Page 67 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
“Hmm, I suppose it’s a bit like how chefs add extra ingredients to improve the flavour or strength of a dish,” she explained. “Or how you learn to trot before you gallop. Words in spells are actions, directions, a way to draw the magic to you when you’re learning how to use it, or to strengthen something more complex.”
“I see. I don’t suppose there’s any objects here I could use?”
Aislinn smiled. “There’s always the fire, but you might not want to use that. You could accidentally set yourself alight if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Caer gulped. “I will refrain from using the fire.”
He headed to the mouth of the cave, Aislinn cackling lightly under her cloak, a sound that warmed him more than the flames he passed.
He held out his hands. They were hard and calloused, not like Aislinn’s—long fingered and elegant, no matter their experience with a blade. They did not look like the hands of a magician.
But Aislinn said that he could do it, and she was relying on him.
He would not fail.
He’d practised bringing back creatures with Diana’s help. He already felt that thread of magic, that quiet tug. It had always felt dark to him, like a stone on his shoulders. It was hard to imagine bending it into something else.
But it was there.
He took a deep breath, followed by another. He counted stars. He thought of that moment in the moonlight with Aislinn, the pulse of magic rippling across his body. He remembered the sensation. He imagined light.
Something sparked across his palms, a thin, whispery ribbon of light. Caer’s heart leapt. It vanished, scurrying away like a frightened mouse.
He took another breath, undaunted, and called it back again. He made it brighter, pushing back into the flimsy thread.
It was like he had another muscle, another limb he’d never noticed, never used until now.
“Signum.”
He threw the light into the air. It soared into the sky, exploding into pieces of glittering dust.
For the first time, Caer wasn’t scared of his powers. For the first time, they amazed him.
“Damn,” he said, “I really wish I’d known how to do that before I blistered my fingers starting the fire.”
“Your fingers are blistered?” Aislinn raised her head from the ground. “Let me see—”
“Even if you had the energy, I wouldn’t let you heal me right now. It has to be skin-on-skin, right?”
Aislinn bit her lip. “I’d still like to see.”
Caer came towards her side, sliding down to her level. He put his hand next to hers. The initial sting had gone, now, and he’d picked out all of the splinters, but the redness remained.
“They look sore,” Aislinn remarked.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.” She inched her hand closer, almost touching, not quite. Warmth seemed to hum from the tips of her fingers, spreading through his skin. His insides squirmed, imagining those hands in other, more intimate places.
He leapt up to throw another log on the fire, and stood by the mouth of the cave for a moment, cooling himself down.
“I have heard, in Faerie, that there are mortals that can do magic,” he said, partly just to say something—anything. “Witches.”
Aislinn rolled onto her back, the whisper of a sigh escaping her. “You heard correctly. Their magic is different from ours, though. It doesn’t come from the earth, doesn’t flow naturally through them. They harness it through spells and potions and objects.”
“That sounds… dark?”
“It can be. Most are benign, though. There’s a council of witches dedicated to ensuring they don’t abuse their power… although in Faerie that’s kind of hard to judge.”
