Page 40 of Fletcher

“Sorry.” Lark pushed a woolen skirt off his shoulder, and sighed as she looked at the furnishings scattered around them. “I really do need some training.”

Fletcher tried to keep his expression solemn as he nodded and removed the scandalously small set of drawers she called panties from her head. She giggled as soon as she saw them, and then flung her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses.

“I can lift anything, I think,” she told him. “Well, probably not the castle, but certainly all the furniture in it. Isn’t that the neatest trick? Can we practice tonight? I won’t use it on any animals or people, I just want to see how much I can lift. Maybe one of those big carts they use to haul grain to the river mill.”

“I’ve never seen you so delighted.” He chuckled. “At least, no’ while standing on your feet.”

“I’ve always hated being small and weak,” Lark admitted. “Once I got a gym membership and tried to work out to make myself stronger, but I’m just not built for doing anything that requires a lot of power. This is like getting a wish I never knew I’d made.” She frowned. “It’s strange, though. Why aren’t I tired after lifting a horse and a roomful of furniture?”

“The boon, ’tis an enchantment,” he told her. “The magic does the lifting, although oft using such comes with a price.” Her shiver made him stroke her arm. “Dinnae fret.”

“I’m not fretting.” She cuddled closer to him. “You just made me realize how serious it is that I can do this kind of thing. What if I hurt someone with this? I could have killed that horse, or those boys, or you.”

“When I carry a sword, I recall that ’tis fashioned so I may kill a man,” Fletcher told her. “Never do I touch the hilt unless I mean take the life of another. When I use a dagger, ’tis both weapon and tool. A knife may protect my life, and the lives of those I love, or I may use it for trimming a cord or removing a splinter. Your boon, ’tis either a sword or a dagger. ’Twill become what you decide every time you use the thing.”

“I don’t ever want it to be a sword. I can’t kill anyone either. So.” Lark tipped her head back. “Teach me how I can make it into a dagger.”

Chapter Thirteen

After the startling revelation of her new power, Lark divided her days between apprenticing with Idonea and training with Fletcher. When she confided in the seamstress about her bad luck as well as the boon, the older woman seemed to accept both as if such things were common.

“Caladh, ’tis a place of great magic,” Idonea told her as they cut out panels for a cloak from heavy dark wool. “The prince’s power created the island long ago, and yet lingers even now. In my village we used many charms that should never work, and yet did. ’Tis why ’tis proven a boon to those who serve the clan as well.”

That startled Lark. “Do the people here have magical powers too?”

“Och, no, lass, but we’ve much goodness in our lives, thanks to Prince Mar. Here, place the weight so the cloth doesnae shift.” She tapped a spot at the end of the pattern piece. “Ask the healer, and he’ll tell you no disease other than old age harms the clan’s vassals. On the mainland, a man’s fortunate if he lives until forty; here our men continue on to sixty or even seventy. Ken you my age?”

Lark eyed her. “You look like you’re about forty-five, maybe fifty.”

“Och, you’re so sweet. We both ken I look near sixty. Yet my next birthing day shall be my seventy-fourth.” Idonea laughed as Lark’s jaw sagged. “You may expect live a long and happy life here, lass.”

“Long, maybe, but happy…” She shook her head. “Maybe someday, if I ever stop being a jinx.”

“You shouldnae think such things,” the seamstress scolded. “I’m certain your bad luck shall end now you’ve made a place for yourself here.”

Although she enjoyed working with the seamstress, Lark’s new focus became the time she spent after the evening meal, when she and Fletcher went to the lists to practice controlling her power. At first he’d had her lift and lower only small things, which proved easy enough. He then graduated her to heavier objects, like buckets of rocks and sacks of grain. The size and weight of the object didn’t seem to matter, and she could lift and keep suspended multiple objects at one time. The more objects she lifted at once, however, the less control she had over them.

“We ken you may hold up a dozen easily,” the seneschal said after he counted all the buckets of water she had lifted from the ground. He filled another bucket at the wash barrel and set it in front of her. “Now we shall add one by one until your control slips.”

“Okay, here goes number thirteen.” Lark found she had more control if she kept her gaze on whatever she was actively lifting, and sent the new bucket up to join the others floating above the lists. “I’m still good. Give me another bucket.”

Fletcher went to the barrel and returned. “Lift these two together, lass, and dinnae spill either.”

As soon as she glanced down she saw he had filled both to the brims.

“That’s going to be tough, but I’ll try.” She reached out with her hand, which allowed her more control, and pushed the two up to join the others. “Fifteen. I think I’m okay.”

The next time he brought three buckets that were filled to the top. “Now these.”

Water splashed down as Lark lifted them, but not from the new buckets. The fifteen above them had begun wobbling. Once she added the other three she tried to hold the buckets still, but an odd, draining sensation came over her, and they wobbled even more.

“I need to bring them down,” she told the seneschal, ducking as one of the buckets upended and poured a stream of water between them. “Now.”

Fletcher nodded, and suddenly buckets started thumping down on the ground, sloshing water everywhere around them.

“So fifteen seems to be my limit, I guess,” Lark said, sighing.

“For now, I reckon. You’ll gain more control with time.” He gestured to the puddles, which sparkled with fading green and blue glints. “Water ever draws my sire’s magic.”