Over the next few hours, we would spend time preparing to leave. Packing food, extra clothes, books, trinkets of value, and anything else that came to mind. With Lilly’s help, we were able to shrink a fair number of things down to be more manageable—her command of shape—altering magic was always impressive, but she needs a lot more breaks now compared to what she used to do but keeps being evasive when I ask about it. After the fourth try, I decided to leave well enough alone for now.

  At the end of a bout of sparring with Olly where he managed to use a bit of the magic he could access to actually flatten me. He’d waited for me to overextend and use the Ironhide Elk’s ability to increase his weight, and used my spear as a fulcrum to slam me onto my back. Unfortunately, the action ended with a broken spear and damaged pride for me. He reaches down to heft me up with a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face.

  “You alright, Olly?” I put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, and he looks up at me with a bit of reticence. “I’m not worried about the spear, I wasn’t going to be taking it with us anyways.”

  “Nah, it’s not that. Though I do feel bad about breaking it.” He flexes his good arm, which has taken on a metal sheen from the reinforcing magic that he just called, perhaps uncreatively, “Ironhide” when he referred to it. “I have to be careful with that sort of thing. It’s powerful, but hard to control in the middle of a fight and if I have to let it go after using it I have to deal with the wave of confusion that comes along with it.” He drops into a squat, extending his legs one at a time while pondering to stay limber. “It’s a huge risk and reward situation. The…one I just used,” he says with hesitation as the memory of it starts to evaporate from his mind. I want to help him with that. But how? “It’s powerful and a huge boon. The longer I use it, the stronger and more pronounced its effects are, but if I do it for too long, those benefits largely invert. Practicing is hard because of the memories thing, so it’s tough to solidify a strategy around it.” He stands with a grimace, reaching into his back pocket to reference his little journal. “It leaves me needing to react in the way that feels most natural based on the memories of where I got it from. I know how the…” He pauses, flipping to an earmarked page as light dawns on his face, “…elk would have used it, so I have a good idea of a good case to use it. But that comes from memories of a prey animal fighting defensively to escape danger, which isn’t likely to be what sort of situations we’re going to be in all the time.” His voice comes more slowly towards the middle of the explanation as presumably the memories come back in a flood, and by the end he’s speaking no less confidently than anyone recounting a recent memory.

  “Right, yeah. I can see the problem. Could easily fall into a sort of analysis paralysis on when is the best time to use a given spell. Don’t want to use it too early and risk not having it when you need it later.” I step back, looking him up and down and considering. “You are pretty durable to begin with. Something about that arm is definitely bolstering your general physical attributes. You heal incredibly fast, too. You'll have a good bit more leniency in a fight because of that. Time to think about a solution.” I hold out a hand, “Let me see your good arm.” He obliges without hesitation, and I reach up my other hand and brandish a single clawed finger. “This will hurt a little bit, but I want to get an idea of what we’re dealing with more directly. Less wishy-washy speculating and instead actual data.” He closes his eyes and I feel him tense up after he nods.

  “Alright, go for it.”

  I run one claw as cleanly as possible on his upper arm, opening up a thin, inch long, line of angry red that blood begins to dribble out of. He winces as I do, and I hear Lilly say something from a nearby tree, but I tune it out, trying to get a feel for the essence around me and him. It’s thinner than normal, as always for being around him, but I feel the distinct taste and scent of moisture in the air. Around the wound, condensation builds up around the wound as I watch, diluting the blood and wicking it away into nothing—maybe absorbed into his skin with the essence?

  Before my eyes, I see the wound knitting closed to the point of no longer bleeding with great speed but comes to a halt immediately after reaching that point. I watch closely, and I think I might be seeing the scar solidifying the way it normally would with healing magic, but it’s at such a low speed that it’s hard to tell.

  I let go of his arm and give him an apologetic smile as he looks at me. “You heal to the point of getting out of danger quickly. Probably drawing on ambient Hydrus essentia to perform the process. But unlike most healing magic I know, it seems to stop there—right on the right side recovering from a wound. That implies a certain kind of sophistication in what spell… Maybe using Mortalos or Cognitio…?” I start to pace as I muse.

  “Since she’s gonna be theorycrafting for the next five hours,” I hear Lilly’s sharp voice puncture my building thoughts and dispel them as easily as ever, “What do you need to do to prepare, Olly?”

  I look at Olly, who’s carrying an almost guilty look on his face. “I… I was thinking that I should probably spend awhile just breaking things down of essence and energy. While I can eat like normal sometimes, doing the arm thing is far better for me in terms of my energy levels.” He looks around at the plot of crops and the nearby trees. “I figure that this sort of thing is definitely not normal, so if there’s any risk we run into any people, I should be well…fed beforehand. Less chance of leaving behind a trail of dust wherever we go, yeah?”

  He’s clearly been thinking about this for a while, and I can’t say I blame him. It’s a good deal more insightful than I’d have expected, and certainly not anything I’d thought about. “I guess I’ve mentally still been thinking about your needs as being mostly-normal-with-a-side-of-weird, but that’s not really true, huh?” I offer, “Do whatever you need. I’d rather you not damage my books or cabin, though.”

  Lilly rushes forward between us, “Can he eat books?” She asks with sudden interest. Up to this point, she has seemed entirely unfazed by Olly’s “eating” habits, and this is the first time she’s shown actual interest. “So like if he eats things he gains memories, right? Books and stories are basically concentrated memories! Oh, and that means you might be able to recount things with perfect clarity, and that would make you such a good storyteller! But then again I wonder if telling a story after you ate it would mean the story would go away like the other memories do?”

  Seeing an opportunity to return the jab, I look at Olly, “Since she’s going to be theorycrafting for the next five hours, you want to split up and handle the last bits of our prep?” Lilly looks terribly offended, but I just give her a sweet smile, baring jagged teeth as I do.

  Olly, seemingly missing the exchange, just nods and sets off into the woods away from us—probably trying to avoid making me uncomfortable. I’ve been trying my best to not show discomfort when he does it since it’s not his fault, and it is a necessity, but every time he does it, I remember the moment of soul-tearing pain when I’d grabbed his hand and had to suppress a shudder. Evidently, I’ve not been doing well enough. I vow to do better as I watch him slink off into the woods.

  “Soooooooo, Ayre.” Lilly abruptly glides into a cross-legged sit on my shoulder with a Look on her face. Sly, conspiratorial, and clearly waiting purely to build tension. I wait for her to continue before I realize that she must be waiting for me to respond.

  “Yes, Lil?” I try to give her as little as possible—not that it will matter. She’s clearly ready to pursue some sort of whimsy at my expense.

  “You stare at him a lot when he’s not looking. Watcha thinkin’ about when you do that? Something romantic? Something lustful?” I give her side eye and brush her off my shoulder unceremoniously instead of answering as I start to walk towards the cabin. “Hey! You can’t just brush me off! Literally, even!” Lilly flutters along beside me, dogging my every step, “Look, I was just joking to get a rise out of you.”

  I cast a look over at her, “What’s the word the Fairfolk use? Meddling?” I see the barb land home as she stops flying for a second, looking actually offended for a moment, but as she rushes forward to speak, I cut her off, relishing the victory, “That besides, aren’t you the one who bound him to you “Heart to heart”? You sure you’re not projecting?”

  I watch her breath catch as I say it, embarrassed for a moment, “That’s not fair! I don’t know if you saw, my essence was being tugged towards that weird arm. And ya know, after what happened to you, I figured a little bit of extra specificity would help!”

  “And you went with heart, rather than binding to his vessel like you say the fae normally do? You also didn’t say no.”

  “One, he doesn't have one. Two, I was panicking! I wasn’t exactly expecting him to do that after you had your whole big reveal—which, by the way, thanks for sharing that earlier. I’ve spent years worried about you over whatever you were keeping locked away inside those journals.” I come to a stop and turn to look at her, scrutinizing. She abruptly zips her mouth closed, eyes wide.

  “My journals? Which journals do you mean, Lilly?” I put on an air of anger that seems to work quite well.

  “Look, of course I know you have journals. You live alone and like books, what sort of person wouldn’t have journals in those circumstances? Plus you always asked me for writing material, so I assumed you were journaling.” She backpedals, having clearly been caught and knowing it.

  “That all makes sense, but you said “those journals”, which indicates a very specific set of journals that you had in mind. I know how the Fairfolk are about lying, so I’ll ask more directly. ‘Have you been reading my personal journals when I’m not around?’”

  She purses her lips, surely thinking of a way to evade the question without seeming to evade the question like she did the last few I asked. “I…did not read them.” I look at her, astonished, “What? I wouldn’t invade your privacy like that.” She looks a little offended and makes a pouting face while crossing her arms across her chest while fluttering backwards in front of me.

  “So, you just knew they existed and managed not to read them after all these years?”

  “That’s what I said, yes, Ayre.” Her voice comes out sharper than I’d have expected, but I realize my error. I prodded her into a question she couldn’t lie about, and then questioned her honesty afterwards. She looks indignant to the highest order at my faux pas. The Fae won’t, or maybe can’t, lie. They’ll avoid the truth, sure, if it suits them, but Lilly has never lied to me.

  “Right, sorry, Lil. I was just a little shocked to hear you even knew about them. I’ve been hiding them for years because I didn’t want to worry you if you found out about all…all of that without the full context.” I try to salve her wounded pride and offer another chance for her to open up. “Tell ya what, how about I show you my last secret personally?” I tempt her as she continues to look scandalized. She manages to hold the pose for a few more seconds before the offer inevitably worms its way into her mind.

  “Alright, but I don’t forgive you for that yet. I’m still quite miffed. You’ll have to wait at least-”

  “Ten or fifteen minutes, I know.” I wink at her, robbing her of the end of one of her favorite statements. Her mien of grump dissolves more or less instantly to be replaced with her usual cheer. This sort of thing happened a lot growing up. I offended her a lot because I really failed to grasp how important language was to the fae, but she was always forgiving because of my circumstances as “a poorly informed country bumpkin”. Over the years, I’ve gotten a lot better at keeping things in mind, but evidently the stress of the last couple weeks has me feeling pricklier than normal.

  “Okay, where’s this secret? Also, you should carry me, I’m getting tired, and you owe me.” She flits towards me without further warning and stops fluttering her wings, all but throwing herself at me. Luckily, she weighs less than a half pound, so it’s hardly a problem to catch her. She giggles as I catch her between my hands and hold her cradled between both. She lets out a contented sigh, “Nobody else's' hands come close to being as cozy as yours, Ayre. Makes me wonder what it might be like to hold them sometime.” She teases with a small smile as we make it into the cabin.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  I set her down on a small cushion atop one of my shelves, giving her a broad view of the room from an appropriately imperious position. She has always called it her throne and lavished in it. Over the years, she’d brought more little things to surround it with, giving it the vague impression of a dragon's hoard surrounding a hand-knitted cushion. “Alrighty, give me a second to move some things. I’m fairly certain you never found this one.” I say over my shoulder as she looks down at me, lying on her belly, flitting her wings and kicking her legs while humming a familiar tune.

  I have to shift my entire bed away from the wall a few feet, “I didn’t even know that could move! I thought it was nailed to the wall or something.”

  “Yeah, that was intentional. I know about the whole lie detection thing you do, so I avoided the topic and made a show of being unable to move it over the years, trying to throw you off the scent. Seems to have worked.” I respond distantly, finding the right boards to pull up. I hear a small noise and glance over to see Lilly looking morose atop her throne. “What’s wrong?” I stand, turning to face her.

  “You know the lying thing isn’t on purpose or malicious, right?” Her voice is very small, such that I have to strain to hear her. I move a little closer to better listen as she looks down at the little pillow. “It’s not something I do because I distrust you. It’s something fae just *know*.”

  “Well, I never assumed it was malicious, Lil. Of all the things I could call you, malicious is not even remotely close.” I offer positively, trying to smile to cheer her and to seemingly little effect.

  “So then, why hide this? And go to such lengths to do so?” She looks absolutely wounded, and I think I’m starting to understand what she’s working up towards. I let her get there herself though, since this is evidently a very important bridge that I have unknowingly crossed.

  “I wasn’t really hiding it with the intention of keeping it from you indefinitely or anything. I just wanted to have a surprise I could spring on you someday when you were feeling down. I know how you get about secrets — even less than great ones.”

  “It’s still a lie.” She says it very simply, a veritable proclamation followed by a long pause. “I’m explaining this really badly.” She looks away from me and rolls onto her back to look up instead of at me. “You never told me about your journals, but I stumbled upon them when I was looking for something. They were tucked away, but not really *hidden*. Once I realized what they were, I left them be.” She takes a deep breath, composing herself as she thinks, clearly hunting for the right words. “And the thing about your parents — not telling me about that was just as much about protecting yourself as it was about not wanting to worry me. Also fine.” A longer pause, another deep breath. “But faking being unable to move your bed is a far cry from the other two things. In terms of intent.”

  I give her as sorry of a look as I can. “I guess I just didn’t think of it that way, Lil, I’m sorry.”

  “I just need to ask. Do you actually get what I’m trying to say here? It’s hard to put into words because it’s just something that’s a part of what we are — What I am. It’s nothing we would ever have come up in the forest, so I’m struggling to make my point.” She looks a little pleading, hoping I’m understanding.

  I figure a small guess can’t hurt. I have a decent idea, but I’m not *certain*. “Is it that by going to such lengths to hide something, you feel like I lied to you, and that is a big cultural taboo?”

  “It’s not how I *feel*, Ayre. It’s just a fact. It was deceptive. It was a lie. But it was a lie I couldn’t have even been aware of from someone who I trust more than anyone else other than maybe Father and Caoimhín.” She sighs with a slight shudder in her breath. “I…it’s just really important. I don’t know a better way to say it. It actually *hurts*. I don’t mean just emotionally, or physically. A stranger lying would bother me, but it would ultimately be whatever. People aren’t always honest. But coming from you or someone else I’m close to like this, it hurts me in a deeper kind of way than I can really articulate.”

  “I’d apologize again, but I don’t think it would change anything. So instead what I’ll say is that while I don’t really totally understand *exactly* what you mean or what you’re experiencing, I get the idea. I think, at least. I will make you a promise here.”

  She perks up at the word, her diminutive pointed ears flicking and wings fluttering as she rolls over to look at me seriously. “If it’s a promise you can keep, fine. But if it’s something you think you could mess up at some point, you probably shouldn’t.” She lectures me. It’s something she reminds me every time the word is mentioned.

  “I know, and I’m saying I will take that responsibility. I promise to you here, Lilidh O’Ceilidh,” I follow the language she’s taught me over the years, trying to be as close and accurate as possible. “By my word, my wish, and my will, I will endeavor to never commit this misdeed against you again. Flawed as I am, I may stumble, but from this moment on, I will do everything in my power to see this made true.”

  She smiles a lot more warmly, looking like the weight of the world has been lifted from her shoulders. “You messed up the word order a bit, but that was the closest you’ve ever gotten.” She looks at me meaningfully, “Thanks. It means the world to me.” She accepts the promise in the typical way. With their culture surrounding “the world” as an entity, the claim of “meaning the world to me” is swearing an oath of import no differently than what I just did, but in the specific acceptance of my own.

  I let out a small sigh, and relax, waiting for the feeling of connection to come and go, as always happens during things like this. The feeling isn’t unpleasant, but it is alien, no matter how many times I feel it. Like someone sewing a patch onto a well-loved garment to grant it a new lease on life -- effort, but not painful and with an ultimately positive outcome. “So, can I divulge my last, most critical secret now?” She nods excitedly and leans to the ledge to look down. I get down on my knees and start feeling around.

  It’s been years since I messed with anything in here, so the memories are a bit fuzzy. In short order, I’ve lifted and pulled three boards up, revealing a Traveler's Trunk—an antiquated magical storage device that can fit far more on the inside than the out but is incredibly heavy. So much so that I really can’t even lift it out by myself, leaving me to lay on my stomach and reach down.

  “That’s a magic item! How didn’t I notice that? I’m in here all the time.” She looks aghast.

  “I always practice magic in here, and the chest has the same general essence composition as the area it’s drawing power from. The longer it’s around one place, the harder it is to find.” I explain, popping open the lid to reveal its interior— an off-purple void with a few items floating around inside of it. Aside from the weight, the other downside to this box is that it is basically impossible to keep organized. The space inside is enormous and requires active effort to extract items from by channeling essence into it while focusing on the object in question.

  After a few moments of recalling the right shapes to activate the retrieval function, I spend the necessary essence and a few items come drifting towards the entrance -- the only things inside. I reach in and grab each as they arrive, pulling a two-handed glaive and a set of quality armor. I hear Lilly gasp in excitement as she scrambles off her perch to float down to look more closely. “What are these? Aside from the obvious answer, of course.” She cuts me off as I open my mouth to give a useless answer, so I just grin, having been thwarted.

  “They’re my Ma’s. Or, they were, I guess.” A pang of pain flicks across my heart, but I shrug it off. “I only recently grew into it enough to consider wearing it, and I’ve been meaning to take it out to try it on, just in case I should need it.” I gesture to the armor and start to run through its qualities for Lilly. It’s clearly of high quality and constructed mostly of steel with brass and copper fixtures. The adornments glow gently—essence amplifiers, designed to make it easier to channel essence in the armor. Aero and Ignia in specific. It’s constructed mostly of segmented plates, though only in the most important places that also aren’t restrictive for movement, which leaves it more lightly armored than just about any other set of light plate armor you could find.

  All over its surface gleams enchanting runes. Multiple colors, with each surrounded by subrunes to concentrate essence into the necessary types for the armor to function. Each set of runes serves a different purpose in the armor, but I only know what a precious few of them do. They're of a style my books don't cover - definitely not Eldaran, at least. The ones I do know are for pairing with the weapon to share essence between them, absorbing attack magic to repurpose it for attacking or protection, and finally general repair and durability enhancement.

  The glaive sits in pieces, folded into thirds that are held together with radiant essentia bindings. I stand and step outside and shout the weapon's name while holding the middle segment, “Gáe Bolg!” It snaps together instantly, and I twirl it with a flourish before tapping it haft onto the cobbled stone path with a small spray of Fulgur essence. Lilly, sitting on the window sill, looks absolutely enthralled and claps with delight. The glaive's shape sits between a lugged spear and a halberd. It has a long, narrow, plunging tip on its center and a longer axe blade along one side. Opposite the cutting edge is a hardened spike that’s designed to punch through tough hides and plate mail. The three heads at the business end of the weapon afford the wielder a supreme degree of utility that compliments the fighting style my mother practiced and that I spent long years approximating. With the weapon's reach, the axe or pick can be swung with crushing force to either chop through softer tissues or to batter and puncture armor. The lance head is nearly two feet of the weapon's total length. And the pick acts as a lug to prevent a target from being overpenetrated, limiting the risk of losing the weapon that way. The lug-pick is also heavily reinforced and textured to allow for it to be grabbed in hand or braced with a foot during an aerial attack to impart more force -- something that wouldn’t be nearly as useful for a warrior who can’t fly.

  It feels perfect, and I can’t stop myself smiling. I go through a training routine, a combination of sweeps, strikes, and chops with the various implements at the end of the weapon. It starts to heat the longer I use it as it pulls ambient Ignia from my body to enhance itself and me in turn. With each rotation through my regimen, it begins to throw off small sprays of sparks and waves of coherent heat. It moves more easily after each strike against invisible foes and at the end, I’m feeling wildly energized and hyper aware of my surroundings.

  It’s something my kind are known for: because of our connection to Ignia, we steadily “sharpen” as a fight goes on. Ignia is typically used to bolster oneself by most magi and warriors because of its properties to enhance your strength, battle readiness, increase your pain tolerance, among other things. We serpents and other elementals can take in and process orders of magnitude more essence than any mortal kyn, and as such are prone to entering a sort of hyper-aware, always escalating, battle trance.

  I have to make a deliberate effort of trying to exhale excess ignia to keep my mind clear as Lilly flutters over with stars in her eyes. “You’ve been doing that routine for as long as I can remember! Were you training for this weapon in specific?”

  I nod and speak between deep breaths, “It’s something of a birthright. ‘Ma inherited it, same as her ‘ma before her.” I hesitate. “‘Ma never got the chance to train me in it, so I’ve just been following what I saw her do for those couple of years and keeping in mind the few times I saw her seriously fight. I am only barely competent with it, if I’m being entirely honest with myself. I know that training routine well, and I can knock Olly down, but he’s missing ninety percent of his memories and still manages to get up on me as often as not, so I don’t really count it in my favor.”

  “Well, I suppose that makes sense. But you’re just starting out on your hero’s journey, so it’s pretty natural that you’re inexperienced. It would make for a poor story if the deuteragonists were overwhelmingly powerful from the start. Who would even want to read or hear such a thing?” She brushes her shoulders off and makes a dismissive gesture, clearly disdainful of the specifics of that kind of storytelling.

  “I dunno, I suppose there’s some appeal in just having the good guys win without a bunch of struggles. Might not make for an epic tale, but it could at least be fun to read.” We go back and forth like that for a little while, discussing the merits and demerits of how powerful a storybook hero should be, with Lilly doggedly proposing the “rags to riches” sort of start while my preference lies more in the “middle” of someone’s tale. Competent, but not overwhelming. Most of my favorites followed that idea. Over the course of the conversation, though, I get the hard to shake feeling that Lilly is distracted and only half-listening, but figure she’s got something on her mind she’ll bring up when she’s ready.

  As we chatter, sitting in the grass, there’s a series of approaching rustles from the treeline. When I look up, I see some foliage parting to reveal Olly. I open my mouth to shout to him but stop myself. Maybe it’s just my enhanced awareness making me cagey, but something about him immediately feels wrong. He’s coated nearly head to toe in that essence devoid powder, has a couple serious-looking injuries on his arms, and he’s wearing a very uncomfortable, almost manic, smile. It raises a few dozen red flags in my mind that see me rise and brace my weapon. Calling on more Ignia to empower myself further on instinct.

  “Hey, Olly, got a new weapon. You probably can’t break this one.” I offer with a guarded smile, trying to engage him from a distance, as I make a gesture for Lilly to hang back. She gives me a confused look but follows along once she sees my serious look and notices that Olly simply doesn’t respond to me.

  He continues walking forward, not responding, and I ready myself -- my prior efforts to expel excess Ignia being rapidly undone as I focus. Looking closely, his skin looks metallic, and his arm is visibly deformed in shape. It looks familiar, almost like one of the monsters in the area that I’ve had to fight, but I can’t recall which.

  “You in there, Olly? I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to.” It’s a clear threat, but he doesn’t seem to react at all, just trudging slowly towards us. “Lilly, back up and make some space.” She looks at me, clearly conflicted, but backs up a ways, at least out of reach of an accidental swipe of my weapon.

  Olly stops for a moment and stares at me before leaning forward and closing the gap between us in but a spare moment with that arm outstretched.