Page 67 of Kissing Potions and Elves
Nyxus chuffs and paws at the ground.
I gasp as a tiny orb of glimmering teal light rises from the water. It floats just above the surface, flickering like a captured star.
Lyrion sighs. “It’s a water sprite. Mischievous, but harmless.”
“They like to play pranks,” Rhystan adds.
The sprite flits back and forth over the water, skipping playfully across the surface.
“Do we need to give it an offering for safe passage?” I ask.
“An offering?” Rhystan frowns. “Why would we do that? They’re pests.”
I gasp in horror. “Don’t say that,” I hiss, praying the sprite didn’t hear him. “Or you’ll be cursed with bad luck for an entire year.”
Rhystan’s head jerks back. “What in Vaelar’s blade are you talking about?”
“Isobel leaves offerings for the sprites on the windowsill,” Lyrion explains, the arm around my waist giving a gentle squeeze. “She believes it’s bad luck to offend them.”
Rhystan arches a brow at me.
“It’s polite,” I say defensively. “They like honey drops and bread crusts. And once, Tressa found a silver leaf in her tea tin the morning after I left a bit of cinnamon cake.”
The sprite flies back to us, its light pulsing brighter, almost expectantly.
Reaching into our satchel, I pull out a small piece of bread. I hold it out in my open palm. “Here. It’s not much, but it’s fresh.”
The sprite twirls midair, then dips toward me in a swirl of teal mist. With delicate precision, it plucks the bread from my hand.
It hovers near Lyrion, emitting a series of high-pitched squeaks that I assume must be language.
“She says the river is higher than normal due to a storm upstream, but there’s a relatively shallow place to cross,” he says. “She’ll show us.”
The sprite flies a few feet downriver and then flits across the water in a zigzagging path.
Rhystan blinks. “Well, that’s… interesting.”
The sprite circles back toward me and pauses, the glowing orb hovering before my eyes as she begins squeaking again.
“She says to hold out your hand,” Lyrion translates.
Something light and cool drops into my palm. I glance down to find a small moonstone, and smile.
Lyrion says something in Elvish, soft and reverent.
I twist my head to look back at him. “Was that… thank you?”
He nods, smiling down at me. “More or less. It’s an old phrase. Closer to‘light guide your path.’”
The sprite gives one final spin before vanishing into the mist, leaving sparkles behind like trailing fireflies.
I tuck the moonstone carefully into my satchel, my heart warm despite the lingering thrill of unease as I gaze at the river ahead.
The water roars, the current rushing fast over smooth, dark stones. I feel a bit better that the water sprite suggested this place to cross, but it still looks dangerous.
Nervous, my heart hammers as I grip the thick fur along Nyxus’s shoulders.
“Isobel?” Concern threads through Lyrion’s voice. “You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”
