded into a flock of shrieking blackbirds—my aim all along.

The same shield that had buffeted the fog now condensed against my skin, turning away their slicing feathers and pecking beaks and shredding nails. I waded into the flock, unharmed, and threw up a flaming barrier along the clearing’s perimeter to prevent any from escaping.

More than dozens tried, burning up before they could pass more than a feather through. The rest shrieked and flapped erratically, searching for escape. In the midst of their chaotic maelstrom, I closed my eyes.

Marten’s voice surfaced, this memory lacking the sneer he’d used months ago. If anything, his voice was earnest. Dad’s got a bit of air magic in him, did you know that? I think that’s what makes him such a good tracker—he can sense scents on the wind better than any of us. Understands the path of air and what kind of route it took to reach him.

The blue veins along the oak tree’s trunk brightened as I called upon the water molecules in the air. They mimicked the path of the sluagh, traced the outline of air currents. I could visualize those until I learned better.

It would have to be an accelerated educational course.

The blackbirds had abandoned their escape to target their tormentor instead.

Their attacks were precise, using their agility and the gusting wind to maneuver. I felt each strike against my shield like Rose was lobbing peas at me from across the dinner table again. Except these peas were sharp. Extending my magical perception, I watched and felt as the blackbirds swarmed, shifted, and navigated the air to destroy my shield.

I felt their singular focus to break free, to reach the open sky above. Traced the path of their flight over and over again until I could anticipate it. Used my nose to sense the shift in scents, the lack of pine sap as the wind pulled away, the assault of carrion as the sluagh swooped near.

There was a sudden break in the attacks, in the scents, only for a second. But I knew that was the wind shifting and when it arced back it would bring with it another barrage.

Unless I redirected it.

A faint white light rippled along the leaves of the magic oak tree as I lifted a hand and spun.

The air didn’t pass through my wide-spread fingers like it had on the widow’s walk. It caught.

I pulled what felt like an invisible length of ribbon through the air. The current arced wide, shuttling the attacking blackbirds away from me.

Startled, they broke off from that gust of wind and joined another, diving for my head.

Inside, the white light spread along the oak tree’s canopy like wildfire as I caught that current even faster and swept the blackbirds harmlessly away. Every leaf shone like a silver star, and laughter bubbled up inside of me despite the peril of the sluagh.

The air was beautiful. It was playful and fierce, soft and teasing yet hard and unyielding. Its path made no sense whatsoever because it had the freedom to do whatever it liked. Be whatever it liked. Those were its only constants, its only guiding stars, and I understood them.

Marten and I had been striving for that our entire lives.

The fire barrier vanished.

The blackbirds squawked, racing for their escape.