Page 150 of The Black Witch

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We reach the Elfin gallery after a long and winding walk, Jarod swinging a lamp in front of us.

I’m surprised to see how different the Elfin architecture is from what I’m used to, the gallery nestled just inside the wilds. The buildings are bone white and all curves, like great seashells, and are topped by wavy, spiraling turrets that remind me of candle flames. They stretch toward the pinnacles of the tall pine trees and are joined to each other by cobbled walkways made of thousands of flat, silvery stones.

Wynter leads us into the largest of the buildings, down a twisting route through multiple doors with strange, curving symbols carved into them.

A large exhibit hall opens up before us, the floor’s inlaid tiles of polished gray and blue stone set in flowing lines that make me feel as if I’m walking on water. The cathedral-like walls are curved and sloping and lit by the green-tinged light of Elfin lumenstone.

There are statues and paintings of Elfin kings and queens on horseback, landscapes depicting strange ivory dwellings built on steep mountainsides and nature studies in which the images of plants and stones appear as if they’re floating above the paper.

And there are things I didn’t even know could exist.

Statues made of swirling mist, tapestries depicting scenes that seem to come to life as you move in front of them, sculptures formed from moving water.

Wynter perches on one of the gallery’s oval windowsills, still as stone, and follows us with her eyes.

I moved from piece to piece as Aislinn and Jarod talk about the art, engrossed in their conversation with each other. I can’t help but notice how happy and animated Aislinn seems, and how bright Jarod’s eyes glow.

“Where isyourart?” Jarod asks Wynter.

Wynter cocks her head and considers his question. “My art cannot be displayed here,” she explains in her softly accented voice. “It is infected with my darkness.”

I frown at Wynter, saddened by her harsh statement and casual acceptance of her exclusion.

Aislinn and Jarod are both looking at her as well, Aislinn’s eyes gone wide, Jarod’s face tense and troubled.

“Show us,” I find myself saying.

Wynter hesitates, then reluctantly hops down from her perch and leads us out of the museum and toward an out-of-the-way storage barn built in the Keltic style.

It’s cold inside the large structure, and it smells slightly of mildew. Old furniture and battered frames line the walls, along with abandoned canvas, intricate weaving looms and a variety of worn art tools.

But in the center of this unattractive space, spiraling upward toward the rafters, is a large statue carved in white stone that glows as if illuminated from within.

It’s an Elfin archer on horseback, the horse rearing high, the archer’s bow and arrow pointed into the sky. It’s slightly larger than life, and so real I’m almost afraid to step in front of it, lest the horse’s hooves come crashing down on my head.

Jarod, Aislinn and I circle around it as Wynter trails quietly behind, hugging the shadows.

“Youmadethis?” I breathe.

“Yes,” she says softly.

I turn to her. “It’s your brother, Cael. Isn’t it?”

Wynter dips her head shyly. “Yes.”

“Has he seen this?” Aislinn wonders, her tone one of awe.

Wynter nods.

“What did he say?” Aislinn asks.

“He was very touched,” Wynter answers, almost in a whisper. “He liked it a great deal.” Wynter reaches up to reverently run her hand along the cool white stone of the statue’s base.

“It’s beautiful,” Jarod tells her. “Is there more?”

Wynter nods and gestures all around.

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