“Well, that would require a long explanation and since we only have until eight, I’ll give you the short version. The spear represents which of the islands I’m from.” He slides the ring back on and spins it until the symbols are where he wants them to be. “And the hawk is my specialized form of magic.”
“Specialized magic?”
I must be gawking because he humbly smiles. “Each faebonds, I guess you could say, with a living species. We promise it our loyalty and guardianship, and in return, it gives us one of its unique abilities.”
All the random pieces of information come together at once. “Your red eyes. They’re hawk’s eyes, aren’t they?”
“The Northern Goshawk’s, yes.”
“Can you—” Holy shit. “Can you see like a hawk?”
“For miles. And in the twilight.”
“Wow.” I don’t think I’m breathing.
Rime shrugs like it’s no big thing. “But that’s not the most important part of the bond.”
It’s not? What can be better than seeing like a hawk?
He smiles like he knows what I’m thinking. “The close connection allows us to communicate with our species.”
“Communicate how?” Like Dr. Doolittle? Yeah, there’s no way Rime knows who that is.
“Not with words.” He taps his head. “In our minds, I guess you could say. I can make requests of the birds, and if they’re willing, they’ll do what I ask.”
“All birds, or just goshawks?”
“All birds.”
I’m sure I’m gaping at him, butwhat?I can’t even. There’s no wrapping my brain around this.
He smiles. “I’ll tell you about Leo’s if you want.”
I urge him on with a wave because—shame on me—I do want. I very much want. Even if his answers reveal more of Leo’s lies.
He rests his elbows on the table. “Do you know what hawthorn trees are known for? In particular, the berries?”
Hawthorns have berries? I blush at my ignorance and shake my head.
“They’ve been used for millennia for physical healing. The whole body, but especially the heart.”
“So you’re telling me Leo got his healing magic by bonding witha hawthorn tree?” No wonder he has all that grounding, relaxing tree energy.
“Actually, we call itweaving, not bonding, but yes, that’s what I’m telling you.”
“And does that mean—” No, it couldn’t. “Does that mean he can talk to trees?”
“In a sense. And all plants, not just trees.”
Foolish me, I was picturing Leo healing Avery’s plants by babbling and cooing at them like my grammy did. But he was using faerie magic. And on our hike, when we were hugging trees, he must’ve been sensing their energy on a whole different level than I was.
Wait. Can he hear trees scream? Was that why he reprimanded me for ripping off their leaves?
My cheeks catch fire. What an absurd question.
Or is it?
I can barely comprehend what Rime is telling me. Thoughts and questions buzz in my mind like a swarm of bees. I catch the closest one and let it go, “What’s a Subworlder?”
