Page 56 of Harnessed in Gold
“Is there no swearing in Nàdar?” Topaz and Rime certainly enjoy cussing in American English. Maybe because they can’t in their own language.
“No, there is.”
“Like what?”
“Some of us use the British curse words?—”
“Like ‘bloody hell’?”
“Yeah.” He smiles as he caps off his sandwich with another slice of bread. “But mostly we swear generally, to the gods. Well, sort of gods.”
“You sort of swear to them, or they’re sort of gods?”
“Both?” Chuckling, he shrugs. “We’re animists. Our gods are more like spirits than gods.”
I have no idea what he means.
When he notices my blank look, he explains, “Everything in nature has a spirit. Animals, plants, insects.”
“So, like, a cat, or a rose, or—I dunno, a rock—all have spirits?”
“The rock is a little different since it’s an element, but yes.”
I lean a hip against the counter. “I thought you said everything hasenergy.”
“Same thing,” is his simple reply.
So is it a tree’sspiritI’m feeling when I wrap my arms around it? I heave a sigh and shake my muddled head. I’m going to have to ruminate on that one for a while.
Leo rummages through the pantry and produces a half-full bag of pretzels—probably the same bag we snacked from after our roll inthe hay and right before he healed me. I rub the arm Zander yanked. Sometimes I swear I can feel Leo’s magic still lingering in it. A soft, warm breeze just under my skin.
Or wishful thinking.
His back to me, Leo continues, “A living thing’s energy is like DNA, it originates with the parent spirit and is embodied in every one of its offspring. It’s the parent spirits who are our gods. Like, take strawberries, for instance. Strawberry plants have a mother spirit, or—” He takes a glass out of a high cabinet and hands it to me, tipping his head to the fridge. “Help yourself to some ice and root beer.”
“Or—” I nudge him, opening the freezer to a blast of frigid air.
“Or oak trees have a father spirit. Honestly, the gender is pretty arbitrary.”
“Like Romance languages?”
“Exactly like that,” he says with a laugh. “The parent spirit is really just that: the parent, the first, the OG.”
“Oh my god.” I slam the freezer closed and whip around. “Did you just sayOG?” The giggle that burbles out of me has him glancing away. But not before I catch his smile.
“I learned that one from Rime,” he says with a bashful shrug.
My heart stutters and my skin heats. I set my glass down and wring my hands to keep from reaching for him, to keep from kissing that shy grin off his perfect face. “Take off your glamour.”
His eyes flash to mine, and although he seems startled by my insistence, he does what I ask. Without question or hesitation.
The change in his appearance is abrupt but not drastic, the differences subtle. Other than his ears, his features are the same, they’re just more beautiful, more perfect, more… mystical.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Whatever you need.”
What I need is something to shut down this visceral desire shooting through my veins. I was hoping for a reminder that this man is not who I thought he was. That he’s not the sweet intellectual who read beside me in the library. Not the guy who introduced me totree energy and frosted animal crackers. But the reminder isn’t working. Is it weird that Leo the faerie seems more real, more multi-faceted, even more fascinating than human Leo? Maybe what attracted me to him in the first place were his faerie qualities seeping through the cracks in his mask.
