Page 52 of Lore of the Wilds

She pushed the escaped hair from her unraveled scarf out of her face, immediately panicking.My ears!Her hands flew to the exposed appendages, and she glanced around wildly, only to calm when she remembered the rest of the camp was still asleep.

She had too many thoughts racing through her head to read the book right now. It seemed like it was trying to answer all her questions at once. She placed the book on the grass beside her, put her hands on her knees, and closed her eyes, willing her breathing to slow and her mind to clear. She thought back to meditating with Uncle Salim, his deep timbre encouraging her to empty her mind.

It wasn’t long before the ringing stopped and the tightness in her chest eased.

A light brush to her cheek brought her back to the present. Calloused fingers, trained to fight and kill, but sosogentle when brushing her cheek felt like a calming tonic. She inhaled, smelling Asher’s scent of blackberry, smoke, and the faint hint of metal from handling his swords before opening her eyes and looking at the dark fae who had saved her life.

Again.

Asher sat on the log beside her, long legs stretched out toward the low flames of the fire, swords at his feet. He held a cloth and sharpening stone in his hand.

“Are you all right? I’ve cleared the camp of the bodies. The one still alive is tied to a tree outside of hearing distance from the camp.” Lore must have looked scared, because Asher hurried to continue. “He won’t be able to escape those knots. Trust me.” Asher handed her a piece of dried jerky with a smirk. “Eat this. You’ll feel better.”

She took the jerky, ignoring the flecks of blood on his wrist and sleeve. “Thank you.”

“It’s just a bit of jerky.”

“Not for that. I mean, yes, thank you for the jerky.” She waved the strip of meat in the air. “But I mean, thank you for saving my life. Again. And the lives of the entire camp from those assholes.”

Asher looked uncomfortable with her gratitude, giving a slight nod.

Lore took a bite of the jerky, hoping that eating would calm her nerves and make her forget that there were dead bodies near the camp. That there was a bandit tied up somewhere. That she’d just seen a creature stabbed through his heart.

It didn’t work, but she knew what might.

“I called on the magic,” she blurted into the silence, “but nothing happened. Last time I used it, it saturated my entire mind and body until it erupted out of me. Tonight, it was like there wasnothingthere. Like my body had never known magic. If you hadn’t seen it yourself, I would almost think I had made it up.”

Asher’s brows knit together. “It appears you’ve a lot more to learn from your book before you can rely on it. My mother used to say that worthwhile things don’t come easy.”

Lore took a deep breath, kneading the stone Grey had given her with one hand and munching on the jerky with the other.

“I’ve figured out how to read it, sort of.” She bit her lip, thinking about the different pages she’d seen by the light of the moon. “But when I open the book, different pages appear each time. I haven’t managed to see the same page twice yet. And, well.” She glanced to the wagon, making sure the door was still closed and that the merchants showed no signs of waking. With a lower voice, she said, “The book hasn’t spoken to me again. Not since that night with the guards at Wyndlin Castle.”

Asher sat across from her, having switched from cleaning his swords to sharpening them. “Maybe it requires more from you.Maybe you’re required to give more of yourself before it will help again. To be honest, I’ve never heard of a magical object ‘speaking’ before, though, so I have no idea.”

The ring of the sharpening stone on the sword echoed through the camp. Asher kept his eyes trained on her.

“Usually, when something is infused with magic, it is to be wielded—like fire on a sword, or a protection or anti-theft charm, or even a spell meant to increase an object’s resistance to breaking. When I encourage a flower to bloom, I impose my will on the flower and force it to bloom. I’ve never heard of a spell that could make an object have a will of its own.”

Lore wanted to ask him more about his own magic, but this was the first time he’d ever brought it up. Something told her she needed to let him tell her about it at his own pace. Still thinking, she idly placed the rock back in the pocket of her trousers and curled a stray bit of hair around her finger.

“I thought that this book was rare, but I didn’t realize it was ‘one of a kind’ rare. Wait—” She glanced toward where Asher had come back in from the woods. “Do you think they might not have been here to rob the merchants? What if they were after the book? After me?”

“The thought crossed my mind.” Asher nodded with a grimace. “I’ll go question him now. See what he has to say.”

Lore avoided his gaze. They needed to know why he was there, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see how Asher would make him talk. Her stomach knotted, and she felt sick.

But it wasn’t fair to leave this up to just Asher, though. After all, she’d stolen the grimoire and gotten them into this mess.

Lore pushed up from the ground, clenching her jaw and steeling her stomach. She thought of Milo, Grey, Uncle, and Aunty. She needed to do this for them.

She followed Asher into the forest.

Their captive sat on the ground, hands tied behind his back,straining against another rope that secured him to a tree. His eyes were dulled from pain and his golden hair, matted with sweat, fell in front of his face.

“Why did you attack us?” Asher held the tip of one of his swords to the fae’s throat.

The fae barred his canines before spitting rust-colored fluid on the ground. This close, Lore could see that he had scales on his cheeks and that his jaw was wider than the usual fae. She was reminded of the lizards that scuttled through the garden at the shelter.

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