Page 37 of The Oracle's Journey

I sniffed, detecting the earthy tones that seemed to denote Lhoris and Lobikno’s magic. But there was something else. Something I couldn’t place. It reminded me of tree bark and fresh spring leaves. “Yes, but it’s not just yours. Did something happen?”

“Yes. It’s mine and yours,” he whispered, as if in awe. “Our magic entwined for a moment.”

Before I could question Lhoris, Lobikno started shouting about us, our unburdened horses having caught up to the rest. “We can just let those cabbage heads walk if they want to keep us out in the rain even longer!”

“We’ll talk some more about it tonight,” Lhoris said, his sunny smile shining down at me. I squeaked with surprise when he swept me off my feet and ran to catch up with the others.

Lhoris

The rain persisted into the evening. Although it was light rain, we were weary of the damp. Around dusk, we came upon a farm with a large barn between the house and fields of barley. The farmer hadn’t harvested yet, which was surprising since the autumnal equinox was fast approaching, but it meant there might be space in the barn for a handful of weary travelers and their horses to rest for the night. I suggested Oz and Judith would have better luck asking to stay while me and Lobikno hid in the shadows by the cart.

“Don’t lie about how many of us there are, we just don’t need to frighten them,” I reassured Oz.

That, and the pair of us were too easy to identify. Not many dark elves traveled so far west, so we would inevitably stand out. The fewer people that saw us, the better. It had been unavoidable in Dulhal, but we could mitigate that on the road.

When Oz returned, she said that the farmer and his wife had gladly offered the barn and asked for nothing in return.

The barn was a multipurpose space, full of tools and farming equipment. Farm horses shifted restlessly in their stalls for the night, and our foreign presence disrupted their nighttime routine, causing them to snort and shuffle in their stalls, annoyed. Lobikno soothed them with gentle words in elvish, and they eventually settled down, sniffing at the unfamiliar horses while we cared for them.

Laying our blankets and bedrolls on the fresh straw in the loft, we put on whatever dry mismatched clothes we had while our travel clothes dried in the rafters. Then we relaxed a little before going to sleep. Except Oz, who pounced on me, no doubt armed with questions.

“I don’t have any magic,” she insisted, cutting straight to the point, as she always did. She stood over where I lay on my blanket. I thought it was a good angle to admire her long, gorgeous legs under the tunic she’d borrowed from me. It fell just above her knees, and I loved it.

“But you do, my love,” I said sitting up. My love … it was so new and exciting that I couldn’t help the surge of joy it brought or the idiotic grin that spread across my face. From the corner of my eye, I could see Emma and Eve watching us. Silly maidens. “Maybe we should have this talk somewhere a little more private,” I suggested.

We moved back to the barn door and cracked it open. I wanted to watch lightning in the distance and enjoy the breeze. There were a few rickety chairs nearby, as though the farmer had a pair of friends he might sit and chat within the shade of the barn. We sat and I took her hands in my own.

“You have magic; it’s just not a lot,” I said. “I saw you use it twice before this morning. This was possibly the strongest I’ve felt, though.”

“No,” she frowned in disbelief. “What?”

“When you launched the door at me,” I said, allowing a wry grin, “and again when you were cutting down my treacherous crew.” My eyes flicked over the scars on her left arm, where Rhyfon’s sword had sliced as she parried. They were just pink lines on her skin now. I’d have to insist that she wear bracers in the future. “You’re very fast, love. I think you’ve been using a touch of magic to do it.”

“How?” she asked.

I didn’t have an easy answer to that question. “You’ve heard me talk about innate, natural magic. You just do.”

“How can you tell when you do? Or is it just because what I did isn’t obvious like your fairy light?”

That gave me an idea. “Let’s put the plait together so I can show you.”

“Oh,” she said, eyebrows raised, “That’s brilliant.”

It was a clumsy thing, that connection. Oz held the pieces together, and I thought about how it felt to summon the fairy light.

She frowned. “I only see it.”

“Okay,” I said, furrowing my brows, “maybe I should just summon it up.” My miniscule cup of magic was as full as it could be. I closed my eyes and snapped my fingers, feeling the gentle pulsing tug of the most basic, instinctual magic I knew was innate in all elves, and the light sprung into existence.

“Oh!” Oz cried, “Lhoris, your hand!”

I opened my eyes, and my entire hand was alight. I jerked in surprise and watched it. The light didn’t burn like it would have if I had summoned fire, so I allowed it to flicker for a few heartbeats before letting it go.

Oz’s eyes were wide with concern. “Are you alright?”

“That’s new. And interesting.” I would need to consider that later, though. “But did you get the feeling?”

“Yes,” she said, still holding the plait together. “You don’t know why it did that, though.”

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