Page 41 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

A delicate moss coated the north side of all three.

“What now?” Farrow asked after it started to feel like Blackthorn was waiting for her.

“What I want you to do now is use your magic,” he told her quietly.

“Use it how?” she asked.

Farrow was pretty sure none of these figures was in the mood for a tasty scone.

“Attack them,” he said. “Give it everything you have. Let’s see what happens.”

Farrow frowned. She had never attacked anything before, with or without magic. Unless you counted swatting flies in the bakery.

“I don’t think my magic works that way,” she said.

“Of course it does,” he chuckled. “You just haven’t been able to let loose.”

She recalled the ivy helping her scale the wall, and thought that maybe there was a little more to her power than just baking. But none of the targets were made of ivy.

“I can only work with plants,” she said thoughtfully. “As far as I know, at least.”

“So, call on the plants to attack,” he said, gesturing at the wooden targets.

She looked around.

She could probably convince the old oak tree to throw some acorns. But it wasn’t the right season for that, and she wasn’t sure how effective it would be anyway. She’d been hit by plenty of acorns in her time, and she was none the worse for wear because of it.

Possibly, she could ask the tree to drop some heavy branches. But asking a tree to harm itself felt like the antithesis of her magic.

Instead, she chose to close her eyes, and reach out to the forest itself.

She took a few deep breaths, allowing herself to taste the rich, wet soil, and the damp blueberry scent of the rotting wood trim of the academy.

I call on your magic, she told the forest. I need your help. I need to defeat these targets.

She pictured the three wooden figures at the center of the little courtyard.

“Relax.” Blackthorn’s voice seemed to come from far away. “Let it flow. You don’t have to hide yourself here.”

She felt her shoulders go down as she opened herself to the forest.

There was a sort of tingling in her fingertips that moved out into the air in front of her. Something warm and almost watery was flowing from her veins, spreading from her outstretched palms.

She opened her eyes to see her hands glowing a bright, firefly green. A mist of that same green trailed across the wet stones and curled around the statues.

A moment later, brilliant purple flowers began to spring from the moss that half-covered them.

“Wow,” she breathed, feeling the life in the flowers reaching for the sparse sunlight.

“What was that?” Blackthorn asked.

“I asked the forest for its help,” she told him. “Over time, maybe these flowers would pull the statues down.”

“But that is a defeat at the forest’s pace,” he said. “You need the magic to work at your pace.”

“Well, the plants have to cooperate,” she said, stating what should have been obvious. “I can’t make them do anything they don’t want to do.”

“Of course you can,” he told her.

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