Page 21 of A Tale of Mirth & Magic

I closed my eyes. Tears prickled at the backs of my eyelids, and I suddenly felt drained. I was empty, alone, with these stupid lumps of metal. Childish toys. Party tricks and shiny baubles.

Barra’s palm brushed my cheek, light and cool. He slid his hand through my hair and cupped the back of my neck. I sighed into his grip, leaning down in the saddle toward him.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said. Rubbing my neck with his fingers in a slow rhythm, Barra brought his forehead to mine. I focused on the contact, letting him ground me. My head spun. “You’re all right, Elikki. Just breathe.”

We stayed there together as the minutes passed, until I came back to myself. His solid forehead, cool against my hot skin, and his steady breath slowing down my rapid inhales.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

When I could think clearly again, I realized how close we were. Barra still gently stroked the back of my neck.

Our faces were hidden together under the thick curtain of my hair. All my awareness had narrowed down on him—the firm press of his forehead on mine, his mint and woodsmoke scent, his broad chest.

I could sense his lips just a few inches away. This somehow felt a hundred times more intimate than in the morning, when I licked honey off those lips and begged him to let me come. This felt new, strange. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had comforted me.

I should kiss him. Did he want me to kiss him?

And then a second later—Oh goddess, I probably have horrible jerky breath.

Pebble, bless her, saved me at that moment by shifting forward to reach a fresh patch of grass. Barra and I were broken apart.

I blinked at the sudden sunlight. Barra took a couple steps away, giving me space. I looked at the small chunks of metal still in my hands.

Holding the silver one out to him, I said, “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to give me anything, Elikki.”

“I want you to have it.”

He hesitated, then reached out. I passed him the silver. Picking up Pebble’s reins, I nudged her forward on the path.

“It’s almost like a river stone,” Barra said, inspecting the lumpy metal as we began to walk again. “Can’t you turn it back into your hairstick?”

“Even if I wanted to—which I don’t, particularly—I probably couldn’t. Not without a proper fire and some time with my metalsmithing tools. I can only magically manipulate metal using strong emotion, and it typically only works if I have a bond with the metal itself. I’m a bit… tapped out right now.”

Not to mention, I tried to avoid doing it at all costs. Using my magic like that always felt amazing in the moment. But the emotions that seemed to power my gift—fury, anger, frustration—created an edge of unpredictability that often scared me. That wasn’t who I was. And once the rage faded away, I was usually left with a deep sense of loss and regret.

There was a time when I’d thought I could be a powerful mage. I’d thought my destiny was to become an official Mage of the Realm, certified and everything, and rise to the top of our ranks in the Artisan Guild across all Kurriel. “Grand Mage Elikki Sunstorm”—the sound of it had rung so perfectly in my imagination. I felt the ghost of a bitter smile return as I remembered that foolhardy time.

When I was young, about twenty, I’d sought out a master metal mage renowned across Kurriel for her skill as a sculptor and convinced her to train me. But no matter how hard I tried, or how patient she was with me, my magic refused to submit to my will. “Too wild, too little control,” my mentor would chide, clicking her tongue at my latest failure. “You must master your anger and pain, child, or you can never hope to master your magic.”

After a year of little improvement, and increasing frustration on both ends, we parted ways. I went back on the road, resigned to tucking my powers away and just focusing on my skills as a jeweler. As my work has improved over the years, I’ve built a bit of a reputation for myself. And I could still feel the metal, connect with it, even if I usually couldn’t risk drawing on my magic. It was fulfilling enough work. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

I could tell Barra wanted to ask me more. He was going to bring up what just happened. Me, losing it. Freaking out on him. I had too many thoughts running around in my mind—too much of the past dredged up. I needed silence.

“Would you mind if we didn’t talk for a little while?” I asked. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk with you—I do! I just… have to think.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Barra said.

“Are you sure? Because I—”

“I’m sure.” He gave me a small, reassuring smile.

I tried to smile back. “Thanks.”

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