Page 68 of Magical Moonbeam
Ardetia’s eyes flicked to me.
“The Flame Ward,” Nova said. “Do you remember the chamber where memories went to…” She stopped herself.
I nodded. “The memory forge.”
“In this instance, it can help you re-anchor what’s fraying. But only if you’re honest with it.”
I blinked. “But can’t it steal my thoughts?”
Nova leaned forward. “Let me ask you something, Maeve. When you dream, do the places feel like memories or possibilities?”
I've been thinking about the last few months. The feel of cold mist. The weight of eyes watching me in the dark. The echo of dragon wings, barely restrained.
“Both,” I whispered. “They feel like they’re happening. Like they’ve happened.”
Nova and Ardetia exchanged another look.
Nova stood, dusting her hands off gently. “Then it’s time.”
“Tonight?” I asked, heart fluttering.
“No,” she said gently. “Tomorrow. At dawn.”
Ardetia stepped closer, placing two fingers to the center of my brow. “Rest tonight, Hedge witch. You’ll need clarity for what’s ahead.”
Her touch was cool and calming.
I nodded slowly. “What can the forge do to help,exactly? I thought we had to be careful around it?”
Nova paused at the door, her silhouette framed by the flicker of candlelight.
“It helps you see the shape of your mind,” she said. “So you can decide who and what you let inside it. The forges also act like a vault.”
I followed them out of Nova’s room, letting the thought percolate, and I realized I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I was willing to do what I needed to keep my secrets safe.
And that, for now, would have to be enough.
Chapter Seventeen
For once, I slept.
Not the shallow kind of sleep I’d grown used to since arriving in Stonewick. This wasn’t the sort of rest woven with half dreams and twitchy magic, or the ones where Gideon’s shadow pressed behind my eyes.
No. This was true rest that was deep, dark, and quiet.
And when I woke, I couldn’t remember a single detail of it.
Not an image, not a sound.
It was unnerving in the best possible way.
The fire in my room had died down to glowing coals, and my dad lifted his head from his warm patch by the hearth just enough to give a sleepy grumble. I rubbed his ears, then reached down to scratch under his chin where his brindled fur was softest.
“You were snoring like a bear again,” I murmured.
He gave a half-hearted bark, clearly unbothered.
I made my tea slowly, steeping it with fresh ginger and orange peel, and wrapped both hands around the cup as I wandered the corridor.
