Hesper and I dug in.
The sensation of ease crept in, lifting my souring mood.
Thank you, Remi.
“Goddess,” Hesper moaned. “This tastes like Haven.” I ignored her moan; I ignored how her eyes fluttered shut in absolute pleasure, and I ignored how she gripped the table in utter bliss, the wood creaking under her strength. I ignored her entirely as I ate my way through the smorgasbord.
Remi brought us more plates of food, and Hesper rolled up her sleeves for proper digging in, revealing the black-band tattoo I’d noticed earlier today.
“Why do you have that?” I asked in between bites of sourdough smothered in herb butter.
Hesper’s chewing slowed. “A reminder,” she finally said.
“Of what?” I asked, placing a slice of bread down on my plate.
She gave me a forced smile and cleared her throat. “Duties.” Then she set back to eating.
Fine then. I didn’t care anyway.
Hesper ate away as I shifted my attention to a withered flower on the table. It had recently died, but I could sense a spark of life inside.
Focusing on the magic, I began to hum to the flower. After last night, I didn’t know what state my heart and magic would be in. But if I could sing this flower back to life, then maybe my seed idea could work.
I summoned what threads of magic I could, intertwining any hint of them with the flower. The stem gave a tiny shudder.
“Why do you sing to the flower?” Hesper set down her spoon and wiped the stew off of her mouth. She startled me out of focus.
“It’s just how I’ve always done it,” I replied in a clipped tone, trying not to lose what little ground I’d gained with the plant.
“Done what?” she asked.
“It’s how I do magic,” I seethed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to—”
“Nice singing voice.”
I didn’t say thank you. She didn’t answer the singular question I’d asked her today, yet here she was peppering me with inquiries.
“Is it the same song? Or different every time?” She leaned forward, inspecting the flower and then me.
“It’s different every time.” I leaned away from her, my magic sputtering in and out.
“Does it always work?” she asked, now mere centimeters away from the sad, dead plant.
I shoved the flowerpot away. There was no use in trying to magic it to life and deal with Hesper’s questions at the same time.
“No, Hesper. Not every time. My magic isn’t, well, it doesn’t work like that,” I said.
“How does it work?” she asked. I could tell by the curiosity in her voice that she wasn’t trying to annoy me, but persistent questioning about my magic set me on edge no matter how much Remi magic flowed through my veins.
“I don’t really know, okay?” My words came out breathy as her questions piled one on top of the other.
“You don’t know how yourownmagic works?” she asked, biting her cheek.
I know that it isn’t my magic. It doesn’t work outside of Moss. I know this quest is doomed. And apart from all of that, my heart muddles it all into a frenzy of magical conundrums, none of which I can parse out.
“It’s not that I don’t know how it works, I just don’t knowwhyit works in the way it does. It’s connected to my feelings and things…” I mumbled.
Hesper stared me down like she knew every secret I harbored, and it pushed me over a precarious ledge.
