“I think we may be outside,” he says. “The ground feels natural and soft.”
She shifts at his side. “Yes. Like the forest floor.”
“I’m going to use my magic to search for any plants around us now. All right?”
She breathes out slowly. “I’m ready.”
He leaves his flames in place, reaching past his fire into the void. Thank the fates Father insisted they all learn to wield multiple magic threads at once. It’s second nature to him now.
Traces of plant matter in every direction fill his senses with the heaviness of decay. It’s a familiar sensation.
It’s what rich soil feels like before anything is planted in it.
But beyond that...it’s just more of the same void. There aren’t trees or roots or vines or anything with which he can connect.
It’s an eerie sensation, but he keeps that thought to himself.
“I sense the plant matter in the soil but nothing more than that,” he says.
“What do we do now? The train is gone.”
Before he can respond, something damp hits his cheek, and a heaviness fills the air.
“Is it raining?” she asks.
His fire becomes difficult to keep in place as tiny droplets hit his hand. “I believe it is.”
“At least it’s warm. And misty. Does this feel natural to you?”
“Nothing about this feels natural.”
If only Elowyn were here. She could analyze the rain and mist for them.
He swallows back the lump in his throat at the memory of Elowyn’s limp form lying in the bed at the hotel in Feressa.
Arisanna is right, though. They can do nothing for Elowyn here other than rest so they’ll be stronger for her when they wake.
“Let’s keep going,” he says. “For Elowyn.”
“All right.”
He steps forward, and she follows as the air grows more humid and the mist dampens his clothing and hair.
“This mist is hard on my fire magic,” he says. “If my fire goes out, don’t be frightened.”
She stops abruptly, and he turns to look at her in the flickering light from his waning flame.
“The mist...is dampening your fire magic?”
He meets her gaze, and the heat written across her face lights his own fire all over again.
It’s not his fire magic this time, though. It’s fire like the desire flaming in her eyes.
“Your arm is cooler now,” she whispers. Then she glances at the ground at their feet.
Her heart races along with his as he tilts his struggling flame down.
It’s loamy soil, as he sensed. Dirt.
