“Nothing spicy,” I say quickly. “Other than that, anything sounds good.” I hook my finger on Alice’s journal.
“Be back with food shortly,” he calls over his shoulder and strolls off.
As I slip the book from the shelf, the thought of taking it to Mr. Abbot crosses my mind. He would no doubt love to merely hold something his sister touched. I wonder if I could somehow get the book to him. The thought seeds an idea as I flip through the pages.
If I could go back… I’d do a lot more good in Capton. Spring is here in Midscape, the folk will be fine, and I’m sure Eldas can make himself look tough without me.
My fingertips tingle as though the book is giving me permission.
Alice arranged her notes neatly within. There’s the name of an herb at the top of every page with a gorgeous and meticulously detailed sketch of the specimen in question. To the right of the sketch are properties and preparation instructions.
Under all of the above, there are notes on magic—the queen’s magic—and how to use it. I set the book down on the table and begin eagerly flipping the pages, scanning the magical notes.
Focus on balance. Nature gives back what it receives.
This one stores magic well—can load with magic to be used for greater equilibrium exchanges.
Best to let grow naturally for greatest potency.
Easy to manipulate and sacrifice for larger exchanges of life to power.
Chew and spit out before making adjustments to weather patterns.
One after the other;it’s a treasure trove of information. I turn back to the bookshelf and grab another journal at random. This queen has set up her pages slightly different. The sketch of the herb is less skillfully done and it takes up the whole page. Each segment of the plant is noted directly over the sketch. Then, a page of additional information and some life anecdotes are recorded to the right.
I go back for a third journal. Yet more information awaits me. Personal notes line the corners of this queen’s pages as she waxes poetic about her situation.
Red rose. Properties: love. The king gave one to me on our fifth anniversary and I shall work to keep it alive so I might treasure the token of his affection forever.
I snort. At least some queen, sometime, seemed like she was in love with the king. Eldas clearly never heard this story. He has no interest in even being my friend, much less loving me.
“You find something amusing?” Willow has returned with a platter of food that he sets on the table between us.
“I did.” I set the journal down and move to get another. When I return to the table I tear off a hunk of rosemary bread and dip it into oil and herbs. “I have an idea.”
“Oh?”
“These journals are a good start”—and much better than Eldas’s sorry attempt at training—“but I want to learn more about my magic, and the elves’ magic. I need a safe space to practice.”
“All right,” Willow says with an appropriate note of caution.
“I want to make this my training room. And I want you to teach me.”
“What?”
“Tell me about elf magic and guide me as I work on learning my own.” I can’t count on Eldas.
“But—”
“Please, Willow.” I grab both of his hands. “You’re the only friend I have here.”
He purses his lips, looking between our hands and my eyes. Finally, he says, “All right.”
While we eat, he tells me about the elves’ onomancy—the wild magic of names. Every group of folk in Midscape has its own unique wild magic. The fae have ritumancy—magic charged by rituals based on actions performed in set ways. The vampir have sanguinmancy—magic from blood. On and on…
I focus mostly on the elves’ magic, since that’s what I’m dealing with. Willow reiterates what Eldas told me about the Knowing and how elves use it to find a subject’s true name.
As long as the elf knows the true name of someone or something, they can manipulate that thing however they please. It’s as Eldas said: their limitations only come from their own imagination and the strength of their magic. Willow explains how some elves are uniquely adept at suggesting emotions, others can manipulate hair into beautiful weaves; they can levitate objects, summon memories, communicate telepathically, and more.
I am surrounded by people of immense power. I wasn’t born with magic, and I might never learn enough to stand a chance. The best and safest thing I can do is leave.
Willow knows nothing about the “Being” that Eldas mentioned. After lunch, I spend the afternoon scouring the journals for any notes on it. I can’t find anything.
But what I do find is enough instruction on how to use my magic that I have renewed hope and a plan for later tonight.
The day drags on until the chime of a clock startles me from my work. Willow is finishing cleaning up his workbench. “Just leave all your things where they are. We can resume again tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Sure.” I force a smile and refrain from saying that I won’t be here tomorrow if everything goes right tonight.