Chapter 11 #3
“Start with air alone if you must,” he said, and it felt like a real olive branch he was extending to me. “It is okay to take a step back before leaping forward.”
I nodded, accepting his olive branch gratefully.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the taste of the salty breeze, the scent of the wildflower meadow’s sweet blooms drifting across the land.
I felt the sensation of the air currents as I moved, or the Seer shifted positions, or the birds around me flapped their wings.
I lifted a hand, sending out tendrils of magic like I did with earth and water. If the elements were all so similar to me, then shouldn't it work the same way? But no matter how hard I tried, or how long I labored, the air just slipped through my grasp like sand—except there was no sand at all.
It went like this until after dark when I opened my eyes and saw that Seer Goddard was long since gone.
My stomach had given up grumbling hours ago.
I stood, completely exhausted, and hauled myself down the hill.
I felt like a walking skeleton as I made my way straight into my bedroom, grabbing only some bread and fruit on the way.
I fell asleep halfway through my makeshift meal, fully clothed.
Upon waking the next morning, I showered quickly and ate a light breakfast. The hunger throughout the day was always worse if I ate a big meal early.
It was like my body knew what it was missing, the joys and sustenance from food, if I indulged.
So I settled on light toast and an apple for the road, and I headed out before either Silas woke next to me or Millie had arrived at the house.
I hadn’t mastered air yesterday, but I had made progress with earth and water. I was itching to get back to my practice. It felt like I was on the precipice of something important, and I felt an urgency to continue my progress.
Once situated on my rocky perch atop the hill, I lifted the stone and water flawlessly on the first try.
I did several iterations of the routine I’d practiced yesterday to ensure I had it cemented into my brain.
When I was confident in my ability to balance both stone and water simultaneously, I turned to air.
I sat, as Seer Goddard had initially instructed, and breathed.
In and out for hours and hours and hours.
The midday sun broiled against my shoulders.
Fortunately, Millie had created a little tincture I put on my skin like oil, that smelled faintly of mint and lime, and prevented my skin from burning.
She hadn’t figured out how to stop me from losing weight, though.
My clothes sagged and my ribs showed, but the hunger didn’t bother me so much anymore.
Lots of people fasted voluntarily. If Seer Goddard thought this was necessary for my progression, and everyone thought Seer Goddard was my one chance of mastering Fae magic, well, I’d try just about anything.
Exasperated from making little progress, I took a break around midafternoon.
I opened my eyes. I should be able to do this.
I knew how to breathe. I was connected to nature around me.
But I could not figure out how to get ahold of air like I did water or earth.
It was elusive and clever, if air could have such qualities.
Anytime it felt like my magic was getting close to capturing it, it slipped away like a dream.
I blew out a breath of frustration. The breath hit my legs hard as I was looking down.
Air. Breath.
I raised a hand to my mouth, blew gently into my palm.
Maybe it was futile to try and capture the air swirling around me at will.
Maybe I needed to work with the air already connected to me.
I exhaled against my palm again, feeling the warmth and coolness intertwining, the breath that had been part of me mere moments before twirling into the world around me.
Again and again I breathed, discerning tiny differences in pressure where air met skin, slipped between fingers, curled around my hand.
I began teasing out the particles more clearly, like little drops of imaginary dew.
I noticed where the air hit on my hand, how it moved and circled and swirled until it dissipated into the rest of the world.
Eventually, I extended my magic once again. These tendrils were starting to feel like an extra sense. Taste, smell, sound, touch, sight, and now… magic.
This time, I was able to guide the breath I exhaled around my hand so that none of it touched my palm at all. I blew out, just inches away from my skin, but I couldn’t feel the breeze at all. Success tingled deep inside me—small, but real.
I practiced until I could wrap a thread of air around a finger like a miniature tornado. When the night air grew chilly, I opened my eyes, selected the familiar stone, and drew the remaining dew from the grass. The rock hovered, and water encased it. I’d done this before.
This time, I blew a slow breath toward the spinning sphere and guided the air in gentle strokes around it.
The rock wobbled, water sloshed, but I steadied both, exhaled again, and coaxed the air into widening rings—like halos around a tiny planet.
I held the orbit, breathing, balancing, until at last I felt the elements moving in imperfect but undeniable harmony.
“The Triune Queen.”
Seer Goddard’s gravelly voice rolled over my ears, but this time it wasn’t coarse, demanding, or disappointed. It sounded pleased—almost excited. There was a current of energy in his tone, as though he could hardly believe it.
I opened my eyes. Magic—there was no other word for it—spun before me: air, water, and earth whirling together in an electric sphere that felt alive.
“Very good,” he said. “Impressive. You mastered this far sooner than expected.”
“Sooner?” I echoed. “It feels like it’s been ages.”
Something resembling a smile flickered across Seer Goddard’s lined face. No one would have mistaken it for a grin, but it wasn’t disappointment either, and that felt wonderful.
“Go home,” Seer Goddard said. “Rest. You are almost ready for The Glade.”
“The Glade? What’s that?”
“The place where your Fae ancestors may speak to you.”
I went still. “My ancestors? I thought all the previous Fae are dead.”
“Yes, but their spirits remain. When a Fae Queen dies, her spirituality doesn’t vanish.”
“I never considered that. Have you ever been to this Glade?”
The Seer scoffed—closer to amusement than derision. “No. It is for Fae Queens only, and even you will struggle to reach it. The good news is that unlocking your powers is not a solo endeavor. Your ancestors will be invested in helping you succeed.”
I licked my lips, goosebumps spreading down my legs. “That makes me feel a little less lonely in my new title.”
“Even if past queens aren’t physically present, their spirits exist. You must access them to unlock your full potential. As I said, they want to help. They will work in unison with you.”
“Can they talk to me? Like you and I having a conversation?”
Seer Goddard tilted his head. “I don’t know. I can only guide you there. Once you arrive, the rest is beyond me.”
Loneliness pinched my chest, but his expression softened into a tender smile—brief, so quick I’d have missed it if I’d blinked.
“I think this will be the least lonely part of your journey,” Seer Goddard assured me kindly. “Perhaps it will feel like coming home. Now, go. Rest. I’ll see you in a few hours. Bring your manuscript.”
“Which one?”
“The one you’ll need,” Seer Goddard said. “There will be a spell to help you access The Glade. You’ll know it when you find it.”
I looked up to see the moon hanging high in the sky.
Midnight, if not later, and I was due back at daybreak.
As I unfolded my aching limbs, excitement buzzed through my veins.
I might have the opportunity to get assistance from other Fae Queens.
I hadn’t even allowed myself to dream of such a thing.
When Gus had given me those textbooks, I’d felt a flicker of relief—proof that someone distantly connected to me had once held them. I’d cherished them as the only solid lifeline to my past. But to actually hear the wisdom of past queens? I couldn’t imagine it.
Seer Goddard thought I was ready. He’d even said I’d progressed faster than expected. The training had felt agonizingly slow to me, but maybe I was simply impatient. Either way, I needed sleep. I was determined to meet my ancestors at daybreak.