Page 38 of Reign

“You told the pixie to go and hide,” I said, stepping closer.

“You understood?” Bash asked, inching forward until we were close enough to touch.

“Gese.” Yes, I replied softly.

As the Yfelle left my lips, Bash grabbed my shoulders, gently shaking me. “Thee’ar wicca!” You are a wizard! he exclaimed, sliding his hands down my arms then taking my hands in his. “It makes sense, Smith.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Why I’ve felt a connection to you. We’re both wizards.” He turned my wrists over, inspecting my palms closely. “Your hands.” His fingertips traced my skin. “They’re as white as snow.”

A chill rolled down my spine as his touch lingered. Concerned he’d notice my trembling, I pulled my hands away.

“I know,” I muttered, confused by his fascination.

“When a wizard practices magic, it marks his palms,” Bash explained, removing his gloves to reveal faint purple spots swirling at their centers.

“I’ve never practiced magic,” I told him.

“I don’t often,” he admitted. “I hate having to cover the marks until they fade.”

“The blotches fade?” I asked, intrigued.

He nodded. “When a wizard stops casting spells, the marks disappear. A few weeks ago, I reluctantly performed a memory loss incantation on a baron Fletcher stole from. I couldn’t let my cousin lose his head—thankfully, the stain’s fading fast.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to cast a spell if I wanted to,” I admitted, my cheeks warming with slight embarrassment. Calling myself a witch felt almost fraudulent.

Bash raised an eyebrow. “I’m not exactly a master sorcerer, but if you’d like, I could show you something magical?”

I nodded eagerly.

“Closen theer aga.” Close your eyes, he murmured.

I obeyed, plunging myself into darkness.

“Think of a flower,” Bash whispered in my ear, his breath sending a tingle along my neck. “Now open your eyes.”

I peered through the slits of my eyelids to find Bash standing before me, his cupped hands empty.

“Bloma a blostma, ette’t schewen. Doe thou palma ordain a blossoma growan.” Bloom a bud, let it show. In my hands make a flower grow, he said as something sparkled in the center of his palms.

A glimmering ball of light hovered in the air just above his skin. I watched, captivated, as a tiny forget-me-not bloomed in his purple-stained hands.

Reaching out, I gently plucked the delicate flower, admiring its beauty.

“A forget-me-not!” I exclaimed, elated. “They’re my most cherished flow…” I faltered.

For a fleeting moment, I felt my Finn disguise slip, exposing a part of Niamh hidden beneath.

“They’re beautiful,” Bash said softly, his gaze fixed on the periwinkle petals pinched between my fingertips. Clearing his throat, he looked away. “Follow me. There’s something I want to show you.”

We walked for a long while, edging deeper and deeper into the forest, the fog thickening with every step I took.

The sharp sting of nettles bit at my shins as we waded through overgrown weeds. Streams of silver light spilled through the canopy of leaves above, casting a faint glow on the shrubbery below.

Something in the undergrowth caught the light—shimmering subtly in the haze.

Bash pressed his finger to his lips, shushing me as he crept closer to the glittering object. At first, I thought it was a cluster of crystals. But as we edged nearer, I realized the sparkling scales were shifting…breathing.

“Be careful,” Bash whispered as he reached out his hand.

I took it, stepping carefully over the trunk of a fallen tree—almost concealed by the curling mist.