Page 11 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

CHAPTER SEVEN

The deer trail we followed deeper into the dark forest was wide enough that two could easily walk abreast. Shannon took the lead, slowing her gait so us mere mortals could keep up without having to run.

Quiver and Arrow trotted ahead of their mistress, tails and ears bouncing in time with their stride.

At the tail end of our party, Shannon’s attendants cast their water magic to obscure the tracks of our passage.

At least until the red deer decided to visit this trail again.

“Jumping hop-toads.” Flora’s green eyes were round as moss-covered stones as she eyed the fairy hounds. Her awe seemed to stun even her nose—she hadn’t sneezed once since plugging her nostrils up with that butterbur balm. “Are those wind dancers? I thought they went extinct years ago.”

“Centuries, actually,” Shannon said. “These are the breed’s descendants: the silken windhound.

Not many possess the traits of their ancestors, though Quiver and Arrow here have been known to wrangle a storm from time to time, if it’s weak enough.

The swish of their tails can even dispel our scents. ”

“I thought that’s what they were doing,” the gnome said, tossing a thumb over her shoulder at Laoise, Orla, and Agnes.

“My husband is the Lord of Beasts. It will take more than one method to thwart his senses should he decide to search for us.”

“My lady, why are you doing this?” I finally whispered.

Trouble did not even begin to describe what we would be in if the high lord found out what we were doing.

Plan E was already much more invigorating and instilled a sense of accomplishment, but what was it?

And Plan D hadn’t been all that bad, though I hadn’t relished the idea of poring over the ancients texts of the Tuatha in search of a powerful summoning spell (or similar). Why the change?

Before the high lady could reply, Cody cut in, “Before y’all start in on the whys and whos and the magical this and that and forget entirely about the rest of us mere mortals trundling along, how about some water?”

“We would be most appreciative,” Emmett said quickly. His ingratiating smile quickly vanished so he could send a stink-eye of epic proportions in his best friend’s direction.

The garden gnome made a show of looking around. “Did no one think to bring any provisions? How can we escape if our blood sugar is low?”

“Perhaps you should focus your energy on moving your feet faster instead of running your mouth, fairy,” Laoise suggested.

No amount of goading would make it possible for Flora to keep up with the high fae’s pace without sprouting wings, so Daphne hoisted her up into her arms. That made her let go of Shari’s hand, which made the quiet crafter whimper.

Taking pity on Shari, Sawyer left my side so she could hold him in her arms. She was in desperate need of something familiar, and while he wasn’t her treasured Ame, he made a pretty decent substitute.

Especially when he purred. Her fingers obsessively stroked his fur, but with each passing minute, her anxiety lessened.

“I thought someone mentioned packs?” Daphne asked.

“They’re up ahead,” Orla said.

“Can’t one of you summon water?” she asked the fae attendants.

The three females shared a glance: Agnes turned embarrassed, Orla sullen, and Laoise prickly.

“While all fae reap the benefits of the immortal lands’ vitality and longevity,” Shannon answered, “not all are born imbued with more of its magic. True wielders are fewer than you think. It’s also why fae healers are so uncommon—it’s the rarest of Elfame’s gifts.”

“It’s why the Erusians hunt down mortals,” Agnes added. “They’re responsible for the dwindling populace of wielders. Too much has been taken away that there is little left to be gifted to future generations.”

“Mind your tongue,” Laoise snapped. “Do not spout their hateful lies.”

“I’m only explaining their dogma!”

“The Mac Eru seek nothing but to revel in their own perceived victimhood. Eru gifts those She wishes with magic by Her will, not because She has less because some paltry mortal snuck in here and stole some of it.”

I chose not to be insulted by the paltry mortal .

“Some of us can manipulate what water is already there, but we can’t manifest it to suit our own purposes,” Orla explained, answering Daphne’s question. “Only high fae of a certain caliber can do that, like my lady,” she said proudly.

“And Ler,” Agnes added.

“Or our cider witch,” Shari commented.

That turned every fae eye on me in less than a second. In my misunderstanding with the fae at the masquerade party, I had only stolen Shannon’s water, so they hadn’t known any better.

“Well?” the high lady quipped. “Go on. Draw water for your friends.”

Her tone needled me. With a tsk , I swirled a hand through the air.

Nothing happened.

That is to say, plenty of water answered my call, but it was like trying to force a waterfall through a straw. So I got nothing.

“ What ?” I exclaimed.

“Shhh!” Laoise hissed.

“Try again,” Daphne encouraged, but there was a note of worry in her voice.

Draw a trickle of water from the moisture in the air. I rolled my shoulders. It should be simple enough, and yet… Pressure built behind my fingertips and palms but they remained bone dry.

“C’mon, Cider Witch,” Flora whined.

“Where is the witch I saw at the masquerade party?” Shannon asked dryly. Was that smugness lacing her words?

“I’ve only been a primal witch for a day,” I snapped, looking back at my hands. “Give me a second.” I hadn’t ever needed a second before. Searching inward, I discovered my oak tree was ablaze with light and an eagerness to act, so why the flaccidity?

“Sawyer?” I asked down the bond, panicked.

“They never covered witchy performance anxiety at school!” he protested, tail lashing. “At least not in a course I took before I got kicked out. Maybe it’s some lingering effects of the fairy wine?”

“Let me guess, Primal Witch of Only a Day,” Shannon began, earning my immediate attention, “you awakened your abilities under extremely stressful situations and have been reacting more on instinct than deliberate decision ever since.”

I’d battled a demonic half-heart for mastery of fire, a river and mallaithe and threat of Sawyer’s drowning for water, and sluagh for air.

It had been nothing but adrenaline and the overshadowing “fail and everyone you love will die” atmosphere ever since.

Even after we’d escaped through the portal.

“I can see from your expression that I’m correct in my assessment,” she said gently. “My brother was right when he called you young. He wasn’t only referring to your age.”

“What is happening to me?” I demanded.

“You’re in Elfame now, witch. The immortal lands, a place where magic imbues every molecule of our existence. You had less to work with in the mortal realm and thus had greater ease manipulating it. It was not critical for you to learn finesse, as a wielder must learn here.”

Ossian’s words came back to me in a rush.

‘You’ve fused with your magic, Meadow, but in its practice you have the control of a fae child, not unlike a swarm of locusts—accuracy through brute force.

There was no finesse to that portal summoning.

Charging a primal key takes precision. We must sharpen you into a falcon. ’

So what, I’d acquired precision by human definition but not a fae one? My left eye twitched.

“Uh oh,” Sawyer murmured, cowering in Shari’s arms.

“Are you kidding me?” I exploded.

“Shhh!” Laoise snapped.

I thrust my finger into her face with a speed to rival her own reflexes. “You shut up.”

“Go, cider witch.” Flora clapped.

“Fae don’t make jokes,” Shannon informed. “And please don’t threaten my friend. We all know what happens when you get… upset.”

The battle magic. The vengeance.

I dropped my hand.

“You would do well to learn quickly, Misty Fields,” the high lady said. “This is not the place for anyone unsure of what they can and cannot handle.”

With a graceful wave of her hand, she summoned a thread of water from each of her fingers. They snaked through the air and into the mouths of my five friends. There was none for me or my familiar—a lesson and no mistake.

“Rude,” Sawyer told me.

“You can practice by drawing a bead to your fingertip. Make it grow without slipping down your finger. It is how all water fae learn,” she told me, much how Ame had instructed me on illusion magic. Basically, just do it .

Easy enough for a high fae and talking cat who had been bonded to their magic their entire lives, a little more difficult for someone who’d just grown into theirs. And not fully, apparently.

Thistle thorns was an expletive that didn’t even begin to cover the extent of my malcontent.

“I’ll do that,” I said with forced calm. Breath sawed in and out of my lungs through clenched teeth as I took one steadying breath after another. I wasn’t helpless; I still had my green, healing, and battle magics at easy disposal. But I still felt robbed.

Focus. First things first and second things second, after all. The Samildánach. My brother. “My lady,” I began again in a measured voice, “why are we here instead of the library?”

“I believe as you do, Misty Fields,” she answered, indicating we should continue on, “that the Blight will not affect you like it does the fae. The faelene are proof of that. My husband is too concerned with the safety of the courts to risk testing it. I understand that, but I also cannot accept it.”

Her chin lifted stubbornly as her eyes took on a faraway look.