I welcome the excuse to look away from Davien. His stare is just too probing. I worry about what he would see if I met his eyes for too long. I never expected to miss the blindfold.
“How are you finding Dreamsong?” Felda asks.
I welcome the change in topic with a smile. “It’s a truly magnificent place. The fae are some of the best craftsmen I’ve ever seen.”
“We have a good many who possess old rituals on tradesmanship, long passed down in their families and courts.”
“When you say rituals…is it the same as what I saw in the woods that night?” I look to Davien.
“That was a ritual, yes, but so was what Giles did when we made camp in the Bleeding Forest,” he says.
I chew on a slab of bread for a moment, considering everything I’ve learned about fae and their magic so far. The bread is tangy and has the right amount of chew to complement the crisp crust. “So a ritual can be anything? And accomplish anything?”
“There are some limitations,” Hol says. “For example, we can’t bring back the dead, or change someone’s heart.”
“So as you can see, not many limitations.” Davien smirks.
“How is a ritual made?” I think of what Vena said about finding a way to get the magic from me. Is she going to make a ritual herself?
“There are a few who are in tune enough with their magic and the inherent laws of our world to invent new rituals. But most rituals are passed down orally or in written tomes kept within families and courts,” Hol explains.
“It’s why the nearly complete eradication of the Aviness family crippled the fae and has made us weak for centuries. The glass crown had a ritual performed on it long ago that still stands and demands loyalty from all fae…but it can only be worn by the true heir of Aviness. As long as an Aviness heir is alive, it will heed no other master. And it requires the power of the lost kings to unveil its full potential.” Davien looks out a window with a glare, casting his anger toward someone or something far beyond the table.
“So fae can’t perform magic with their thoughts?” I think about my actions in the woods. How the magic came to me unbidden, heeding only my subconscious need to survive.
“There are some exceptions, like summoning wings or claws,” Hol says. “Or our glamour.”
“But otherwise, no,” Felda adds. “However, there are some rituals that give us varying control over power for a certain length of time—like what’s on the glass crown. What we can do during that time, and how long it lasts, all depends on the ritual.”
“You saw one such example in the woods.” Davien brings his attention back to the present and rests it on me. “The way that Butcher moved is a closely guarded ritual, passed down in their ranks; they cast it on the capes they wear. I’ve heard it’s called ‘shadow stepping,’ where they can move from darkness to darkness. It makes them particularly deadly at night. But the ritual expires quickly. They only have so much movement they can perform in that manner before the charged magic is exhausted.”
I’m beginning to frame fae magic in terms I can understand—that I’m familiar with. I think of when I repaired the plaster on the walls of our manor. The “ritual” would be the act of combining the ingredients and mixing them in a bucket. I suppose the bucket—or vessel for the magic—is the fae performing the ritual, though it sounds like the vessel can also be a thing, like the glass crown or the Butchers’ capes. Then, they can use the plaster—magic—until it runs out or becomes useless—dries.
With this framework, I say with mild confidence, “I think I understand.”
“Really?” Davien arches his eyebrows; he seems impressed. I give him a sly smile.
“I think so. Here, let me see if I have it right…” I explain my analogy to them. “That’s about it?”
Hol leans back in his chair and chuckles. “No wonder we could teach ancient humans. For a people who lost their magic overnight, there’s definitely traces of understanding there.”
If that’s true, I might be able to learn how to use the magic within me. I avoid Davien’s attentive stare by helping myself to another slice of bread, dipping it in the oil and herbs before popping it into my mouth. It’s like he can sense what I’m thinking. I wonder if one night at the manor he bored a hole into my mind with those eyes of his while I was blindfolded and oblivious. Now, he has a window to my innermost thoughts whenever he wants.
I bite my lip. I really hope that I’m wrong about that…because my mind isn’t a place that anyone should spend too much time in. It’s dangerous enough for me, and I live here.
The rest of the meal goes smoothly. By the time Hol and Felda escort us to the door, I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed myself. Felda actually gives me a little squeeze before we depart.
“It’s been a delight to meet you,” she says. “Hol has filled me in on some of your circumstances, more than he likely should, I admit.” Her mouth quirks into a mischievous grin. I see where Raph gets it from. “I know that coming here wasn’t part of your plan…but I’m glad Davien has you with him.”
I glance over to where Davien and Hol are engaged in an intense, hushed conversation. They don’t seem to hear Felda’s soft words.
“I’m not… I don’t know what you think. But—”
“You don’t have to explain,” she says a little too quickly. Like I’m embarrassed and she’s doing me a favor. “It’s just nice to see someone with him. Hol and his other king’s knights have certainly tried their best. But they had their obligations here, keeping Dreamsong safe. They could never stay with him for long, either, because as you can see with Davien, we fae aren’t meant to live in your world. I can imagine how lonely it was with only Oren for company. Bless him, he’s a good man, but not the greatest conversationalist.” She laughs. I smirk as well. “From what Oren has said, it sounds like you two get on well.”
Before I can say anything, the two men rejoin us.
“We should return to the main hall,” Davien says. “The last thing we want is for Vena to need us for something and us not be available.”
