Page 59 of The Crown of Moonlight
I sigh.“My younger brothers liked to torment me with their wooden swords when they began their training.Until then, we’d done everything together.Then suddenly I was a girl and they were men, and I was supposed to treat them with respect.I wanted to learn to fight back, but no one would give me a sword of my own.”
“So you made one for yourself.Something told you that you could.”
It makes me smile that he understands.“Not only did I have a sword, but I had it whenever I needed it—and no one knew it was there.It took me months to learn the trick, and it felt like I was pulling shards of glass through my veins.But it was worth it.The look on my brothers’ faces when they trapped me—I made them both bleed a little, and they never tried it again.”
The memory doesn’t bring the wave of satisfaction it used to before they died.
Chyr catches my hand and threads his fingers with mine.His grip is careful; the Veilstones hum faintly against my skin.
“Does it still hurt when you use magic?”
“There are moments when it doesn’t hurt,” I say, “I thought maybe that was because of the Veilstones.”
“Whatever Siorai blood you’ve inherited must recognise them.But the magic you had before—was it harder after Vheara came?”
I nod, and the small crease between Chyr’s brows deepens.He pauses to pull the rabbit from the fire and checks it before sliding it back to roast again.Fat falls into the fire with a pop.A thread of smoke curls upward.
Chyr finally shifts around to face me.“The Veilstones were made to give us access to our magic while we’re here.But the runesmiths wouldn’t have known any descendants of the Riders would still have enough magic to use them.”
I huddle deeper into the warm plaid that’s trapped my body heat, thinking of the Veilstone that Chyr left at Dunhaelic.Thinking of possibilities.
“I’ve seen you use air and fire magic and jump from one place to another,” I say.“And create illusions.What other types of magic are there?”
Chyr raises his head, shadows from the fire playing across his skin, and he studies me more closely.I force myself not to look away.
“All Siorai can shadow-walk, work illusions, and do basic mind-tricks—change perception, shape dreams and memories, plant suggestions or compulsions—”
“The things the Compact outlawed.”
Chyr’s sigh is barely audible.“Some of them.More powerful Siorai can work with one or two of the elements.The way you do.”He casts a quick look at me.“I’ve seen you move the earth, and your sword magic is probably tied to earth magic, too.I suspect you can also work with water.”
My heart gives a dull thump.“Earth is all I know to reach for.”
“Healing is more of a water magic.We can try experimenting when you’re feeling stronger.That and using the Veilstones, since you’ve been doing that anyway.”
There’s no inflection in the way he says the words, but heat floods my cheeks.“You said the Veilstones were made for you—but there must have been something similar back when the Riders were consorts for the Cailleach Queens.”
A muscle jumps at Chyr’s temple, and he closes his eyes a moment as if fighting with himself.
I can’t help pressing the point.“Magic was the reason the Cailleach Queens married Siorai companions in the first place.If sealing the doorways cut off most of the magic that came from Tirnaeve, then the consorts would have been too weak to be useful.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”Chyr says the words lightly, and he smiles at me, but there’s still tension in the line of his jaw.
“But there was something—wasn’t there?”
“Flora, I wasn’t much more than a child when Fionn killed the last queen.”Chyr sits back deeper on his haunches, and his jaw tightens.
He takes the rabbit from the spit, his fingers deft on the hot flesh as he lays it down on the oilcloth in which Morag had wrapped our cheese.He doesn’t look at me.
I know he’s hiding something.When he told me that Siorai can’t lie, he warned me that doesn’t mean they tell the truth.I should be angry, but I’ve seen his oathbands, and all those rows of runes that represent promises he has to live by.
“Something other than Veilstones,” I say.“What was it?”
Chyr settles himself beside me, his back to the mitten-shaped rock, and lays the cloth with the rabbit on the ground between us.I can feel the tension that tightens every one of his muscles.His fingers clench, and his voice sounds like gravel when he finally answers.
“Chulainn had a Hollow Crown made when he sealed the doors—similar to the Veilstones but much more powerful.”
My breath hisses as I draw it in.“That’s not in any of the stories.”
