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Unsurprisingly, while Gryph might have taken a liking to Lore, Finndryl’s mood remained unchanged. He was still surly, always glaring at her when he had to come back for more food or to get ingredients to stock the bar.

Lore began to think that she’d imagined his kindness when she’d been injured. He wouldn’t know kindness if it hit him in the face.

***

After another two weeks, when Lore’s wound no longer needed to be dressed or cleaned, she walked farther into the woods than she ever had before. With more mobility, she could gather more plants and add them to her growing collection. The kitchen had become half kitchen and half storeroom at this point, and it had begun to remind her of their kitchen at the shelter back home. Back in Duskmere, there had always been a half-finished project laying around on the counter, drying herbs hanging from the rafters, or a simmering poultice or three on the stove.

One evening, she climbed a tree, trying to reach a vine that only bloomed at night. The milky white flower had a glowing center, one that shimmered and swirled like the pockets of magic in the hazelwood thicket. She was perched comfortably on a largebranch, just about to pluck one of the flowers, when she heard a voice from the forest floor below.

“I wouldn’t pick that one if I were you. The Wild doesn’t like it when outsiders come in and take its most precious blooms.”

Her good mood dissipated as fast as the honey butter she’d made earlier. Finndryl. She clenched her jaw in annoyance and a little bit in fear. Did he follow her here? Would he tell Gryph?

She hated to admit it, but the thought of disappointing the graying tavern owner made her uneasy.

She lowered her hand and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. “What would happen if I picked it?” She glanced at him, expecting him to look smug, but was surprised to see that he stood below her with a hint of a smile on his face.

Clearly, it was a trick of the moonlight.

“Your hands will blister painfully until they eventually weep a nasty, glowing pus for six days and nights.”

He would probably love it if that happened to her. That explained the smile, then.

She leaned away from the beautiful flower. “The forest must prize it very much, then. How do you know this?” Lore climbed down before landing lightly on her feet. The soft earth and thick moss of the forest floor softened her landing.

“I climbed up there myself when I was little. It was the longest six days of my life.”

Lore grinned, reaching into her apron and pulling out a handful of the glowing flowers. “Funny, because I’ve been collecting these for three days now and nothing has happened tomyhands.”

Finndryl stumbled back, eyes widening. “Impossible. I wasn’t even able to pluck the flower from the vine before my hand was on fire.”

“Didn’t you say the Wild doesn’t like outsiders taking their precious blooms?” She placed the flowers back in her apron, careful not to bruise the delicate petals. She had several ideas for howto use them. She was full-on grinning now; getting one over him was a delicious feeling. “I guess that means I’m the chosen one.”

He grimaced, but it did little to remove the shock from his face. “Whoareyou? Where do your kind come from?”

Lore shrugged. “No one knows. There are legends, of course, that claim my ancestors are from a world of our own. One ruled by humans because there is no magic and no fae at all. The stories say that one day, someone angered a frivolous god, or maybe a malevolent one, depending on who is telling the story. Either way, humans were lost to the darkness for a hundred years.”

She removed her apron so as not to crush the flowers, plopped onto the ground, and pulled her knees up to her chest to hug them.

“Some say they werenotlost for a hundred years and that it was only a moment of complete darkness. But the only thing we know for sure is, when my ancestors came to, they were in the heart of a forest. They had to fight monsters that shouldn’t exist and fend for themselves with only what had been in the vicinity around them when the world went dark.”

She pulled her arms in tighter. She hated this history of hers. “It wasn’t long before those who ruled Alytheria found them and subjugated them. Without magic, humans never stood a chance.”

Finndryl frowned. “It must be hard, not knowing your true history or where you come from.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s mostly frustrating, though. My people could be so great if we also had magic, you know?”

“But youdohave magic. I suspect you used it just now to grab those flowers without harm coming to you.” He stepped closer to her, dropped to the ground beside her, and grabbed one of her hands gently, like he would hurt her if he applied any pressure. He turned her palm up and brushed her glowing fingertips lightly with his own. “It must be magic.”

“It’s not really mine.”

He glanced up from her hand, meeting her eyes with confusion. Her hand was still in his. He was sitting so close to her and not wearing a look of contempt for once.

The last time they had been this close, she had just been poisoned.

She had to remind herself to breathe. She’d climbed sea-soaked cliff faces. She’d fought armed guards and lived in the woods for days. She was brave.

Brave enough to weather his rejection, should it come to that. “Will you help me? I can’t read it. The book, I mean. If I press a flower to it, words and diagrams appear, but I can only understand a fraction of it. I feel like my magic is being held hostage by my ignorance.”