Iohmar tries to smile. “He dreamt of you as well.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. It was your magic wandering the tunnels that helped me save him when he was a babe. Some of you is likely tied to him, as I am.”
“How did my magic know such things?”
Iohmar shakes his head. “I’m unsure. You may never know. Perhaps it could move threads of mine because it was so disconnected from you. Your magic I spoke with is still a part of you, after all, even if it seemed a grown woman. I remember it scattering after helping me. I believe it was weakened as I was. It’s regrowing now, enough you were able to find me, and perhaps it’ll strengthen once more.”
Putting a hand in her pocket, she pulls out the tip of his horn, then holds it out to him. “May I keep this?”
Iohmar turns it over in his fingers, amused by its presence, and places it back in her palm. “Of course.”
She takes a shuddering breath. When her fingers brush his, the shadows staining his fingers drain back into hers. “I’m frightened.”
“I know.”
“None of the people I passed were familiar to me.”
Such is a pain Iohmar understands. “I know, dearheart. But you do not need to be frightened. Come with me. There is a place I wish to show you.”
He offers his arms, and she scoots to the edge of the rock, grasping her hands about his neck. After pulling her close, Iohmar steps into the nearest beam of sunlight.
In the orchard, Iohmar sits within the tangled roots of his parents’ trees. Ascia puts her hand on the nearest trunk. Red poppy petals run between her fingers.
“Your parents were very sweet to me,” she tells him.
Her chin trembles, and Iohmar offers his arms for her to nuzzle into. He doesn’t trust his voice. They stay long enough that the bright hour of midday fades to twilight afternoon. The bright spark of Lor’s magic leaves the mountain and grows stronger. When he appears among the trees, he hops the creek and finds a place against Iohmar’s side to curl up.
“Hi,” he says to Ascia, and she maneuvers around to smile at him.
“How is Galen?” Iohmar asks.
“Sleepy. He told me if you got in trouble while he was asleep that he will be very, very cross. Then he closed his eyes again, so I sat on the bed with him for a little bit.”
Iohmar smiles. Relief lodges like a stone in his throat.
“Galen?” Ascia asks, grinning with such joy that Iohmar’s smile is easy. This is a name she knows, for she loves the old caretaker as Iohmar does.
“Yes, Galen. He is still here with us. And I should visit him.”
“I want you to stay here,” Lor says, his voice muffled under Iohmar’s arm.
“Me too,” Ascia says.
And Iohmar can’t rise under such a weight. “A little while then,” he says, putting an arm around each. Ascia sends shadows dancing among the grasses, and Lor plucks flowers sprouting from between his fingers. Iohmar watches him close his eyes and concentrate to call upon the magic more and more resembling his father’s.
When he sends out his own, he finds Rúnda and her folk close enough for him to watch over, maneuvering the sleepy woods. Her presence unknots something in his chest.
“What happens now?” Ascia asks.
After everything, it seems a silly question, a child’s worry.
“Do you not wish to stay with me?”
“I wish it very much.”
“Then that is what you shall do, little princess.”
Both children smile up at him.
31
A Few Stolen Kisses
Leihs greets him at the entrance of the healing chambers, offering another bow. Her eyes flick across his healed skin, and she nods to herself.
“He’s awake. And cranky.”
“Returning to himself then,” Iohmar says, ducking into the private room as her soft laugh follows. He slides the door shut.
A window in the corner has been cast open, and gentle sunlight washes in. Iohmar visited once, the evening before, after sitting with Lor and Ascia, only to find the old caretaker asleep. Now, the room is bright and happy. Galen sits on the edge of the bed, fussing with the ties on his shirt. He is still frail, more so than usual, but color has returned to his skin, warmth to his magic. Sensing Iohmar, he gazes up with a start as if he’s Lor and has been caught stealing sweets from the kitchens.
“Iohmar,” he says, enough uncertainty to his voice that Iohmar’s heart constricts. He caused such pain and wishes deeply to heal it over.
He smiles and hopes it is as gentle as he intends.
