Page 20 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

CHAPTER TWELVE

The afternoon was spent trudging through the endless grassland.

After effectively shutting down Kian’s request to add treasure hunting for an unknown artifact to my to-do list, he had tucked away all his books and scrolls back into their appropriate pockets.

No longer needed, my grassland helpers returned to the prairie.

The tow rope around Kian’s waist was no longer needed, either, but Cody bore its coils around his shoulder, just in case.

When the sun dipped low and the three moons began to rise, I called for a halt when Kian didn’t.

The fae had been taking copious notes, lost in his work, and seemed to realize when I called the halt that he, too, was thirsty and a mite hungry and his eyes needed a break from straining against the fading light.

Emmett, who lived a life on a stool polishing silver and sipping apple pie moonshine, not trekking across the country, had been fighting off the heart attack he’d accused Cody of having all afternoon, even after Kian had kindly relieved him of his pack.

His homespun friar frock, completely soaked through with sweat, clung to him so fiercely he had all the likeness of a fattened wild hog ambling along on its rear trotters towards the sausage market.

I’d grown walking staffs for him, Cody, and Daphne, but by the end of the day, their only use seemed to be keeping their masters upright.

Everyone was weary from the two escapes we’d managed in the last day, one from Ossian and the other from the Court of Beasts, except Flora.

The garden gnome had regained much of her strength back from riding on shoulders all day, and while she’d used her magic for most of the latter half of the day, she wasn’t fatigued.

Elfame.

I felt its nourishment with every step seeping through my boots and up my legs into my core, and no doubt Flora, a true member of the Fair Folk, enjoyed its effects simply through breathing.

“This is a good place to camp,” she announced, looking around at the screen of grass and nodding.

“How can you tell?” Cody asked, shucking his pack.

“The soil.” Flora dug her fist through the turf and lifted a handful of black earth. “The structure here is incredible. Firm but not packed, just the right amount of moisture”—she leaned in for a hearty sniff—“and it smells like dirt. So nothing used this place to relieve itself recently.”

“What a blessing,” Emmett wheezed, hands on his knees.

“It’ll keep us dry and warm tonight.” She brushed the soil from her palm and then cracked her knuckles.

“I think I’ll rustle us up some food. Been itching to smack something around since we met the Lord of Pompous Assery back there.

I am so glad I grew up on Earth away from all this simpering stupidity. C’mon, Stripes.”

Sawyer looked up from cleaning his rear paw, his four toes splayed out to reveal the tawny webbing between. “Me? What about him ? If anyone knows how to scavenge up food, it’s an opossum.”

We followed his gaze to Fiachna perched on Kian’s shoulder, his bare pink tail wrapped around the fae’s neck.

“Oh, no,” Kian replied, shaking his head.

The opossum slunk down to the male’s hands with a whimper and hid his face in the crook of Kian’s elbow.

“Fiachna hasn’t touched the ground since he became my Raven.

‘Grimy fingers a book doth loathe,’ you know.

In this case, toes, I suppose. Fiachna eats from a fork. ”

The opossum lifted its head from Kian’s elbow and gave Sawyer a grin. Run along and catch my supper, won’t you?

The black fur along Sawyer’s spine lifted as his ears lowered.

“Go on,” I murmured, giving my cat’s rump a nudge. Sawyer grumbled something and shoved his way through the tall grass.

“Be as quiet as you can,” Kian called after them. Flushing, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “It’s not wise to speak out here after the sun sets.”

“Then how are we to communicate?” Flora demanded.

I pointed to the trail Sawyer had left in his wake. “He reads lips. He can tell me through the bond and we can charades it out?”

“What are charades?” the junior scholar asked.

“Forget that. I think Book Boy needs his eyes checked while I’m gone,” Flora said to no one in particular. “Thinks an opossum is a raven.” She rolled her eyes and stepped through the parted grass of Sawyer’s trail.

“I don’t know how I feel about some young’un who can’t tell the difference between an opossum and a raven leading us,” Cody announced, hands perched on his bony hips.

“Why don’t you hand over that map, dear,” Daphne suggested, “and get some rest. It’s been a long day for all of us.”

Shari was already fast asleep, curled up on her side with her head on Daphne’s lap and her latest crochet project limp in her hands. She was out cold.

“The map you speak of is in here”—Kian tapped his temple—“and of course Fiachna is not a bird. A Raven is a junior scholar’s assistant before he or she becomes a master scholar and receives an Owl.

” Pink colored his cheeks, as if twin carnations had just decided to bloom there, and he said, “N-not many junior scholars have unique Ravens like me.”

“AKA none,” Cody surmised.

Emmett whacked him in the arm.

“Ow!”

“They don’t know what they’re missing,” Kian said, straightening his shoulders.

He looked down fondly at his opossum and began stroking his white fur.

“Fiachna is more than he seems. He can distinguish books and scrolls based on smell alone, not just sight like a true raven. Granted it might take him longer to retrieve a book, since he can’t fly about the stacks, but he can carry more than one with his prehensile tail.

His memory is incredible and he’s immune to the luachra venom they use to preserve the books in the restricted section.

Though, he’s rather slow with message delivery. ”

Fiachna grunted and lifted his black gaze up at his scholar.

Kian smiled and lifted the opossum for a nose-to-nose boop that was shockingly un-faelike. “But no one sends me messages anyway, so it doesn’t matter, does it? And a raven can’t cuddle like you can, huh?”

The junior scholar caught us all staring at him and the carnation pink of his cheeks deepened to pomegranate.

From our limited experience with high fae, they were all proud and reserved with superiority complexes that surpassed even those of professional narcissists.

Kian was simply… not that. And he didn’t use his aura to influence anyone around him either, not that I sensed a very powerful one at his disposal.

Kian ducked his head and hunched his shoulders to become less noticeable. He fumbled with his overcoat for a book to take his mind away from the scrutiny.

“It sounds like you two have a very special friendship,” Daphne said before he could withdraw from us entirely. “I, too, have a great appreciation for misunderstood animals. Why, I fostered an entire brood of Gila monsters once.”

The junior scholar couldn’t resist. His head shot up, the golden tips of his black hair winking in the dying sunlight. “What is a Gila monster, and how are you still alive?”

As Daphne began to explain, I announced to no one in particular, “I’m going to practice. Unless we want to eat raw catch-of-the-day.”

The tall grass bent under my tamping feet, and I sank down cross-legged on the springy mat.

I wasn’t just a green witch, but a hearth witch too, which meant I had an innate control over fire, albeit small.

Maybe that advantage was all I needed to jumpstart the extra finesse I needed to control magic here.

“Now wait just a minute.” Cody snapped his fingers, gaining everyone’s attention except Shari’s.

“Before y’all lose yourself to story time and conjuring, let’s set up camp, such that it is.

Everybody’ll do their business over there, downwind, and all the food’s gonna go over here when we’re done with it so the bears eat it instead of us. ”

From where he already sat on the ground, Fiachna in his lap, Kian raised his hand like he was asking to be called upon in lecture hall. “There aren’t any bears here.”

“Shaddap. The principle’s the same. Now we only got two bedrolls, so we gonna share. And we gotta take shifts, too. This is enemy country, so?—”

I tuned out the carpenter’s voice as my eyes fluttered shut.

After all this time, it felt strange to summon my magic for something so mundane as cooking.

Green and hearth magics were second-nature, but manipulating fire without a hearth was tricky indeed.

It was certainly easier to just manipulate what was already in existence, that’s for sure.

But if I could grow an entire tree out of nothing from having a meltdown, I could draw flame to my finger or a bead of water or a little cyclone of air.

‘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.’

Fire was most definitely not water, but maybe there was something to Shannon’s bare-boned instructions.

Pinching thumbs to forefingers, I rubbed them together until heat bloomed between them.

I concentrated on the sensation, drawing magic from the oak tree to amplify it.

The warmth suddenly became quite hot indeed, and I yanked my fingers apart as my eyes flew open.

An arc of fire jumped from thumb to forefinger and vanished.

Daphne paused in her story to beam at me. “You just made a match with your finger.”