Frey (The Frey Saga, #1)(17)

Chevelle had caught us now, riding up as Steed was finishing his explanation. He was angry. “This isn’t the time for a magic lesson.” Our horses slowed to a walk in tandem as he shot Steed a serious glare.

As we slowed, I remembered the fire in the clearing, my lessons with Chevelle. It had been so obvious with the fire, I guessed because I had used it for so long. “What about your hands?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” Steed answered, ignoring Chevelle’s warning glance.

“Why do you use your hands, if you just think it, I mean?”

He laughed. “That’s simply a quirk, I guess; a funny habit. Like when you’re playing flip ball and you want your piece to go in so bad you lean hard to ‘help’ it in.”

I remembered the game from when I’d first come to the village. The children would be bound from magic and have to use their physical skills to throw an odd-shaped piece into the corresponding hole on a game board placed several yards away. They would lean forward after they threw, sometimes bouncing and chanting, “come on… come on”, sometimes tilting sideways at the waist and twisting like somehow wishing would make the ball respond. The game held no interest for me. I didn’t have to be bound to not have magic, it wasn’t a novelty, it was everyday life.

“We should stop for breakfast,” Chevelle stated firmly.

We hadn’t been riding more than a few minutes but he was adamant. I didn’t really mind, I’d been eating berries for too long and I wasn’t quite sure about riding yet.

“I suppose you’re right… might as well enjoy the journey.” Steed winked at me. We stopped under the canopy of a large tree and Steed grabbed me as I slid down off the horse. “You may ask him to kneel, Elfreda.” But he didn’t seem to mind handling me about the waist to help me down.

I brushed the hair back from my face. “Yes, well, I guess I should start practicing.” I noticed the fire Chevelle was building flare and then die down to the proper size.

“Sit, Elfreda,” Chevelle commanded.

Steed followed me as I walked to a fallen limb by the fire and sat. He sat as well, apparently not concerned about who was finding us breakfast. Irritation rolled off Chevelle as he concentrated before running into the tree line to the west. In a moment he was back, carrying three large birds.

“Where is your bow?” I asked.

Steed laughed loudly. “She’s a hoot!”

Chevelle looked as though he could be in danger of losing his temper. I didn’t get the joke.

“You’re serious?” Steed wasn’t laughing now. He gaped at Chevelle. “What, she’s a bright lighter?”

Chevelle was across the gap and in his face almost before Steed could stand. I started to respond but a screeching siren pierced my ears and I doubled over, boxing my hands to cover them. It was inside, inside my ears.

I tried to open my eyes, hoping someone would be there to help me, but I could see through the slits they were just standing face to face… arguing? Did they not see me? I tried to scream for help but couldn’t get the sound out. They were leaning toward each other, oblivious to me. I closed my eyes and curled into a ball as the seconds dragged on. Would I die?

And then, abruptly, it stopped.

I sucked in a ragged breath. I seemed fine, a little dizzy maybe. I risked unclenching my body to look around, expecting someone to be leaning over me, trying to help. Nothing. I straightened to a sitting position. Chevelle was at the fire, roasting the birds. Steed was beside his horse, adjusting the saddle. Both had their backs turned to me. Had they not noticed? A wave of vertigo hit me and I leaned back against the tree limb to steady myself.

I thought it was only for a moment, but when I opened my eyes again the scene had changed.

Steed was reclined beside me, lazily winding a feather in his hand. Chevelle was across the fire. He looked up at me through his lashes, past furrowed brow. He brought me a piece of meat.

It was cold.

I sat there stunned. Had they nothing to say? Had they seriously not known? I started to speak but the words wouldn't come out. I was too drained for explanations, and I was scared. I didn't know what had happened, what was wrong with me. And I didn't know if Chevelle would take me straight back to the village if he knew.

We stayed there for some time, Chevelle and Steed seemed in no hurry. Chevelle glanced at me occasionally but kept himself busy around the fire.

Steed still played with his feather, eventually entertaining me with it. It spun toward me, and turned down, tickling my arm and then my nose. I giggled despite my wariness, and reached up to rub my nose where the tickle had been. I noticed the map on my palms. “What about spells?”

He eyed my hands. “Been working spells?”

“Not on purpose.”

He smiled. “Yes, spells can be dangerous.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “but why do you need words for spells and not magic?”

“A spell can be left, set with a trigger, or larger than your magic. They are complicated and wicked things. And the ancient language is… tricky. Definitely something you should stay away from. Years of learning and practice and you can still wreck a spell pretty good.”

I thought about that for a moment and then, suddenly, Steed jumped up.

“What do you say we water the horses?” He wore a wild smirk as he held out a hand for me.