Page 33 of Homeward for a Spell

Suddenly, Araphi wants nothing more than to entertain Sage. To do a good job, just for her. An extremely dangerous and unwelcome thought when so much else depends on Araphi’s abilities to concentrate.

She takes a deep breath and wrenches her focus to the crowd.

“Hello, Hexham!” she calls out. She strums her lute once, twice, and then fully launches into a popular traveling song that she learned last year. Each note is woven with the barest hint of magic.

She plays through that song, then three more quick ones. In the span of time that they take, Sage has risen from her table and walked toward one side of the room, where Viktas sits. Viktas has been nodding her head along to Araphi’s songs, and clapping loudly after each one. She has an air about her—something in how she holds her shoulders and sits at the table like she owns it—that’s more Clauneck drawing room than Hexham backwoods. It sets her apart from the other villagers, who are singing along to Araphi’s songs and happily talking with their neighbors.

She gestures at Sage to sit down. Silently, Araphi sends Sage a wish for good bargaining. She focuses all her intention on the table and begins a song about two traders in the wilds of the Swamplands. It’s a simple ballad, but one that has enough verses to give Sage time to talk with Viktas and negotiate for the supplies they need.

Please let this work. Please let Viktas sell the supplies to us. Please let her trust Sage. Please let me succeed.

Perhaps someone is listening on the other planes, because the music flowing from Araphi’s fingers suddenly seems richer. Her words are more lovely, and the song more tenderly devastating than ever before.

Before the ballad is over, Viktas is wiping tears from her eyes. As Araphi plays her last notes, Viktas reaches over and shakes Sage’s hand. Sage’s face is lit beautifully by the candles on the table, each flicker of their flames snagging along the topography of her cheekbones and illuminating the golden strands of her short hair. But that’s not what makes Araphi’s breath catch in her throat. It’s the way Sage beams at Araphi, pinning her with a look that is full of wonder and delight. Triumph is written across her features, as well as something else. Something hungry and wild. She licks her top lip ever so slightly, and Araphi’s belly tightens with need.

The song ends, the villagers cheer, and Araphi takes a bow.

Sage’s gaze still burns into her.

Araphi plays a few more songs, non-magical but wildly popular, before hurrying from the front of the lodge, pushing through a crowd of villagers who are clapping her on the back and thanking her. She clutches her lute to her chest, thanking them in turn, chatting with them, making small talk, and getting pulled into several different conversations all at once. With each new interaction, her eyes find Sage’s. The ranger’s gaze is smoke, and Araphi burns with longing, even as she smiles and nods and is extremely fucking charming with what feels like everyone in the village. Still, the heady aftermath of all that music and magic dances through Araphi’s blood, making her reckless and bold.

She has to talk to Sage alone now.

She darts around a clump of villagers who are blocking the path toward Sage, and moves along the wall.

“That was incredible!” an eager male voice bursts out in front of Araphi. A young man has materialized out of the crowds and now stands between her and Sage. His thatch of blond hair stands up and his cheeks are flushed with drink.

Gods, one more person to talk to before she can finally reach Sage. ’Tis the life of a working bard, though. Araphi turns a blinding smile on the young man.

She vaguely recognizes him as one of the members of the party that met them as they entered Hexham. Unlike the men who took their weapons, however, this villager looks delighted to see her again.

“Thank you,” Araphi says, warmed by the praise but not wanting to get pulled into another long conversation.

He grins at her, eagerness coming off him like an excited puppy. “I’d heard that bards were talented, and I’ve always loved music, but I had no idea music could sound like that. It was just so much more—I don’t know—more musical than anything I’ve ever heard? Does that make sense? Maybe it was the way you sang it? Or the songs themselves, though that doesn’t make any sense because I’ve heard some of those before. Which means it has to be you!”

Warm breath wafts over Araphi. She takes a step backward and her shoulders hit the lodge wall.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm for music,” she says, gripping her lute more tightly, “I really must—”

Suddenly, Sage is there, wedging herself between Araphi and the man, her back solidly pressed against Araphi’s chest.

“Touch her, and that will be the last thing you do with those fingers,” Sage growls in a voice so low it sends a thrill through Araphi. Sage’s hand flies to her hip, where her dagger should be. Not finding it there, her fingers ball into a fist.

It’s not that the man was any real threat, but still Araphi fights the urge to sag against Sage in relief. She’s been wanting to talk to the ranger since she got off the stage, and now she’s here. Warm and protective and ferocious all at once.

“I…uhm…I’m sorry…” the man stumbles. “I was just…”

“You were just walking away,” Sage whispers, her tone so dangerous she might as well be wielding a blade. “Now.”

Araphi lays a hand on the wing of Sage’s shoulder blade. Under her touch, Sage’s back tightens, and Araphi swallows hard at their contours, a vivid image of Sage’s lean muscles under her palms as she rubbed salve into them in the woods this morning. With effort, she pulls her mind away from the memory.

“I don’t think he meant anything by it,” Araphi whispers, leaning forward so her lips brush Sage’s ear. “He’s just a fan, and he got too excited. But thank you for stepping into the path of danger for me.”

This seems to snap Sage out of her fury.

“Oh my gods,” Sage mutters, unclenching her fist. She takes a small step backward, meaning Araphi’s body is now well and truly pinned between the ranger and the wall.

Which Araphi quite enjoys, if she’s being honest.