My muscles ached from carrying the ladder all by myself—that was the downside of an entirely self-sufficient life. No one to help share the load. Even though the Green Man had healed my leg, I was still recovering from the other aches and bruises inflicted during my fall.
Using flint and iron, I endeavored to spark a flame at the first lamppost. “Please work…”
The bog oil caught fire, flaring in a brilliant display of blue flame. For one glorious moment, I could envision the lamppost’s full potential as beautiful blue light filled the confines of its glass fixture, casting a powerful, luminescent glow all around, illuminating the walkway. In a cruel twist of fate, as quickly as it flared to life, the flame died out.
“No, no, no…come back!” I shrieked.
I struck flint to iron again, but no matter what I did, the oil refused to burn a second time.
Tears welled in my eyes, born of frustration and the powerless feeling that I had come so close, only to have my success snatched away. I tried to tell myself that I had still accomplished something worthwhile. The lampposts had never flared like that before. That was progress.Then why did it feel so much like failure?I dragged the ladder back to the garden shed, questioning whether I would ever be able to accomplish my goal. Still no sign of Corvin. Perhaps he wasn’t coming back after all.
Darkness fell, and I made to prepare for bed, changing into comfortable clothing. I wore an ankle-length olive-greennightgown, its shade a near match for my eye color, with long sleeves and a modest neckline. It was shapeless and hung loosely around my body. If the night prior was any indication, I could no longer assume I’d be alone in the cottage every night.
Having finally decided to go to sleep, the sound of the entryway chimes ringing out, indicating company, caught me totally off guard, as did the following sound, somebody knocking on my front door. I rushed to compose myself.So now he shows up!Feeling more than a little wary, I opened the front door. Corvin stood on my doorstep, smiling broadly, dressed more casually than the night before, his cloak gone.
“You’re late,” I greeted, the words coming out more curtly than I’d intended.
His smile fell. “I’m sorry for making you wait so long. That wasn’t very considerate. I was hoping to be here much sooner, but something came up…”
“That’s alright then,” I replied, my voice softening, surprised by the regret that filled me at seeing the smile leave his face. We may have just met, but I got the feeling there wasn’t much that stopped that bright smile from lighting up his face. It rested too naturally upon his features.
My eyes lingered over the rest of his body. Without his cloak, I could see how broad his shoulders were, how their width complemented the toned lines of his arms and chest. He had the physique of a warrior, but not the temperament. Corvin adjusted his pose, relaxing against the side of the door, tall enough his head almost touched the top of its frame, and I realized I was staring at him without ever having invited him inside.
“May I come in?” he asked, his tone amused, evidently thinking the same thing.
I hastily stepped aside. “Yes, of course. Please come inside. You can follow me into the study.” Silently, I led the way downthe cottage hallway. Once in the study, I gestured to the desk armchair. “You can sit there if you’d like.”
“Thanks.” Corvin sank into the armchair. “How was your day?”
I took a seat in my preferred reading spot, a chaise lounge across from the desk, covered in cozy pillows.
“My day was fine,” I answered, looking at him. Then, feeling like I should be at least a little more truthful, “Actually, it wasn’t that great. The bog oil didn’t work to light the lampposts. Though I guess that means I could still use your help if you want to do some research with me tonight. I’m all out of ideas.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work,” he said kindly. “It was brave of you to collect it in the first place. If a bit reckless. Not many people would willingly jump onto a Bunyip, let alone be savvy enough to walk away with a prize. My father hasn’t woken up yet, but I’ll ask him about the lampposts when he does.”
I frowned. “Is he very ill then?”
Corvin bowed his head. “Yes. He’s been sick for most of my life, but it seems to be getting worse lately.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said, keeping my response simple, wanting to know more, but also not wanting to seem insensitive or like I was prying into his life without invitation.
He rubbed his hands together. “Where should we begin?”
My current plan for the evening was to research sources of magically generated flame. An alternative to candles and oil, neither of which had worked. But first, I wanted to check to see if Corvin could read the diaries Kaylin had originally forbidden me from touching.
I sprang from my seat, wandering over to the section of the library where they lived, retrieving the leather-bound diary I initially tried and failed to read, along with a few others for good measure. Returning, I set them down in front of Corvin. “Can you read any of these?”
He leaned forward in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know how to read?”
I tapped the words on the page, grinning. “Let me clarify. These diaries, I think the writing is obscured by magic. At least, I don’t seem to be able to read them properly. I want to know whether you run into the same problem.”
He nodded and picked up the diary, scanning the first page. “It’s not just you—the text is indecipherable.”
I let out the breath I was holding. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse, but thanks for checking regardless. I think I’m going to read awhile, see if I can find any information on magical flame, if you’d like to join me.”
“Sounds like a plan. I am at your disposal,” he said with a smile. “Hand me any book you wish, and I will do my best to report back something useful. Preferably one that’s legible, please.”
I laughed. “Will do.”
