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“Fascinating,” Mrs. Crumble said, her eyes twinkling. “We brownies don't need magic to sense emotions, you know. It's part of what makes us such good caretakers.”

I latched onto the change of subject gratefully. “Really? I never knew that.”

Mrs. Crumble nodded, her green aura pulsing softly. “Oh yes, dear. It's how we know when a baby needs comforting before they even cry.”

“And orcs?” I asked, turning to Vorgath. “Do you have any traditions around... well, souls or emotions?”

“We believe the strength of one's soul is reflected in their actions. Our leaders are chosen not just for their physical prowess but for the strength of their inner fire.”

As he spoke, I noticed his aura flaring brighter, the gold becoming more prominent. It was mesmerizing to watch, like seeing a glimpse of the passionate warrior beneath his usual stoic exterior.

Thyri twirled around again, her orange glow swirling magnificently. “Look at this, Soraya!”

I grinned, watching her aura flare brighter with every laugh. “Orange suits you. Loud, vibrant—completely impossible to ignore.”

“Impossible to ignore?” Thyri placed a dramatic hand over her heart, the orange and gold swirling around her like fire. “I think you'd look amazing in orange, too. Here, take some of mine!”

She twirled close to me, and as if by magic—or fae wine—her aura began to flicker at the edges of mine, mixing playful dabs of orange into my purple.

“Is that allowed?” I joked, taking a step back to test the limits. The orange faded slightly but lingered.

Thyri shot me an exaggerated wink. “You could stand to be a little more festive.”

“Well, in that case,” I said, slanting my eyes over at Mrs. Crumble, “I think this room could use some ofyourserenity.” I nudged closer to Mrs. Crumble until her sage-green aura started drifting toward me, brushing around my edges in soft curls of calm.

Mrs. Crumble chuckled, and her aura responded, thickening and twining around mine like vines. “Be careful. You might find yourself wanting to take up knitting and sitting by the hearth all day.”

“I could use some of that,” I admitted. “And wouldn’t Elias love all the sweaters?”

Vorgath, standing slightly to the side, had been watching the playful exchange with quiet amusement. His fiery red and gold aura pulsated in time with his low chuckle. It was mesmerizing,actually, how the intensity burned around him yet softened when his gaze fell my way. My skin heated under his attention, and more of his warmth—quite literally—started to bleed into my own space, mixing gently into my purples and silvers.

“Vorgath,” I teased, raising an eyebrow. “Am I just that irresistible?”

His eyes locked with mine. “More than you know.”

Thyri cleared her throat loudly. “Well, as fascinating as watching you two make eyes at each other is, I believe we have a forge to light!”

I blinked, suddenly remembering why we were all here in the first place. “Right, yes. The forge.”

Chapter 20

We gathered around the cold forge, our auras creating a kaleidoscope of colors in the dim light. Sylwen stepped forward, his starlight aura shimmering.

“In elven tradition,” he said, “we often mark new beginnings with offerings. Each person contributes something meaningful to represent their hopes for the future.”

Thyri's eyes lit up. “Ooh, I love this idea! I'll start.” She rummaged in her pockets and pulled out a small bundle of dried herbs. “Rosemary, for remembrance of where we've come from, and sage for wisdom going forward.” She tossed the herbs into the forge, her orange aura flaring brightly.

Mrs. Crumble was next, sprinkling what looked like glittering dust into the forge. “A touch of brownie magic,” she said with a wink. “For luck and protection.”

Sylwen contributed a drop of the moonwine, which sizzled as it hit the cold metal. “For clarity of vision and purpose,” he intoned.

Vorgath stepped forward, placing a small piece of metal into the forge. “Orc-forged iron,” he explained. “For strength and resilience.”

They all turned to me, expectant. But what did I have? On a whim, I reached into my pocket, and my fingers wrapped around a slim piece of metal—the spoon. The one that Mrs. Hargrave inadvertently served with tea to Tynsera Wildclaw.

“This spoon…” I offered with a sheepish smile. “For... serendipity.” I placed it gently into the forge.

Mrs. Crumble hummed approvingly, “Serendipity, yes. I like that.”