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How did I do it?
She let out a puff of air, extinguishing the candle flame. Maewyn muttered a curse, but Cera paid her no mind. She thought back to her previous brushes with magic. With the egg, it had begun with a dash of curiosity. She'd wondered what sort of bird might hatch from the egg, and then the chick had begun to emerge, as if bursting into existence merely to satisfy her curiosity. With the flowers, she'd been no more aware of what she'd been doing, she only remembered wanting not to disappoint Isael.
Desire.
Desire to satisfy her curiosity.
Desire to please Isael.
Desire to light the candle.
The candle wick ignited, not with the tiny, flickering light she'd imagined, but with a burst of flame that shot up towards Cera's face.
Cera and Maewyn both jerked back, but the older woman regained her composure more quickly. An instant later, the flame contracted into a glowing, orange orb. It rose up from the fallen candle, darting over to where Maewyn crouched at the edge of the tapestry. Her green eyes were wide, and despite her own shock, Cera couldn't help but feel rather pleased with herself.
"Imadefire," she declared, with all the gusto of a small child.
At once, Maewyn's expression shuddered and the orb collapsed on itself, vanishing without a trace.
"Fae magic," she grunted. "I'll not be able to teach you. None will, save for the high lord, or perhaps Esodir Solin. How did you do it?"
Cera answered to the best of her ability, feeling rather foolish as she admitted that all she'd essentially done waswishthe fire into existence. It felt too easy, and yet she'd undeniably done it.
By the time she finished her explanation, Maewyn was shaking her head.
"This is not good. Not good."
She'd said the same thing after she'd first regarded Cera's change, though she'd been speaking elven, so Cera didn't point it out.
Instead, she asked, "Why?"
As she asked, several obvious reasons popped into her head. Chief among them was how dangerous it was for anyone to be able to create fire. What if she did it inadvertently and set the citadel ablaze?
"It is something that would be difficult to explain, even to some of our people," Maewyn said, bending to pick spilled wax from the tapestry.
Cera bent to help her. "Could you try to explain?"
Maewyn was quiet for a moment, and then paused in her work to run her finger over the likeness of the silver-haired lord.
"When we speak of the elves of Ishvalier today, we talk of their bravery, heroism, and might. We sing songs about the war, lamentations for the loss of them, and we thank the gods for sparing the aesolin, so that a part of their bloodline still lives with us."
Her finger moved over to the other prominent figure on the tapestry, the kneeling lord.
"To this day, Ishvalier is still the largest territory in Esryia. It stretches all the way from Atera to Kyta, and encompasses most of the highlands, even after the high lord graciously ceded regions of it to Medindir, Telavir, and Gerodir. We treat Ishvalier as if it's a holy land, regard it as the final resting place of our saviors, because to say otherwise would denigrate our high lord's house. But with your looks and your magic, you will bear the weight of the truth, so you must know it."
She looked up at Cera, pinning her with an intense stare. "The high lord is a great hero, do not doubt that. But the Ishvalindic elves…” She lowered her voice to a whisper. "They were once our greatest villains. They were longer lived than us, more powerful, and they were cruel. They didn't even regard themselves as elves, didn't look upon their neighbors as brethren, only people to be conquered.
"There were once a hundred tribes in the northern highlands, each with its own unique history and culture, but we know them only through ancient songs and the occasional unearthed artifact. Ishvalier swallowed them up and digested them, one by one. There are still some who believe that the gods sent the dragons not to wage war with the elves, but toliberateus from Ishvalier."
She reached over to finger Cera's hair. "Most who see you and the high lord together will be enchanted. I'm ashamed to say I'm among them. I was born at the end of the war. My heart soars to think that the high lord may yet have children, and that they will be as he is. And I know in my heart that nothing evil could ever come from him.
"But there are older elves, ones who remember the time before the dragons, who remember Ishvalier. They will be none too pleased to see you at his side, wielding fae magic, bearing him silver-haired children. Esryia is going to be a very dangerous place for you, Cera."
The Myth
It was odd to Cera, that she and Maewyn could simply walk to the high lord's room and rap on his door without interference from guards or footmen.
Maewyn did the knocking, while Cera hung back with fists clenched at her side. She was trying her best not to start fretting over her appearance and it was taking a great deal of effort.
