Page 122 of Awakened

After pouring himself a drink, he passes the bottle and a glass to Soren. “And these stories, they’re about the Fae?”

“Our Elders never referred to them by name. The legends speak of a human-like species that were born with magic. Real, true, innate magic. Supposedly, they could wield their powers with alacrity. Some possessed specialized abilities related to the elements. Others could only do basic magic—like an enhanced version of what your Blood Mages do, but without all the chanting and shit.”

“What’s that have to do with me?” I ask, frowning in confusion. Soren smoothes his palm down the back of my head with a soft smile—a gesture of affection that makes butterflies burst to life in my stomach.

“Because, Little Mate, in some of these stories, these beings could heal others with only their touch, and wield fire like a weapon. They could speak to the wind and call rain from the sky. Make flowers bloom with nothing more than a whisper.”

No. He can’t be serious.

Those are stories. Stories like my mother told me as a child. Stories I repeated to myself at night, memorizing each word until they became a part of me because they were the only happy memories I had.

But they’re just stories.

“The Fae are said tae have the same powers,” Kane says gently. “There are tales of Folk who rode horses made of water, and shot balls of fire through the sky in battle. They forged arrows from wind that could kill a man with unerring accuracy.” He shrugs before adding, “I dinna ken if any of it’s true, but it’s certainly interesting.”

“I’m not Fae.” My tone is harsh and accusatory, and I wince the moment the words leave my mouth.

“I dinnae say ye were, Lass.” Kane smiles kindly. “I dinnae think the Fae really existed, truth be told. But stories come from somewhere, aye?”

“You may be on to something,” Riven says, nodding absently.

Traitor.

He shuffles through his journals and, when he finds the one he’s searching for, flips it open to one of a few dozen tabbed pages. “A lot of the entries in these journals are mundane bullshit—chores, gossip, complaints about crops. But they do contain bits and pieces of relevant information. One thing I came across more than once is an odd sketch of a circle divided into four equal quadrants. Each quadrant contains a symbol, but I don’t know what they are. They’re similar in style to runes, but don’t belong to any runic language I’ve found.”

The more he speaks, the more animated he becomes.

“One thing they may be connected to, however, is the four elements. In fact, the elements are mentioned frequently throughout each journal. Sometimes in context, but sometimes they appear randomly, like a fucking tick.”

I smile at the absurd comparison. “How do you mean?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Riven grins, grabs up a thick, brown volume from the middle of his stack, locates one of the tabbed pages, and lays it open in front of him. He clears his throat and begins to read.

“‘Ma says the peddler may come back in spring, which gives me just a few months to decide—” He makes a point of pausing before he continues, “wind through the trees, wind through the leaves, wind through the grass, wind to breathe, wind or air or air or wind, an endless spiral that never ends and never begins; the snake is eating its head, eating its head, eating its head. Threads fray and blow in the wind, and the snake is—” another pause, then in a more normal tone, “what I’m willing to trade for a new copper pot.”

Silence.

“See what I mean? That whole passage was right in the middle of a completely innocuous statement. What’s stranger is how she simply picks back up where she left off, like she wrote all of that down and didn’t even realize she’d done it.”

“So… you lied. Those are haunted journals!” Vae accuses, looking at Riven like he’s personally betrayed him.

Riven ignores him. “It’s purely an educational guess, but I believe those four symbols represent each of the elements.”

Vae raises a skeptical brow. “Is there any way you can make it make sense for the rest of the class? Because I’m fucking lost.”

My lips tilt up at the corners in an involuntary smile at his admission, and at the same moment, Vae’s roaming gaze lands on me, and he grins, like we’re sharing some kind of secret.

“Don’t look at her,” Caelan snaps, making me jump.

Vae’s smile falls, and his eyes fill with pain when he looks at his Packmate. His lips part, but before he can say anything, Caelan leans over the table and snarls. “You think you can just smile at my Mate after spending weeks making her cry?” He turns to Daxen and adds, “I don’t want to see either of you so much as look at her without asking her fucking permission.”

Dax’s eyes are so wide I’m afraid they’re about to pop out of his head. I can feel Caelan’s indignation through our Bond, and I reach out, placing a hand on his arm to try and calm him.

I’m grateful when Riven shoves back his chair and stands. “I’ll do my best to explain, but⁠—”

“But it’s Vae, so you don’t have much to work with,” Caelan mutters.

“Alright, enough,” Gavran sighs, throwing back the rest of his drink before using it to gesture toward Riven. “Go ahead, Riv.”