Page 40 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
Satisfied, she turned her attention to the spell her father had been preparing. She skimmed the words and scoffed.
Lochlan turned, abandoning his conversation with Wulfric to join her.
Behind them, several thick tomes slipped from a shelf and hit the floor with a dull thud. Wulfric cursed softly and moved to retrieve them, grumbling about “poorly enchanted bindings” as he began to rearrange the stack.
“‘Open the mind to seal your fate. Promises to keep and love to wake,’” she read, her tone dry.
This wasn’t a promise spell—it was a love spell.
Lochlan leaned in, his warmth pressing against her back. She let herself sink into him for the briefest moment, the solid presence of him an unexpected comfort. But then reality pulled her upright again. With a promise spell looming, and her father’s doubts hanging over them, she couldn’t afford to let herself get caught in something she might not be able to escape.
She steeled herself and shifted away.
“‘Fate’ and ‘wake’ don’t even rhyme,” Lochlan muttered behind her, voice laced with quiet skepticism.
Rhyme and rhythm matters, she thought, grabbing the ink pot and quill. Sloppy words make sloppy spells. Everyone knows that.
She cast Lochlan a sideways glance, the corner of her mouth twitching despite herself.
“What if it starts with ‘Light to flame’?” Lochlan suggested, his voice thoughtful. “We could each light a candle during the spell.”
She glanced up, considering. “Yes. Light to flame, seals the… bargain? Pact?”
“Deal.” Lochlan tapped the table. “Light to flame, seals the deal.”
Her lips twitched. “I’ll allow it.”
“What about ‘Bound by truth’… no, that’s not it,” he mused.
“No, it’s perfect,” she said, already writing. Bound by truth, our hearts reveal. “Because we’re proving what’s in our hearts.”
Lochlan hesitated, then nodded. “What’s next?”
She tapped the quill against her lip. “Right are our actions?—”
“And we win this fight?” Lochlan finished.
Nia tilted her head. “I was going to say something about honor, but I think I like yours better.”
Lochlan’s grin was small but proud, and she couldn’t help returning it.
“And since we started with light, let’s finish with it,” she added, scribbling the last line. “The moon will be close to full on Samhain, so how about… ‘Prove our fate under the moon’s light.’”
“Well, well, well,” Wulfric drawled, making them both jump. Nia had completely forgotten he was still in the room. “I’m glad to see you two working so well together.”
“It’s just a simple spell,” Nia replied, though the words tasted bitter on her tongue as she said them. Diminishing the moment they’d just shared felt like swallowing coffin nails.
Lochlan cleared his throat and stepped back, busying himself with the candles. Nia turned away, grabbing the mortar and pestle and adding the first herb—her swapped aspen. She had never created or worked on a spell with anyone before. She’d have expected it to be tedious, frustrating—a chore to tolerate. But instead, it felt like breathing fresh air, like fun. It shouldn’t have been fun.
Not with the husband she was trying to leave.
Grinding the herb into fine pieces, she forced her thoughts elsewhere as the rhythmic motion of the pestle anchored her. She didn’t want to be married. Her grip tightened as her thoughts drifted to her mother—the woman with whom she shared the same magic.
The woman who had died after giving birth to her.
Whether it had been an accident or something more sinister, like her father claimed, Nia didn’t know.
That was the reason he’d kept her hidden for so long. Or, at least, that was what he had wanted her to believe, whispering stories of unseen enemies, of the dangers lurking beyond their walls. But a part of her had always wondered: was it truly about keeping her safe?
