So am I a bad person? Did I cross a line stealing?
I don’t think so. My actions would be horrible if I didn’t have my heart in the right place. I’m borrowing the khymeia so I can study their power. It’s in the interest of keeping my town safe. I won’t keep the stones. I want to, but I won’t. Laini has woven a thread of ethics into my soul, damn her. Two years ago, I would have taken these stones and kept them forever and not had a single gray hair over it.
I shake my head at myself as I hurry home through the snowy streets. The lamplighters have done their duty, so the pathways and roads are painted in gold from the burning wicks on the oil lamps high above me.
A Great Crowned Owl hoots from a rowan tree at the corner. She swivels her head and her small antlers sparkle like ice in the starlight. It’s my friend, Lady Owl. I give her a nod in greeting. Silent in her graceful movements, she leaves her perch and flies overhead.
“How are you on this night of no moon, Lady Owl?”
She hoots twice. She’s doing well.
“Good to hear. Can you sense the power in the stones I took from the minotaur? Is that why you’re paying me a visit?”
Lady Owl lets out a low trill and one quiet hoot. I don’t know how exactly I understand her, but her sounds are quite clear in meaning to me. They always have been ever since we met eight months ago. She sees visions too and sometimes shares them with me. Nothing too helpful as of yet, but I enjoy her wise company.
“Yes, I’ll be careful with them. You sound like Laini.”
She hoots and clicks her beak, chiding me.
“Sorry. Owls are nothing like humans.” I reach my door and swing it open. She flies in circles over my front steps. “Want to come inside and warm yourself by my fire?”
Inside, I flick my wand at my hearth, and the logs are suddenly wrapped in orange fingers of flame. A flash of Argos’s dark eyes blinks through my mind and I suddenly feel the heat of his hands on my scalp. The way he tangled his fingers in my hair and how his tail felt sneaking up my skirts…
I growl, forcing those thoughts away and I take a steadying breath. Stupid, handsome minotaur. He has no business being so seductive.
Lady Owl settles on a perch I made for her out of fallen branches and some scrap wool Laini gave me. I take a seat in the cushioned chair by the fire and remove Argos’s stones from my pockets. They hum in my hands, their power quiet but steady.
One rune is repeated on both rocks. I set the stones beside me and grab the largest of my books on magical symbols. With the heavy tome weighing down my lap, I flip the parchment pages slowly. The fire snaps, and I look up to see Lady Owl watching the stones next to my leg like they are mice for the taking.
“Hmm.” I focus on the book again, searching until I find the runes I’m looking for.
My stomach sinks when I find what I’m looking for. This is what I was afraid of.
“This rune summons energy from the surrounding environment,” I tell my wise owl friend. “Argos is draining the earth when he uses these.”
Lady Owl echoes my feelings on that by making a low trill like a growl.
I pick up one of the stones and study the other runes. Paging through the tome, I make my way through every rune. There are two small ones for strength to the wielder, which makes sense considering these were obviously created to give non-magical creatures power. One rune on the slightly larger stone is shaped like an oak leaf. The book says it’s for memory. But the translation seems off to me. I reread the whole page on that leaf rune, but it’s not very clear.
“Have you ever heard of a magic that accesses a person’s memory?” I ask Lady Owl.
She coos. That’s ayes.
“Interesting. I didn’t know that was a thing.”
Two hoots and I am raising my eyebrow at the sassy owl.
“Yes,” I say to her, “I realize there is much you know that I don’t.”
Her next trill tells me she thinks of me as a youngling. I wonder how old she is, but I know not to ask a Great Crowned female that question. Witches have stories shared at the gathering that tell of what happens when you trouble the matriarch-level Great Crowneds about time or age. I don’t know why it bugs them so.
At some point, I must fall asleep because I wake to someone knocking at my door. I’m sprawled across my extra wide chair, one leg hiked up over the arm. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I point my wand at the door and open it.
“Come in, Laini.”
Her energy sometimes has a signature, so to speak. Not always, but when she’s keyed up.
“Are you all right?” She stomps her winter boots on my entrance area rug and clumps of snow drop around her.
