“Listen! I woke up to…well, to a lack of sound,” she said. She explained that the absence of noise was what had stirred her, and how she’d followed that sense to the clearing. Their faces had been skeptical at the beginning of her story, but it was decided that the winged men must have been using dampening magic to conceal themselves.

Malik considered this. He frowned. “You shouldn’t be able to sense a dampener. That’s the entire point of its power.”

Ash shook his head. “Thank the goddess she did. What a sick magic. Ag’imni shouldn’t be able to wield additional abilities. It would have to be stolen. Did they have any object? A ward? They’re semi-intelligent, but I’ve never heard of them using tools.…” He shuddered violently. “Goddess damn it. For all we know, they were tracking us for just that purpose.”

This didn’t resonate as true with Amaris. She shook her head, saying, “I’m telling you, they weren’t demons. I think they were just refilling their waterskins. If anything, I feel they were using their damper to avoid detection from people like us.”

Malik smiled. “That’s before they met Ayla. Who knew our oak tree could sense the forest of her namesake.”

She was far from amused. Amaris’s temper was little more than an iron poker that had been left in the flame. It burned so hot, she was ready to let it scald anyone who touched her. Not only were they refusing to hear her, but doubling down on calling her the clumsy-footed nickname was an insult added to injury. Amaris uncrossed her arms and returned her dagger to its sheath. She forced herself into a semblance of calm, combing through the information.

“One of them was called Zaccai. Does that name mean anything to you?”

The men shook their heads.

“Ag’imni can speak, but I don’t know of them having names. I suppose we don’t know enough about them to consider their family structure, but I’m quite certain they’re nameless,” Malik said, face scrunched in a frown.

“I’m telling you what I heard,” Amaris insisted.

The men asked her a few more questions about her encounter, but she offered only clipped, angry responses. They’d brushed her off with such entirety that she couldn’t bring herself to say more. The depth to which they’d offended her with their dismissive refusal to believe continued to burn, an iron unwilling to leave the fire’s coals. Her agitation wasn’t the only peculiar sensation she felt. Something about the interaction with the winged fae had stirred in her, like a kernel stuck in her tooth that she couldn’t get out no matter how much her tongue pushed. Something wasn’t right.