“If I’m going to make something, I need part of it to be available.”
And an excess of moonlight! There has to be another approach to this.
She lifted her hands and a glowing orb formed between her palms, threads of magic writhing together. A block began to take shape in the center as particles manifested, drawn from one of the trees and into her hands.
The rest was taken from within.
“I can only manageverysmall things this way,” she gasped.
You mean when you’re almost entirely depleted and have no business doing it?
Lunara closed her trembling fingers around the finished piece before presenting it to Brand.
“My favorite color is green,” she said, looking out over the city again and trying to find her breath. “Dark, like the shadows in the forest.”
Wide-eyed, he took the chunk of swirling blue and evergreen wood and turned it in his hands while she tried not to topple over.
“Creating new things like that takes the price from somewhere deep. Hurts, in ways different than I’m used to.”
Even now, her stomach turned, angry and cramping. Begging.
Halfwit. The cost could have been almost nothing. But sure, throw him off the scent by destroying yourself.
Most Nachthellians drew power from cosmic light, but it dissipated over a short time.
She, however, could draw in more than what simply brushed over her skin and was absorbed. She could move it, shape it, store it.
The blankets she wove were trivial in the scheme of things—child’s play—but her mother had thought thatMoonweaversounded lovely, even if the name didn’t fully encompass the scope of her gift.
Lunara’s true and unique ability—the one that set her apart from most Sorcerit and would have the Elder Council foaming at the mouth to get their hands on her—was the fact that she had a bottomless repository within her. A well, deep as the sea in front of her, that could be filled to the brim and tapped into whenever she wished.
Unless she left it nearly empty and kept it that way.
Kept herself safe.
The truth was that Lunara probably could have conjured up an entire cottage for herself, if she’d fed heavily on a blood gift and had filled that well even a quarter of the way.
Brand didn’t need to know that.
“This is incredible,” he whispered.
Her voice was little more than a rasp. “It’s a piece of wood that’s too small for anything.”
“Yes, but you’ve changed its colors, and it’sglowing. I… Thank you. Truly.”
“Yes, well, perhaps you can use it as a weight for your very boring paperwork.”
His look was unnerving. Maybe because it was filled with awe over so trivial a thing, and she was a bleeding liar.
“How didyou build your cottage then, if not like this?”
The words just tumbled out. “I stole it. Sort of.”
There’s no hope for you, is there?
Brand’s mouth fell open.
It was almost enough to make her forget that her insides were convinced she’d swallowed a handful of razorblades.
