8. Harper
8
HARPER
A edon had a dragon . The thought hounded her. Harper longed to ask more, but the hurt in Aedon’s eyes did not invite prying and stilled her tongue. It was also a reminder that they were worlds apart. Not only an elf and a powerful magical being, but also a dragon rider? Against her, a commoner, even if of elven blood with slight magic of her own, it was a paltry comparison.
Her magic had become a distraction of sorts. Harper turned her hands, watching golden sparks arc and dance from fingertip to fingertip, a smile tugging at her mouth. Now magic bubbled fiercely within her, a little spring unable to be quelled. It was the fourth time that day that she had glanced down to see her fingers alight with it. In the weeks since she had been in Pelenor, she had, true to Aedon’s promise, already seen the tips of her ears lengthen and point ever so slightly.
“Very pretty, Miss Harper,” Ragnar said as he sat next to her upon the fallen tree. In his hands, he held his own magic—a carving. Harper had only recently noticed that all of his chatura pieces were hand-carved. No wonder his fingers were stiff with the wear of it.
She grinned at him. “What are you carving?”
“A king,” Ragnar said and held up the piece. Already, the delicate head and half of the cloaked, armoured king was carved from the pale wood.
Harper shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it. So intricate.” Her own prowess at carving wood stopped at chopping logs for the fire.
Ragnar winked. “Years of practice.” He pulled a little figure from his pack, a pawn, and passed it to her. “Here. A gift to start your collection.”
Harper rolled the small piece—a kneeling serf upon a block—in her fingers. “Are you sure? I cannot accept this. It’s?—”
“I insist. It might only be a pawn in a game of kings and queens, but even the smallest person can change the course of fate.”
Harper watched him return to his carving. “Don’t you wish you had magic so you could do it easily? Maybe even in an instant?”
Ragnar frowned at her. “Never. Where would the fun be in that? I derive my joy from making them, from each little shaving and cut, from the improvement of my craft. There would be no joy in making one with just a thought.”
Harper frowned, confused.
“Would you want to go hunting and kill an animal upon a wish?” Ragnar pressed.
She recoiled, appalled. “No!”
“Precisely. Why?”
“Because the animal deserves the honour of a death bought with skill, not, not… sorcery .”
Ragnar nodded. “It is the same for me. Each piece deserves my craft.”
“A noble craft it is, too!” said Aedon, appearing behind them and clapping each on the shoulder. “Your chatura game pieces are the finest in all Pelenor and Valtivar.”
“You’re just saying that because you’d like a new set,” said Ragnar, turning to fix him with a pointed stare.
Aedon grinned without apology. “You see right through me, master dwarf. Whom else should I ask but the finest carver around?”
“I’m the only carver around. Someone’s got to take no mischief from you, laddie.”
Harper giggled.
“Would you like to see what you can do with magic, Harper?” Aedon asked, an impish twinkle in his eye. “We’ll have to teach you how to stop that.” He nodded to her hands, which still sparked.
“Really? Yes!” She scrambled to her feet and followed him to the babbling stream near the camp. Aedon leapt with uncanny agility onto a flat rock in the centre of the stream. Harper followed suit but wobbled as she landed. Aedon’s strong hands grasped her wrists and pulled her away from a watery fall. Instead, she found herself crumpled to his chest as he laughed at her, his arms around her waist. Her breathing stalled.
“Almost!” he said.
“Thanks.” She looked up to find his intense green gaze upon her, so close that his lips were mere inches away. Harper froze.
Slowly—slower than he ought to—Aedon let his hands fall. His fingers skimmed down the fabric of her sleeves. Harper let out a shuddering breath at the contact, something uncoiling deep inside her. It had been far too long since she had enjoyed the touch of another—or allowed herself to be anything other than cut off and uncaring.
Aedon stepped away, and cold flooded in where his warmth had just been. He sat on the rock at its highest end, where the ledge-like stone jutted out above the water. She swallowed, taking a moment to compose herself before she followed him. Harper joined him, dangling her feet over the edge, inches away from the brook swirling around them.
She cast sidelong glances at him as he gazed out over the vista, at the stream winding through the pale trees and into a silvery pool that reflected the steel of the sky. He belongs with nature , Harper thought. His very form seemed a beautiful reflection of nature’s bounty around them, though now it was on the steady decline into winter. Already, the ground was a carpet of fire and the trees upheld little to the sky above them.
“Autumn is my favourite season,” he murmured.
She glanced at him, waiting for him to continue.
“The world never changes more than in the autumn. Nature turns to rest, and all goes in a blaze of glory as though it wishes to make itself known, so none will forget it until spring returns.” He snatched a fire-coloured leaf from the stream as it floated past. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
He handed it to her, and she traced the blood-red veins across its surface. It was unlike the autumns in Caledan. A greyer, darker, wetter season than the rest of them, save winter. There were no golden carpets there. No blaze of glory. She nodded. Seemingly of its own volition, the leaf danced from her palm and up into the air, where it hung, swirling, before slowly floating down to the water once more. There was no breeze. Harper raised an eyebrow.
“Child’s play.” Aedon winked at her. “Come. Try it. Wish for it to fly.” He plucked another leaf from the stream and placed it, wet side down, upon her palm.
Harper furrowed her brows and willed the leaf to fly. The spring bubbled up inside her, eager, yet the leaf did not move. “I don’t understand.”
“As I mentioned before, magic is a muscle you need to train, like any other. Just because you have the ability does not mean you possess unlimited power. You must condition your focus and strength of will to control the magic within you. Try again.”
Harper tried again. And again. And again.
By the time Brand’s shouts called them back to eat, Harper had barely made the leaf wobble on her palm—and she was not sure if it was her doing or the stray breeze that had picked up. Yet she had somehow mastered how to keep the magic from bubbling out through her fingertips.
Even though she struggled to make sense of it, the prospect was still exhilarating. With power came freedom. Her thoughts strayed back to the tavern she had worked at, and the lecherous drinkers therein. They would not dare touch her if they knew she had such strength. No longer would she be helpless in the world. It was a pleasing thought.
Tired, hungry, and disgruntled, she stood, her limbs stiff from such long stillness. Aedon rose smoothly, as graceful as always, and offered her his hand, pulling her across the water. He caught her scowl and laughed. “Harper, don’t worry. It will come. I promise. Let me show you.”
He slid behind her, his front pressed to her back, and reached his arms along the length of hers until their fingers intertwined. She stiffened at his touch, and bit down on a groan at the warmth of him seeping through her back. She did not dare move, to lean back into his touch, to betray herself.
“Relax!” he chuckled. “Look.”
She felt his magic flow through them both and erupt from their fingers. At once, a maelstrom of leaves arose from the ground, as if battered by an invisible gale. Up they soared, coalescing into a giant, swirling, elegant dance. Harper relaxed at last and sank back into Aedon’s chest, laughing at the feeling of magic rushing through her, and the beauty before her as oranges, golds, and reds cascaded through the air in a tumbling dance.
Aedon twirled her around to face him, his back straight. Harper knew his posture would be from his past days as a dragon rider of the Winged Kingsguard. He whirled her around in time with the leaves, somehow compensating for her ungainly steps—Harper had never danced a day in her life—until they were both flushed and laughing.
Closer they twirled until his warm arms encircled her, their faces inches apart. The way he stared at her—it was as if the rest of the world fell away. Gone were the twisting leaves and the slight nip of the cold air. Gone were the woods, and the stream, and the sky. There was only him.
Harper looked into Aedon’s green eyes. She could now see they were not just green, but flecked with blue, yellow, and amber, gleaming iridescent with their usual sparkle of mirth and mischief. Aedon leaned closer. Harper’s breath caught as she tilted her face toward his, his breath rolling hot across her lips.
“Harper! Aedon!” Brand’s thundering voice snapped across them both. The leaves fell to the earth as the magic ceased in an instant.