Chapter 18 #2
“I’m thirty-six, so no, I’m not that old.” He paused, pulling his glasses off and placing them on the side table next to the bed. “My mother taught me; she was skilled in a lot of different kinds of magic.”
That was surprising. Elves, even lowborn ones, almost never practiced magic that wasn’t Elven in origin.
They could practice witch’s magic and use spells and potions, though they would be less potent than if a witch was channeling the magic.
They could even call magic from the land if they practiced.
It was usually small magics like keeping an unwatered plant alive, but the assumed superiority of Elves made it so they rarely practiced any magic outside of their own.
“She must have been peculiar to practice non-Elven magic.” Owain paused for a long time, so long that Orla thought that was the end of their conversation.
“Can I tell you a secret? One that you cannot share with anyone.” She nodded. “Promise me you won’t tell a soul what I’m about to tell you.”
Well, that was intriguing. “I promise,” she said as she reached across the bed to take his hand in hers.
“My mother… well, she wasn’t fully Elven. She was half witch.” He paused as Orla took in this information. “No one knows about my mother’s ancestry, not even Chrys. Though I’m sure he has suspected it over the years.”
Many in the kingdoms feared witches. Their power was as vast as any Elven magic and the Elves that controlled each kingdom feared any threat to their power.
Even in Emmental, King Mikki was wary of witches.
While Orla and Rhyan had risen in the ranks of the army, King Mikki hadn’t bestowed as much favor on Cessly for fear of giving a witch too much political power.
Orla knew that if Owain’s father or the nobles of the Kingdom of Edam knew that Owain had witch blood in his veins, that he could cast spells, use potions, and carve runes, he would be even more reviled than he already was.
They balked at potentially having a bastard as their ruler.
There’s no way they would accept a half breed to boot.
“If being a bastard was hard in Edam, being part witch would be even worse. Thank you for telling me. I’m sure it’s not an easy secret to keep.” She paused before continuing. “Why did you decide to share that with me?” Orla twisted from her seat on the bed to look at him fully.
“I wanted you to know. To know me.”
Playfully, he said, “Let’s call it a bargain. I told you a secret, now you tell me one.” She rolled her eyes. Gods, Elves and their bargains.
“What do you want to know?”
“How does a nymph become the most feared warrior in a kingdom?”
“Do you want the short version or the long version?”
He reached, taking her chin in his hand as he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. “The long version, naturally.”
She obliged.
They spent the next several hours talking. Orla had already told Owain how difficult it was to grow up half nymph in an Elven world. Something she now knew he could also understand. What she hadn’t told him before was how insignificant she had felt for so much of her life.
Orla hadn’t always dreamed of being a warrior.
As a matter of fact, it wasn’t what she wanted to be at all.
What she wanted to be was respected, to be taken seriously, and to have a life beyond the small border village she had grown up in.
She told him about how her father made her feel less than, even when he wasn’t meaning to.
Orla shared the depths of her feelings of isolation that her mother had left her and that she had never had a true friend until she joined the king’s army.
Even going so far as to admit that before she had met Rhyan and Cessly, she didn’t think it was possible for anyone to love her.
Sure, she knew her father loved her, but she never felt it from him.
When Duncan had died, she had felt more alone than she thought possible.
Alone in their tiny cottage on the edge of the kingdom, she wished she was powerful and loved.
She wished that someone, anyone, would respect her.
There was only one way she could get that respect as a fifteen-year-old girl with no command over her magic; she could fight for her kingdom.
Owain listened as she told him about her first few years in the army.
How she was strong but small and got her ass handed to her again and again by the other cadets.
She felt herself light up when she told him about her first meeting with Rhyan and later meeting Cessly.
Rhyan, she said, had trained her, and Cessly helped her to feel more confident.
One thing drove her through the years: the glory of being a decorated warrior.
Orla remembered the pride she felt when she survived her first battle and the elation that came when others would acknowledge her accomplishments.
Faltering, she pushed through to tell him about Fontina.
In hushed tones, she told him about how she felt it was her fault that Rhyan had died.
That she had gotten distracted and that’s when Prince Gwayne had struck.
But she continued on, telling him about the aftermath.
How she had gotten it all and hated every second after she had it.
She told him how she was back to feeling so alone.
Though this time it was shame and guilt that led her to being so soul-crushingly lonely.
She even told him how much she hated the dreaded moniker Hero of Fontina.
That she didn’t feel like a hero for what happened in Fontina.
Most days, if she thought about that battle, she felt like a monster.
Tears streamed down her face as she spoke. Through it all, he never let go of her hand.
“You are not a monster, Orla,” he said in a soft voice, though a note of authority rang through his words.
She didn’t know when she had moved, but she found herself resting her head on his chest, his arm slung over her shoulder.
“You couldn’t control your magic. Not because you are a monster, but because no one taught you.
” She sniffed, eyes brimming with tears.
“I don’t know if this is the right time, but I got you something.
” Slowly, as if he didn’t want to let her go, he released her hand as he reached towards the drawer in the bedside table and pulled out a small parcel, a little larger than the size of her hand.
Placing the parcel on the bed, he nudged her to open it.
While still tucked against his firm chest, she reached for the parcel and tore open the brown wrapping paper.
There were two items inside. One was a small golden filigree ring, accented with tiny emeralds. It fit perfectly on her middle finger.
The other item was an old book titled A Nymphs Guide to Flora. She opened it and found lists of plants and herbs and their uses.
“The book is a collection of magical plants that are particularly attuned to the magic of nymphs. I thought that if you practiced with plants that have roots to nymph heritage, it might make mastering your magic easier.” He paused.
“And the ring?” she asked.
“The ring is runed and is supposed to help channel magic more effectively. I’ve never seen one like it, so I’m not exactly sure how it works, but it’s also beautiful. I wanted you to have it.”
Orla was stunned by his thoughtfulness. No one had ever given her such thoughtful gifts. Orla’s struggles with her magic had been a weight around her neck for her entire life. That Owain found things to help her lift that burden meant more to her than she could put into words.
Before she thought more about what she was doing, Orla placed her hand on the back of Owain’s neck and brought his face down to hers, meeting his lips in a kiss.
It was their first since Chrys caught them in the garden nearly a week ago.
The kiss was slow and soft. Orla gently exploring Owain’s mouth with her own.
Owain broke off the kiss, holding Orla’s face in his calloused hands. “I could kiss you forever, Orla. But I don’t want you to think I got you these things expecting anything in return. I just wanted you to have them.”
“I know, that’s why I want to kiss you.” He grinned before returning his lips to hers.