“I already told him that,” Elyria snapped.
Sephone ignored her. “—not as a well, not as the blood in your veins or the flame already come to life, but as fuel. The spark happens when you pull it to the surface, when it ignites.” She dropped her eyes to Cedric’s token, still hanging around his neck. “You have that thing. Use it to help focus that spark, until you can more reliably create one of your own.”
As if to punctuate her point, she snapped her thumb and middle finger together, a literal spark of lightning rolling off her fingers and dispersing into the air. Cedric tasted wine and berries in the air, stunned at the unique display of magic—he wasn’t even aware that stormbenders could do that.
He didn’t have a chance to inquire over itfurther, however, as with a nod of her head and a smug grin, Sephone strolled off with her apple in hand and a hop in her step.
Elyria huffed her annoyance, as did Sid, who had sauntered up to the three of them during the exchange, but Cedric figured there wasn’t anything to lose by giving Sephone’s advice a try.
And so, he did. He pictured the ever-present heat in his chest as a well of power, like Elyria said. And then he touched two fingers to his token, like Sephone suggested, and drew a single spark of mana from within.
A ball of white-gold flame blazed in Cedric’s other palm.
For several moments, he simply stared at it, transfixed. It was an overwhelming feeling to be kindling his fire, getting the chance to actually see it, test it, control it—rather than be overwhelmed by it. Finally, he lobbed it onto the woodpile in the center of the firepit before them.
The hue of the fire shifted as the wood ignited, and soon the fire was nothing but brilliant flickering orange flames.
“I did it,” he said, unable to contain his satisfaction.
“You did it,” Elyria echoed, her voice barely more than a whisper. When Cedric turned to look at her, she was staring at him with such emotion, such pride, that the inner corners of his eyes prickled in response. Sid wound herself through Cedric’s legs, the shadows leaking from her wrapping around him in a way that felt strangely like approval.
Together, they stared at the fire, Cedric calling more kernels of mana from his token, his magic sparking over and over again. Nox would be proud of how hard hepracticed, summoning everything from the smallest flame—no bigger than a lit candle at the tip of his finger—to a larger blaze that laced up his arm. It was just like when he had erupted in the training room with Elyria, only Cedric marveled at the control he felt now. He was able to keep it from searing his clothing, was able to snuff it out with ease—no shadows required.
Eventually, Tristan, Ollie, and Thraigg moseyed over to see what Cedric and Elyria were doing, followed by Jocelyn and Young Shep in short order. Even Sephone returned to sit fireside, watching Cedric practice with a smug expression.
Cedric had thought perhaps they would say something, would have remarks, would call out this strangeness that he wielded. He especially thought that Tristan might have hadsomething to say, thatknowingabout it was one thing, but seeing Cedric’s power in practice another entirely.
But the knight only gave Cedric an encouraging nod as he and Ollie took up seats on the other side of the fire. They all seemed to have the same air of reassurance, of approval, in fact, and the casual sense of acceptance circulating through the group made Cedric’s throat feel tight.
Conversations sparked as he continued to practice, interrupted only by the occasional stream of water sent his way by Ollie, who seemed determined to test his fire by continually dousing his hand until Elyria scolded him into ceasing.
Finally, Elyria’s head whipped in the direction of the forest, and she made a frantic motion for Cedric to stop.
“They’re coming back,” she said, though it took almost a full minute for Cedric to see and hear what Elyria’s fae senses did—for Hargrave and Thibault to emerge from the woods, a pair of rabbits slung over the former’s shoulder.
Cedric’s cheeks were flushed with pride all throughout the time the group spent prepping the game, then roasting it over his fire. He didn’t even realize until later that he never asked what Sephone meant by saying he’d been “claimed by the Revenant.” He supposed it didn’t particularly matter, as aside from Elyria’s reaction to the accusation, he didn’t have a problem with it. In fact, the way the thread in his chest had vibrated at the words had felt almost like a confirmation.
“What’s the hold up, Sir Slowpoke?” The sweet melody of Elyria’s voice breezed into Cedric’s ears, drawing him back to the present. She was standing with one hand on the inn’s doorknob, holding the door open for him. Everyone else had already moved inside.
Cedric shook his head, fully coming back to the present. “There is none,” he said, then swept inside.
34
THE SILVER DAWN INN
CEDRIC
Whatever might have been goingon outside the walls of the Silver Dawn Inn, Cedric had been correct in one thing: It looked exactly as he remembered.
The place was warm, inviting, with timber beams that stretched across the ceiling and air that was thick with the scent of bubbling stew. The walls were lined with simple tapestries, a fire crackling in the hearth along one side, a wide wooden staircase that led to the rooms upstairs on the other.
A few patrons were scattered around the space, nursing their drinks. One man sat at the bar, another near the hearth, tankard in hand. A pair of women conversed by the window, the candle at their table casting a long,flickering shadow.
They all looked up as the group filed in—Sephone at the front; Ollie, Thraigg, and Tristan close behind her; Cedric and Elyria trailing in as the door shut behind them.
It was natural enough that the locals might be curious, Cedric supposed. Even with wings hidden and hoods drawn, they were a conspicuous bunch. The sheer number of them alone, even with Young Shep and Jocelyn keeping watch over the horses, was bound to draw eyes. Still, their reactions were not nearly as, well, reactive, as Cedric might have thought they would’ve been. Almost like they’d been?—
“Welcome, welcome!” boomed a voice from behind the bar.
