"Alright," I said, spreading my hands. "Help me out. Most people can't use magic, so it can't be obvious. Give me an example."
"Mm." Reese glanced away, thinking. "I had a friend who could only use magic if he was protecting something. The older he got, the more . . . creative he became about it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you can justify a lot as 'protecting something' if you leap through several hoops of logic."
"Ah." I nodded. "Anything else?"
"Ishii is open about his," Reese said. "He carries a little jar of Muirashin soil around with him."
"What, really?"
"Yes. He does what he does for his homeland. Killian liked to tease him about it." Reese's face fell with the mention of the dead Paragon. "Look inside yourself. Find a door you don't want to open. For people who struggle to find their catalyst, it's normally hidden there."
I understood his metaphor. Flexing my hand, I stood at the edge of the stream and looked inward.
At me.
If Tirnanog had never fallen, if I'd grown up as the heir to its throne. . . what would I have wanted?
"Sleep on it, if you need to," Reese said. "And, I can leave you be, if it would be easier."
"If you leave, I'll freeze," I said, turning back to him. The wind tousled his hair and shirt. One of the buttons was loose, and it popped open, revealing more of his collarbone.
A hint of dark ink crawling up his chest caught my eye before the breeze ceased.
"Ah . . . " I pointed. "What's that?"
Tattoos were borderline criminal in Forlaith. Only Aenir had painted their skin, long, long ago. Shamans who spoke for the saints daubed themselves with their symbols. The old woman who owned the bakery Liam pretended to work at bore one, though she hid it well. I'd caught a glimpse of it only once: a pair of streaking lines down her side that represented the Saint of Wind.
Such things were outlawed now. Crass and vulgar, by all accounts.
Reese buttoned his shirt. "What was what?"
"Don't play dumb, I saw it."
"The cold must be getting to your head." He looked around, feigning innocence. "Or maybe I hit you too hard this morning."
"Oh, I'll be sure to tell everyone back home. Something new to gossip about."
"I'm leaving, and taking the warmth with me," he warned, walking away.
"Wait!" I scrambled after him.
Reese spun around, and I ran into his chest.
Saints, warmth! It pulsed from his skin into mine, like a soothing flame.
My face turned the color of fire, and I backed away.
"If you need me to . . . " Reese lowered his voice, a smirk playing at his lips. "I can push our cots closer together."
"Yes, that would—" I cleared my throat. "That would be lovely. Why didn't you do that before?"
Rolling his eyes, he motioned for me to follow.
I trotted up the porch steps and stopped.
