The corners of his mouth ticked up in earnest. “And blades.”
I went to reach for them, then paused, looking up at him. “May I?”
His eyes crinkled at the sides. “You may.”
Breath was stolen from my lungs as I teased one of the daggers from where it nestled in its sheath. They were comparatively smaller to my own, the entire length of them barely the size of the blade of my remaining daggers, but because of the clever design, there was no need for a hilt; not in the traditional sense anyway. No, this was designed with one purpose—to fly. This design made them extremely light and thin enough that they could be hidden almost anywhere without an opponent being able to spot it. But of all those details, none compared to the sheer artistry of the blade. The hilt was so reminiscent of the warm, golden sun at dawn that my mind conjured an ancient god dipping it in the star’s light to capture itsbeauty. As I tilted the blade, something like runes—or ancient writing—swirled down the outermost sides of the blade, framing what appeared to be an empty, almost glass chamber of sorts.
“Endymion,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on the dagger as I ran my fingers down its face, “it’s…”
“Beautiful.” The quiet word told me he was closer than I realized, and I looked up to find him taking me in, not the blade.
“Yes,” I breathed.
Tracing my fingertips along it one last time, I reluctantly tucked the beauty back, then took a step back. “Thank you for showing me. They’re… elegance incarnate.”
Shaking his head, he looked at me with a saddened expression I didn’t understand. “No, Nyleeria, you misunderstand. I’m not showing you. I’m gifting it to you.”
With an expectant look, he held out his hands a little further.
I could’ve sworn my heart stilled as my focus alternated between him and the bandolier. “A gift. For… for me?” I whispered.
With a nod, he rolled his fingers until the offering rested precariously on his index finger.
Speech and thought were lost to me as I finally reached out and accepted his offering, the weight of it insignificant—and yet not.
Plucking one of the daggers from its sheath, he held it by the thumb-hold and gave me a crooked smile. “Just like you, these blades are the only ones of their kind.” My eyes widened, utterly stunned. “Other than their exquisite beauty”—he flipped it around as if he’d done it a million times before—"they have two distinct characteristics."
He looked at the blade intently, and I couldn’t help but lean in, breath held. Magic flared from his fingertips and pooled into the blade, instantly flowing down the runes before settling into the translucent antechamber, which now housed some sort of blue essence that seemed to flow like liquid fire.
“Is that?” I asked, my words breathy as I reached for it, then pulled back suddenly nervous.
“You can touch it. It won’t hurt you.” His words were soft, comforting.
As my finger touched the blade, my entire body ignited in response to his power, and had I not seen him imbue it myself, there would have been no mistaking it was his magic; like it was infused with his own personal signature that my powers seemed drawn toward.
“The second,” he said, shifting his grip to tip, “is this.” With a flick of his wrist, the dagger flew through the air at a dizzying speed. Just before it hit the center of the wooden beam to our left, the blue magic flared and a rush of water exploded as the familiar, glorious thunk of wood giving way to a blade filled my senses.
Then… it vanished.
I whipped my head to him only to find the blade nestled back in the bandolier. Unable to help myself, I withdrew it and sunk it into the same scar he’d just created.
Two heartbeats later it reappeared.
An excited giggle escaped me. I slid on the bandolier and looked up at Endymion feeling joy and excitement for the first time in a long while.
Screw immortality—thatwas the coolest thing about being fae.
Grinning from ear to ear, I turned my focus back on him. “Thank you. It’s… Thank you.”
My heart stuttered as he looked at me like my joy was everything to him. He blinked, and it was gone, replaced by a more serious timbre.
“Artton will show you how to use their magical properties. It won’t sate the spark’s need to be used, but it will help you dispel some of it.”
Nose crinkling, I said, “Does ithaveto be Artton?”
A low chuckle mingled with his next words. “It does. He’ll grow on you, I promise.”
I went to make some quip about howgrowing on mewas not aselling feature, but I could feel a pull from him—like he should’ve left already.
