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No one hears me. I’ve been quiet and stealthy all my life, used to being the overlooked witch without a voice. But I’ve never been a thief, and I’ve never been a murderer. People change, I suppose.
Finn has been my first everything. My first friend. My first fight. My first kiss. My first lover. My first heartbreak.
At least the last thing I will ever lay my eyes upon in this long life is a powerful woman of both beauty and fury. A soul delicate yet wild and so deeply moving—even if she does wish me dead. In the last few years when I’ve visited Silver Hollow on Collecting Day, I’ve been incapable of preventing my gaze from lingering on her face, though she has never so much as lifted her chin to look me in the eye. I can’t blame her. In another life, I would’ve tried to know her. I would’ve admired her and read her poems written by my own hand. I would’ve walked with her through fields of stardrops,
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If I could speak, I’d tell her I came here to help her. To help us all. I’d tell her that I’m not evil. That I’m not entirely good, but I never meant to bring her sorrow. I’d tell her I’m terrified of what my death means, and that I’m worried about leaving her alone, because she doesn’t realize how alone she might truly be or what evil is yet to come.
Mother used to say that grief always strikes when we least expect it, and that we rarely realize how those we love inhabit even the most seemingly inconsequential parts of our lives. It’s in those moments that the pain of their absence strikes so much deeper, because the time we took for granted suddenly shines in sharp relief.
Gold for life magick, red for healing magick, silver for common magick—like the protective magick we build at the wood’s boundary. The violet must be for Sight.
“Forgive me. It was wrong of me to say that. I only meant that I could give you the words. I may no longer have power at the ready in my blood, but I know Elikesh like no one else in the Northlands. I know the right words to say if you can translate them.”
An involuntary shudder ripples through me, but I cling to the words, even as Alexus’s fingers thread with mine, stilling my fingers. I flinch. Finn always silenced me like this, and though I don’t feel like that’s what’s happening now, the reality is that I can’t work magick without my hands.
“Aren’t you glad you didn’t run off alone?” I ask. “This is the land of the white wolf.”
“Close your eyes, you little rebel.”
I know that I’m the last man she ever thought she would have to depend on, but I need her to know that I can be the kind of man who’s worthy of her trust. That I already am.
Gods, I ache for this woman in my bones.
This is worship. Alexus Thibault has lain me on his altar and praised every inch of me.
There is no love without fear, but no one told me that fear feasts on those with something to lose.
