Page 46 of Homeward for a Spell

Araphi slides her fingers into Sage’s hair, pulling her head back gently. “Eyes on the snow, Ranger.” Araphi starts to unbutton her pants when Sage’s body goes rigid under her touch.

“What is it?” Araphi’s hands freeze at Sage’s waist.

Sage nods sharply to the field in front of the barn. Fear quickly replaces desire, sliding like cold water down Araphi’s spine as she takes in what walks across the snow.

Two willowy women with ice-blade hands and long ropes of pale-blue hair glide through the snow. Moonlight illuminates them, painting their ragged dresses silver and showing the edges of their sharp teeth. They sway together across the field, as if they’re hunting something. They move closer to the house, their steps slicing through the ice and snow like Araphi imagines blades cut through wheat.

Araphi’s fingers dig into Sage’s hip. She lets out a ragged inhale.

“Ice nymphs,” Sage breathes.

Araphi nods, remembering Tea’s description of the ancient tree spirits who wander the Northlands at night, hungry for lifeblood. Always seeking their next victims to warm themselves.

“Can they be killed by arrows?” Araphi whispers.

Sage shakes her head a fraction, setting her bow aside. “Their flesh is like ice; my arrows wouldn’t pierce it. Not before they were already upon us. But we might be all right. Outside the range of their own groves, they can’t see or hear well. Perhaps they’re desperate for food. Hopefully the snow will help cover our smell—”

As if to challenge that hope, one of the horses snorts from the barn below and the embers of the fire crackle. If Tea were here, she could’ve warded the barn against creatures like these.

Araphi wishes she knew the right kind of magic to do anything about it. As she thinks it, one of the nymphs breaks away from the other and glides toward the barn.

Out of habit and fear, Araphi grips her lemon charm and hums the barest of tunes. Something her mother taught her years ago for protection on dark city streets.

Sage pulls Araphi away from the window, holding her close and against the side of the loft.

The second ice nymph joins the first, swaying toward the barn, hypnotic and dangerous. Araphi whispers the song under her breath. The notes flow from her, and with every part of herself, she sends it out as a shield around the barn and their party.

Please lead them away from us. Please keep us safe. Please let them leave us alone, she implores the magic through her notes.

The ice nymphs step closer, and one of them runs her long claws along the planks on the side of the barn.

Please lead them away from us. Please keep us safe. Please let them leave us alone.

She continues her song, begging the magic now. Please lead them away from us. Please keep us safe. Please let them leave us alone.

One of the ice nymphs pauses outside the barn door below, her face starting to turn toward the open loft window.

Then a loud howling rips through the night. Both the ice nymphs turn away, their focus now on the animal that made the noise. As one, they lope off, disappearing like silver shadows into the dark woods.

Araphi collapses against Sage, relief making her bones weak. It’s not clear if her magic accomplished anything, but she likes to think it had an impact, or improved their chances at least. She likes to think she could’ve protected the party.

She’ll worry about the scroll tomorrow. For now, she’s happy to let Sage’s arms wrap around her and hold her until she stops shaking.

The next day of riding through the Northlands is much the same, and that night they huddle into a cave for warmth, once again watching in pairs. This time, after Sage and Araphi’s watch is over—they spent the time talking, but not kissing—and Remy and Nura have taken their place, the ranger curls her body around Araphi’s and holds her close at the edge of the fire.

“For warmth,” Sage whispers against Araphi’s hair.

Araphi doesn’t protest, nor does she fall asleep for a long time. Her eyes watch the flames dancing in front of her, making shadows loom huge against the wall.

By the third day of traveling through the Northlands, the entire party is suffering. Bramble no longer whistles as they ride. Nura is so far hunched in her cloak, only her eyes glint out. Remy just scowls in everyone’s direction. Araphi is no better off than the rest of them. Whatever called her to adventure in the first place has been carved out by the cold, the edge of hunger always in her belly, and the persistent worry over whether she’ll be able to make use of the spellscroll.

“We’ll rest here for a few moments!” Sage calls over her shoulder, interrupting Araphi’s miserable reverie.

She’s stopped beside a pair of towering, moss-covered boulders. A small path snakes between the stones, and weatherworn carvings—runes, perhaps?—mark their surface. Araphi runs her finger over one of them as she follows Sage into a ring of pines that waits beyond the boulders. There’s a small clearing between the trees, and the pines are bigger than anything Araphi’s ever seen. It’d take at least three people to wrap their arms around the trunk of any one of them. Mist hangs in the grove, thin wisps hovering close to the snow.

“Thank the gods,” Araphi mutters, sliding off her horse, tying its reins to the pine branch beside Sage’s horse. She leans against the rough trunk of the pine and takes a long drink from her waterskin. Above her head, the pine’s branches make a spiky, circular ladder. If she climbed it, she’d probably see only trees and more fucking trees all the way to the horizon.

What are they doing out here? How are they supposed to find a skinny little river that only three accounts have ever noted in the whole of the Northlands? She trusts Sage’s ranger skills, yes. But she also would very much like a fire and a warm bed—preferably with Sage in it.