“If those are my options, meat pie.” I watch with keen fascination as he takes a piece of chalk and marks a series of triangles and circles in a grid-like pattern on the table. His movements are strong and confident.
“Food rituals are fairly simple. You need some basic requirements of the ingredients, some heat.” He gives a nod to the fire. “And then the rest is magic.”
“All right.” Excitement rushes through me at the idea of getting to use magic again. I’m about to lose these powers, so I might as well enjoy them as I can, in whatever way I can.
“Stand here.” He maneuvers me in front of the table, standing behind me. I’ve never been more aware of the strong length of his body or the way his breath cuts straight through my clothing to hit the nape of my neck. “Put your hands like this.”
His voice is soft and low as he runs his fingertips down my arms. They land lightly on the backs of my hands, taking them with a gentle grip. He guides my palms onto the table, resting lightly at two points on the grid.
“Now, just like we did with the lantern, think about what you’re trying to make.” How can instructions be so…sensual? I try not to squirm. “Will the magic to bend to you, to do your bidding as its master. You control it. It doesn’t control you.”
“What does it feel like for you?” I ask, fighting to stay focused. “I’ve been trying to feel the magic within me, but I can’t. Every time I want to summon it, there’s nothing there.”
He draws small circles on the back of my hand with his fingertips as he considers my question. I don’t even think he’s aware of what he’s doing and I don’t point it out to him. The sensation is too delicious to stop.
“Magic… I wouldn’t say it’s a thing that I feel, not consciously at least. It’s more of a state of being. An awareness of the world and all its mysteries—the ones you know, the ones you don’t, what you can control, and the forces you are helpless to do anything but to submit to. Magic is one of the greatest things we will ever know and never be able to explain. To know magic is to touch the old gods that brought this earth from primordial chaos. It is to embrace the glimpse of greatness that we all possess within us—to boldly reach for what could be and not what is, both in ourselves and the world around us.”
Davien’s words are thoughtful and poetic. If not for his pauses and breathy stillness I would think he had practiced the speech. But every word is as sincere as the last.
I laugh softly, trying to free up some of the restless energy his speech filled me with. “You realize none of that is very helpful for me, right?”
“I suppose it’s not.” I don’t even have to turn around to know that there’s a grin on his face. “Why not treat it as you would a dance? That seemed to work for you during the tunnel construction.”
“It did, but…” I trail off with a sigh. “I wish I could feel it, is all. I struggle to conjure something that I don’t know is there half the time.”
“Knowing magic is like trying to tell you what the color red sounds like. Once you hear it, you know. But until then it’s madness to try and explain.”
That gives me genuine pause. I run my fingertips across his chalk lines thoughtfully. “I think I know what you’re trying to say.”
“You do?” The question is a mix of delight and surprise.
“I know what the color red sounds like.” I begin to think of magic in an all-new way. “Just like I know the harmonies of the pollinators in summer, or the soft requiem of winter. The world has a sound to it, a song, if you’re able to listen.” Magic must be the same. Once you hear it, you’ll be able to sing along. It is not a dance. It is the music itself.
What is the song my magic sings?
The question rattles my core. It isn’t my magic. This isn’t my power, my destiny. My fingers curl as I lift them from the table.
“What is it?”
I step away from him with a shake of my head. Wrapping my arms around myself, I cross over to the windows. The lake is a bright cerulean in the late twilight. Just as I first suspected, it really is glowing.
“Katria?”
I hear his footsteps approaching. I speak without looking at him. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no point in me learning any of this.”
“Did I say something that upset you?” He comes to a halt just behind me once more. I don’t turn to face him.
“No.” I’m clearly perfectly capable of upsetting myself.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, please.” In the face of my silence, he continues with his incorrect assumptions. “There’s no reason to be frustrated with magic. Even though we fae work on honing and perfecting our skills, our knowledge of magic is somewhat innate. We know it from birth. You don’t have that benefit, so it’s only natural that you struggle and—”
“I’m not upset that I don’t know how to use magic.” I hang my head. “I just don’t see the point in learning it. Doing so will only end in disappointment.”
“You’ll be able to master it,” he assures me.
