Page 76 of Lore of the Wilds

“So, you just decided not to tell me.”

He sat back in his chair, the hint of a smirk appearing on his face. “It wasn’t so much adecision, Lore. It was more that I didn’t know you, nor did I trust you.”

“Fair enough.” She couldn’t fault him, not really. But did thatmean he trusted her now? And why did that thought make her insides glow?

“I asked Rickeul if he’d ever heard of a grimoire like the one that you possess.”

Lore looked at him sharply.

“Don’t worry. I made it seem like I was researching ancient grimoires for my alchemical studies.” He rolled his eyes before continuing. “He said he’d heard a legend about one from back when he was studying to be a scholar, but of course, he figured it was just a myth. There aren’t any direct accounts on record. Only hearsay, poems, songs, or children’s tales. But he did say thatifsuch a grimoire existed—one that could be infused with so much magic it had the power to make decisions on its own and speak to someone—then I needn’t bother looking for it.”

“Why not?”

“Because any object that held enough magic to gain sentience would disintegrate.”

Chills rose up Lore’s spine. She glanced at her grimoire. There it lay, not disintegrated. In fact, from this angle, it looked like any old book—a fancy one with hand-stitched embroidery, colorful vines and flowers, silvery shimmery moons, and gold-foiled spine, sure.

But a book, nonetheless.

“I was thinking about that: about magic and how it works.” Lore began to pick at a rough spot on the edge of the table. “When I was little, I didn’t even know magic existed. We didn’t have any, and because my parents kept me away from any fae who came into Duskmere, I had never seen it. It’s not something we humans like to talk about, because when we do, the Alytherians punish us. It’s become a sort of taboo conversation among my people. But once I discovered it—that there was this entire resource that millions of creatures all over the world had access to, but we didn’t—I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

She licked her lips, unable to meet Finndryl’s gaze. Not wanting to see his response.

“I craved it,” she continued. “I always thought, if I could harness magic, Duskmere would be so much better off. We wouldn’t have to worry about earthshakes, drought, or other natural disasters. And then, when I became the first in living memory to leave Duskmere, I found that hardly anyone uses magic at all. It surprised me. That magic is not only a finite resource, but that not everyone can do every kind. Yet, when I go to the thicket of hazelwood trees in the Wilds, it’sfilledwith magic. So why isn’t anyone out there collecting it for their enchantments?”

Finndryl had gone preternaturally still. The kind of still that a human could never achieve.

Lore sat up, looking around. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Could he hear something she couldn’t? Was someone out there in the tavern? The kitchen had gotten so hot earlier she’d removed her scarf—if they came in, they’d immediately see she was human.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Are you telling me that you canseemagic?” He leaned toward her, his eyes roving over her face.

“Can’t everyone?”

“No. Nobody can. And only some of the most talented practitioners, those who’ve trained for decades, can even feelSource. It’s known that those who have an affinity for earth magic, like Asher”—Finn’s mouth twisted with dislike when he said Asher’s name—“can usually obtain it in the woods, and it’s best when drawn through the soil.”

“Source?”

“It’s what alchemists call that which fuels our enchantments. There are two types of magic. The kind that every being has—this kind is often related to one’s species. The sirens in Olan can all influence the tide to an extent. They’re born with the inherentability. Some of the dark fae can actually communicate with the animals of their clans, and others can shift entirely into that species. And then there is what I think you are talking about; it’s what alchemists callSource. It’s much like the wind. When it is near us, those with the skills can feel it, but we can never see it. For most alchemists, it takes years of training to be able to call toSource, let alone harness and wield it successfully.”

Lore’s mouth had gone dry. She stood on shaky legs, clutching her grimoire, and strode across the kitchen, skirting the large cookstove in the center. The moon was almost full, and some of its silvery light shone through the ground level windows near the ceiling. Lore held the grimoire up, standing on tiptoes, and extended her arms as far as she could, until its pages were bathed in moonlight. “When I do this, what do you see?”

Finndryl’s eyes were alight with curiosity. “I see the grimoire. It looks the same as it did over here on the table.”

Lore tilted her head, eyes narrowing at the bright, illuminating light that was exploding from the grimoire and bathing her hands and wrists. “Do my hands look any different to you?”

Finndryl shook his head.

She dropped her arms and quickly crossed the space, sitting back at the table, a little breathless. “Are you jesting? Is this another lie?”

Finndryl rolled his eyes. “I only lied that one time. Though I suppose I’ll regret it now if it means you’re going to doubt my integrity.” He leaned toward her, his voice lowering. “But more importantly, what doyousee when you put the grimoire in the moonlight? What happened to your hands in your perspective?”

“The book glows. With magic. Or,Source, I suppose. It looks the same as the magic that collects in the thickets. But the grimoire has so much of it, and when it’s under the light of the moon, it’s so bright it’sblinding. It bleeds onto my hands, almostlike it needs somewhere to go, and since I’m holding it... well, it flows into me like a moonlit river.”

“Can I try it? It’s all right if you say no.”

“I don’t see why not.”

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