She gave him a nod. “All right.”
They stopped dancing. He took her by the hand and led her toward the edge of the forest. The music faded to nothing more than a din as they stepped out of the puddle of light and into the trees shrouding them in darkness. He led her to a fallen log and perched on the edge of it. She did the same. They sat there in amicable silence for a long moment, watching the light from the festival flicker in the distance and listening to the faint lilting music.
“I didn’t have a chance to thank you last night,” she said. “For saving me.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.
“Yes, I do. If it hadn’t been for you and your blade, I might be dead.”
She thought of the bruises along her neck and how the Shadow tried to choke the life out of her. A cold tingling sensation skipped down her spine as she remembered.
Silence descended between them as they both considered this.
“I think I know why I was able to do it,” he said.
She cut him a cursory glance full of question.
“To save you, I mean.” He reached for the dagger in the sheath on his belt. He pulled out the blade and showed it to her. “It’s an enchanted blade.”
“Enchanted?” She peered at it, curious and suspicious all at the same time. “Where did you get it?”
“My father brought it back for me from Feywood,” he said. “He had it made there.” He turned the hilt toward her, extending it to her.
“Your father was in Feywood? I thought elves never left the village.”
He grinned. “Sometimes, we do. Go on. Take it.”
Tentatively, she wrapped her hand around the hilt. The dagger was lightweight despite the handle being made of oak. The delicate details along the handle were elven scrollwork that only an elf would know. She turned the blade so the light caught it and saw the wavy design down the steel. The blade shimmered with an ethereal glow in the half light.
“What makes it enchanted?” she asked.
“My father said he heard of a master blacksmith who made beautiful weapons. Swords of all sizes and daggers. He makes blades for King Alfred. Blades and armor and other things.”
Snow handed him back the blade. He held it up, letting the light catch along the edge. It glinted and shimmered with an iridescence, something she had never seen in a dagger, or any blade, before.
“Apparently, he has a way to forge enchanted blades. My father didn’t know how. See how it shimmers?” He tilted the blade in the light again.
“Yes. It’s beautiful.”
“I think the enchanted blade somehow helped me break free. It was why I was able to sever the Shadow from you.” As he said this, he sheathed the dagger.
An enchanted blade. Could it be possible? Had anyone ever heard of an enchanted blade before? There was only one person she thought of who could answer that question. She was certain the Master of Archives would know.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you that last night.” He reached for her hand, wrapping his warm fingers around hers.
Butterflies erupted deep in her gut. Though she liked Ardan, she saw him as a friend and nothing more. The tenderness in his eyes told her he thought of her as something more.
“Snow…” His voice was soft and a little shaky. “There’s something else I wanted to tell you last night.”
Her stomach clenched. The custom of the first night of festival was for the young men to find a young lady and proclaim his intentions. It was the last thing she wanted to hear from Ardan. She shifted, a sudden feeling of discomfort coming over her. To save herself from turning him down and seeing his disappointment or hurting his feelings, she took her hand away from his and hopped to her feet.
“I think Yirrie is calling me.” She kept her gaze pinned on the clearing ahead. “I should go see what she needs.”
“I didn’t hear anything.” He got to his feet. “Snow—”
“Yes, I definitely heard her calling me.” She spun toward him, plastering a wide smile on her face. “Thank you for showing me the enchanted blade and telling me about it.”
“But—”
