Page 75 of Daemon Master
She bobbed her head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You can’t jam raw aether into something and expect it tostaythere. It would either vanish or ruin the tea.”
Just like his own misbegotten efforts thus far. “Then…whatdoyou do with the aether?”
“You have to sense the underlying current in the Great Aetheric Sea and allow your aether to follow it. That way, it’s absorbed rather than wasted. It’s like…” She struggled to find an appropriate comparison. “Like kneading berries into dough. Sure, you can just toss them in there. But if you want them evenly distributed, you’ve gotta work the dough as you go.”
Adrian had never baked anything in his life and wasn’t certain the comparison quite fit regardless. Still, he said, “I think I get the gist.”
He watched Freya a few moments longer, then turned back to his rock. Relaxing his mind, he stretched out his aethersense as he channeled aether into the stone. It was shaky at first, his efforts fumbling. Gradually, however, he thought he sensed what Freya meant—a natural rhythm that pulsed through the stone, similar to his own aetheric channels but far fainter. He traced the pattern as best he could with his fingertip.
When he’d followed the entire path, he released his aether and sat back, marveling at his handiwork. The enchantment was already beginning to fade, the imbued aether not enough to accomplish much beyond lending the rock a faint glow. Nevertheless, he had done it—he’d created his very first aetherforging!
He met Freya’s eyes, still grinning. “Thanks for the lesson! It’s, well, exactly what I needed.”
She smiled shyly and looked away. “You’re welcome. Does this have anything to do with those relics you brought back or with that journal of yours?”
“I hope so! Once I get the hang of aetherforging, I want to figure out how those more advanced enchantments in the relics work so I can…” He trailed off, Freya’s words sinking in. Heslowly turned back to her. “Wait a minute. How doyouknow about Crastley’s journal?”
Her eyes widened, her gaze darting about like a cornered animal. “Sorry. I, uh, gotta go!”
He stared after her as she scampered off. Well, if he’d needed confirmation that Elana had Crastley’s journal, he was pretty sure he’d gotten it. He stood, wiping dust off his hands as annoyance curled through him. Leaving the villagers alone had accomplished as little as being friendly had. Perhaps it was time to adopt a moredirectapproach.
Elana’s hut stood near the center of the village. Ignoring the hostile glares of nearby villagers, he strode right up to the door and banged on it. The door creaked open, revealing Elana’s shawl-draped form. He thought he caught the barest flicker of guilt on her face when she saw him before it smoothed away to a serene mask. He’d seen that same expression on Kali and Arbiter Janice—the face of someone trying to project confident indifference.
Spirits take her indifference!
His annoyance flared hotter, all the frustration of the last two weeks boiling to the surface. “You have something of mine, and I want it back!”
Shouts resounded from behind him. Apparently, all he’d had to do to get the villagers’ attention was lose his temper. He tuned them out, keeping his glare fixed on Elana until a pair of rough hands yanked him back. Resisting the urge to flare his aura, he gave Elana a pointed look.
She considered him for a long moment before stepping back from her doorway. “It’s all right, Ferril. Adrian and I were about to have a friendly chat. Weren’t we, Adrian?”
He jerked a nod. The man who’d grabbed him—Ferril—released him. Without another word, Elana vanished into her home. Adrian stalked after her, not quite slamming the door.
Elana’s hut matched the one he shared with Seymour—no extra luxuries for the town’s leader, it seemed. She took a seat in an old rocking chair and gestured for him to join her.
“Thank you for your restraint with Ferril,” she said, clasping her hands in her lap as she regarded him. “I know you could have broken free had you wanted to.”
He took a seat across from her. “You don’t need tothankme for not assaulting someone. No matter what you or anyone else in this village thinks, Seymour and I are in control of our aether. We’re not ticking time bombs, waiting to go off.”
Elana pursed her lips. “No, of course not. My apologies. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I assume this visit is about your journal?”
He breathed in and out, letting his daemons’ silent encouragement soothe him. “It is. Have you read the note at the end?”
She nodded. “I tried to read the rest as well, though it appeared to be gibberish.”
“You can only read it if you’ve forged a true bond with a daemon.”
“How curious! I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Neither had Adrian. A book only certain people could read? It was almost like…
He sucked in a breath, his worries over Elana and the Enclave momentarily forgotten.It’s almost like a daemonic technique.He’d have said such a thing was impossible before he’d seen Kali’s relics with his own eyes. Did Crastley’s journal work via a similar method?
He realized Elana was staring at him, and he shook his head to clear it. Exploring that theory could wait. “The journal is mine, and I’d like it back. Please.”
Expecting an argument, he was surprised when Elana replied, “Of course.” She rose and moved to a small bookshelf againstone wall that contained a handful of worn volumes. She plucked a familiar tome from its spot and passed it to him before returning to her seat.
He quickly checked it over—no missing pages or fresh damage. “Thank you.”
