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I search for some flint, or anything at all, to light the candle sitting on the counter but resign myself to turning on the Bliksem-powered light.
It briefly crosses my mind that a team of Bliksem must work around the clock to keep Ytopie in the convenience of light, and I only express annoyance for their efforts.
The harsh light illuminates my sleepless eyes in the mirror, bloodshot and watery. I look gaunt and haunted, a far cry from the desirable figure Mace made me believe I was.
I reach out to quickly turn off the light, any lingering desire I felt chased away by my reflection.
Tulip lay stretched on the grass before me, clothed in yet another fine outfit courtesy of Mace Nightroot. Her feet are bare except for a chain of glittering gems wrapped around her ankle, and the soft skin of her legs reflects the sun, her thighs kissed by a pale brown skirt. The light green blouse, which clings to her figure, almost blends with the grass she rests upon.
She looks genuinely at peace.
That level of peace eludes me. I’m pacing a path in the grass, contemplating the masculine brothers I have spent the past two evenings with. While I’m sure there are more critical things to consider, such as the fact that I may be a vessel that will herald the return of Gods that the people of Krillium do not even know are gone, instead, I am working myself into a tizzy over men.
“The Race should be declaring a winner soon, right?” Tulip asks, hands behind her head and eyes closed to the warm sun. I cease my pacing.
“I almost completely forgot the Race was still going on,” I say, shame creeping up my throat.
Tulip laughs, “That’s because you’re too busy entertaining men.”
I pantomime stepping on her fingers with my boots.
The outfit provided to me today is a stark contrast to yesterday’s. The soft leather fighting breeches and feminine cut doublet feel like home. I pulled my hair into a single knot on the back of my head and strapped myself with my knives, content to find a place to run through my familiar exercises.
I even brought out the Witch’s Ladder, eager to see if I could harness the magic again.
Instead, I’m pacing, fretting about men like I am fifteen again when I was wondering if Link felt the same way I do.
“Mace is convinced I’m a vessel.”
My words are spoken for me, but Tulips hears. “Do you think you are?”
Confusion has made itself a home within me. “I don’t know what to think. Zeph says I’m just a powerful Seasonale that needs training.”
Tulip is sitting up now, her back resting against the legs of a stone bench. “Which do you think it is?”
I worry my lip, shrugging. “How am I to possibly know? Truly! All anyone knows about Winter magic came from some asshole’s journal, and I still feel like Mace is withholding information about what being a vessel entails from me, despite everything.”
“What do you mean, despite everything?”
My face flushes, acutely aware that a slip of the tongue has now opened me up to a conversation I am not ready to have with Tulip. “I just mean that when I had dinner with him last night, we had a nice conversation, and we spoke a lot about the history of Ytopie. Despite sharing all that information with me, there is still so much I don’t know about the magic he swears I have within me.”
Tulip’s tinkling laugh fills the courtyard. “Okay, so then let’s practice!”
She’s on her feet, bouncing lightly on the balls. “How am I supposed to practice something I’m not sure I have?”
She shrugs. “Did the brooding brothers tell you anything about doing magic?”
I don’t miss her continued use of the nickname for Mace and Zeph, but I choose not to call attention to it.
“They both mentioned that it’s just about setting intentions. That it’s not there one minute and there the next. And Zeph said the Witch’s Ladder wouldn’t have worked without my inherent magic.”
I remove it from my pocket, and she squeals when she lays eyes on it. “Pull some feathers, let’s see what happens!”
We spend the next hour toying with the Witch’s Ladder, dismantling it feather by feather. Through it, we get small round balls of ice falling from the sky, shards of ice large enough to be used as spears, and shadows that creep low to the ground, hiding what is there entirely. Each spell is small and pointed, crafted explicitly for short bursts of defense. It’s obvious why Jaz’s family kept the ladder for so long.
After exhausting all the feathers, the last being a blanket of white snow that covers a small square around me, I look to Tulip for what to do next. She greets me with a ball of snow to the face.
As I prepare to send an equal one back her way, she darts behind me, hands on my shoulders. “Now we’re out of magic. Did they say anything about you creating it yourself?” The snow falls to the ground from my slack hand.
