Page 41 of The Witch’s Daughter

Or we could take an afternoon nap, my wolf yawned.

Not yet. First, we needed food. My stomach was eating itself. After that, I’d ask around and see if I could find some sort of cleansing crystal or healing witch or booster spell. Something to at least help me fake it through whatever trial Vincent had planned for tomorrow.

This side of the festival contrasted sharply with the training grounds. Whereas that field was dirt and crushed dreams, these tents were alive and vibrant. Flowing skirts and pealing laughter as ribbons danced, tied to long flowing hair. Whispered incantations blew on the soft afternoon breeze that drifted through the stalls.

A merchant measured a vial of dried herbs. Another filled a bag with feathers. Beyond the barter and trade, a group of musicians lounged on the grass, lazily strumming their instruments. Barefooted dancers toed the earth, moving to the beat.

The hum of magic was everywhere. And it wasn’t just in the vanishing cards or floating orbs and cheap parlor tricks. This was an earth-deep magic that thrummed with the pulse of life, strengthened and reflected by the hundreds of vessels gathered in one place.

My hands warmed with the ache to reach out and touch it. To take a piece for myself and allow it to fill me again. It’d been so many years since I could practice my true calling without it blowing up in my face and I itched to try it just one more time. A little tug in my heart begged me to come out and play.

My stomach rumbled on cue, and I turned away, heading to the food. Later, I told myself.

“Biscuit or scone?” the old woman at the head of the serving line smiled with a mouth full of sharpened teeth.

I picked up a plate, feeling my stomach rumble louder. As wolf shifters, we ate a lot, and I’d burned a ton of calories today.

“Can I have both?” I asked gently, already feeling bad for the request.

“Of course you can.” The woman shoved both pastries onto my plate, adding a second biscuit. “Never be ashamed to take what your body needs.” Then she lowered her voice to a whisper, “Just skip the soup today. Charles can’t cook for shit.”

A gasp at the end of the line came from a skinny warlock with ruddy cheeks and bright red hair. He held his ladle aloft, shaking it as bits of mashed peas went flying through the air. “You know I can hear you, you old crone.”

“Ignore him.” The woman gave me a second scone too. “All talk that one. Unblocking, my ass. Flows straight from the gut if you ask me.”

I was still smiling good-naturedly as I picked my way down the line, gathering bits of fruit and dried meat before I reached Charles, who made a big show of handing me a bowl of soup.

“That old witch doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” he huffed.

I accepted the bowl, biting down on my smile. “Honestly, you can’t be a worse cook than me.” The soup smelled fine. A little too many vegetables for my taste, but I hadn’t burnt it, so I wasn’t complaining.

“Bah.” He shook his ladle again. “She’s just bitter that her old man couldn’t get it up. I told her it wasn’t my spell.”

My cheeks physically hurt from trying not to laugh at the silliness of this all. “What did you do?”

“Me?” He gasped. “Nothing. She came to me for my magic, and is angry that flow wasn’t the problem.”

That sobered me a bit. “Flow?”

“There’s no dam blocking the river.” His tone took on a sing-song quality. “The well is dried up, if you know what I mean. Nothing I can do to fix that.”

“What exactly is your magic?” I studied him, trying to get a read. We all were born with different gifts. I used to be able to pick up on these kinds of things. My own magic made it so. But since the fracture, nothing had been very clear.

“Energy. River. Flow.” Charles touched each of his chakras, smirking a bit as he added, “Release.”

“The soup is poison!” the old woman yelled randomly.

Charles cringed. “That sort of thing.”

“Wait…” My jaw dropped. “Could you help me?”

“With what, darling?” He eyed me up and down. “I’m not really playing for your team. Though if the wine is flowing, I’ve been known to—”

“No, with your magic,” I hurried to say. “You release blocks, right? What about magical ones?”

“I can. If there is a blockage. But I’m not sensing one with you.” Charles frowned as he dipped his ladle in the soup. I stepped out of the way so I didn’t hold up the line.

“Could we try? Things haven’t been working lately with my… magic.” I balanced the bowl of soup, grabbing a spoon and digging out a bit. “Mmm…” I moaned loud. “This soup is really good.”