The shimmering light began to glow stronger, almost blinding.
Harkin’s eyes widened, full lips parting. He reached for me, almost as if he did not even realize his hands followed the line of my hips. The drenched fabric of my nightgown wrapped around his fingers as he pulled me close, searching for something in my gaze. My tongue darted out, moistening my lips, and he tracked the movement.
I felt the beat of his heart against my chest. Or was it mine? Could he feel it?
The world narrowed to a single pinprick of time. Heat pooled low in my belly. We shared breaths, the air tremulous and tentative between us. His eyes darted away for just a moment, and he stilled.
“Look,” Harkin whispered.
I turned, feeling the ghost of his thumb along the exposed skin of my spine. His other hand still gripped the clinging fabric at my hip as he steadied me.
Across the mágikal spring, emerging from the northern depths of the Varázis Erva, was a blindingly white stag. His antlers carried blazing constellations between them, stretching toward the moonlit sky and cutting through the vestiges of the Tünécris mágik as it clung to him. He looked straight at me, and I could have sworn our eyes locked.
“Szarvus.” Harkin’s voice was so quiet I could hardly make out the words. Emotion choked him. “The White Stag. The messenger of the Goddesses. I have heard the legends, of course, of the good omens he delivers, but I never imagined our paths would cross.”
I marveled at the stag as he approached the spring. Water lapped around my knees, but I stood stock still.
Szarvus knelt at the edge of the water, in the softly lapping tide, and bowed his head tome. I held my breath as I beheld him.
I looked at Harkin in amazement and wonder. His expression mirrored my own. When I looked back across the gleaming water, the stag was gone. Not a trace of him lingered. Not a single hoofprint marked the soft earth. Only the memory would remain.
“What does it mean? That he came to us.” I lowered myself to the supple flower bed, rested my head on a bed of moss.
Harkin settled himself beside me. He tangled his fingers between my own. “I think he came here for you. I think… he knows how special you are, and I’d bet the Goddesses know too.”
“You’re different than I thought you’d be,” I told him before I could stop the words.
“How is that?” He tipped his head down so our noses nearly brushed.
I lingered close for a moment then looked back to the sky.
“You’re kind, Harkin Aranti. Kind and courageous and…” I let out a shaky laugh. “And… I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”
He snorted, but when he spoke I could hear the emotion in his voice. The depth of my words to him. “Thank you, Ren.”
We remained in this place where mágik reigned and the outside world could not find us until the soft light of dawn began to color the edges of the world. We dressed in dry clothing and mounted Quin. The horse seemed to understand, too, that what had happened there was nothing short of a miracle.
The ride back to the cottage passed in a blur, the events of the night running through my mind like something from a storybook.
I had the sense that the mágik of the forest was easing our journey, hastening our approach. When the familiar treeline came into view, bone deep exhaustion washed over me. It was not like the night Harkin and I had fought, injured and weary. This exhaustion was gentle and boneless. My mind did not buzz with indecision.
In the cottage, I nestled into the settee, legs tucked beneath my body. Harkin stoked the fire, then arranged himself beside me. Wordlessly, we enjoyed the roaring warmth of the flames, both of our minds on Szarvus and the mágik that had enveloped me.
Though dawn had come and gone, and I had slept little, I found I did not want to sleep just yet. I wanted to stay awake, beside him, for just a little while longer.
“Thank you for bringing me to the spring. For helping me embrace my mágik. I’m not afraid anymore, not of the tide welling within me.” The admission was a weight off my chest.
“The tide…” Harkin whispered, voice sleep roughened and contemplative. “I don’t think you’re a water wielder, Ren.”
“Then what am I?” I asked, pressing my cheek against the cushion so I could face him. My eyes blinked slowly, lids heavy. His brow furrowed as he studied the ceiling intently.
“I have met many water wielders, and the glowing silver light that pours from you is anything but ordinary. I haveneverseen that before.” Harkin paused, considering. “Szarvus came to you—a sign from the Goddesses—and the Markoláb, too. He devoured your mágik… Ren, the Markoláb consumesmoonlight. Goddesses, I was so blind—or maybe I did not want to see it then. No, you’re not a water wielder. You’re Moonkissed.”
“Moonkissed?” I echoed.
Harkin drew closer so our knees brushed. He peered at me through wide eyes. “The Three Goddesses can bestow their own mágik—that of the heavenly bodies—upon those they deem worthy, but it is extremely rare. I have never heard of more than three celestial mágik wielders in a generation. Sun, moon, and stars. One for each of the Goddesses.”
“It’s not possible… I’ve been using water mágik all along.” I shook my head firmly, straightening my spine.The Goddesses would not choose me, I thought. But was that true? Or was it only my own perception of myself?
