He nods once, but his eyes are flatter than I’ve ever seen them. I wish I could say something to help him, to heal him, but I don’t believe there are any words that can stitch up a tear in a person’s soul. Only time can do that, and the hope that it will eventually get better.
Oh my Gods. More things suddenly make sense to me than ever before. Hope extends from suffering. Elpis is the hand that reaches out to the torn.
I grab Griffin’s forearm, squeezing hard. Maybe I can do something. Maybe I’m meant to.
He looks at my hand, then at me, and we stare at each other.
“You’re the best man I know, and the only man I want.” I tighten my grip. “You’re the father of the future of this world. You’re a torch, not the dark. I look at you, and all I see is fire and light.”
Slowly, some of the distance fades from his eyes. “You’re the light,agapi mou. You glow, and you don’t even know it.”
“If I glow, it’s because you lit me up.”
He shakes his head. “It’s because you forgive.”
“Me? Forgive? I can hold a grudge like an Olympian. I’m practically an expert.”
A wry smile just barely lifts his mouth. “You forgive everyone except yourself.”
I press my lips flat, not answering. His words are kindly meant, but they feel like lead on my chest, weighty and full of pressure. Like the future. Elpis. Thalyria. Motherhood. I don’t think I’m ready for any of it. I’m not sure I’m qualified at all.
I’m saved from having to respond when the cabin door creaks open, the squeal of wood and hinges loud even from across the meadow. I let my hand drop from Griffin’s arm, and we turn as one.
A severely stooped woman looks out from the shadowed entrance of her house. She’s old, wizened,powerful. A sudden chill bursts over the back of my neck. I wasn’t sure what we’d find here, and she’s at the same time everything a hermit should be and not at all what I expected. But potion making is a nasty, slippery, dark skill, usually practiced by people who are nasty, slippery, and dark. To be honest, I think she’ll fit the mold.
I take a deep breath and steel myself to deal with the kind of Magoi that are better left alone. It’s time to meet the hermit witch of Frostfire.
CHAPTER 11
Her bright-green eyes, much like mine, stand out even from a distance. That’s not unusual in the north of Fisa, or among powerful Magoi, but her eyes seem disturbingly vivid and intense for an old crone.
“Only the most temerarious of travelers come this way.” She opens her door farther and takes a lumbering step out onto the front stoop. “Most are afraid of the pit.”
She talks softly, pitching her words low. Shrugging off my initial unease, I move forward in order to hear her better.
“The pit’s way over there.” I nod toward the gaping hole on our right, a small but paranoid part of me wondering if she might have just threatened us. Probably not. I could take her down with one kick, and she’s way too frail to push Griffin around.
Magic, though, is a different matter. Hopefully hers is limited to potion mixing.
Griffin’s hand flexes on my lower back. Being the diplomatic one, he says, “We apologize for disturbing you. We know you like your privacy.”
The hermit narrows her eyes. “And yet you came anyway. You want something from me.”
It’s not a question, and the statement is directed at me.Of course I do.We wouldn’t be on a frosty mountainside next to the deepest crack in Thalyria otherwise.
Griffin and I stop near the opening in a stone wall that seems to be acting as a de facto gate. Flat slabs of granite form a pathway leading the rest of the way to the house.
“I’ve heard you make powerful potions,” I say. “Potions for unlocking magic.”
The witch looks me up and down. Her concentrated, almost hostile gaze penetrates me on a deep level, scraping as it goes. “Has your magic locked up, then?” she asks.
“It comes and goes,” I answer with a small shrug that’s a lot more casual than I feel. “It’s unpredictable.”
“Allyour magic?”
I shake my head. “Just the new magic.”
The witch laughs. It’s a cagey chuckle that sends a shiver tracking down my spine.
