The Lost War, Karl Gallagher [recommended reading txt] 📗

mean it. But I can’t buy a ring here and there’s no safe place for a romantic proposal.”

Newman felt his heart pounding. He took slow breaths to calm himself.

Master Sharpquill was trying to suppress a smirk. “For a place, why not during Court? Pageantry and plenty of witnesses.”

“I can’t interrupt the Court!”

“Who said interrupt? We’ll put it on the agenda.”

“Then it ruins the surprise.”

“The only people who need to know it’s on the agenda are Their Majesties and the herald. They’ve kept bigger secrets than that.”

Newman grinned.

“It’s settled then. A fancy ring, and we let you say a few words after you and Goldenrod are elevated.”

“How are you going to find a ring that fits her?”

“I’m not. I’m going to delegate.”

***

“How did it go?” asked Mistress Tightseam as they returned to House Applesmile that afternoon.

Goldenrod sat down hard and said nothing.

Newman took the seat next to her. “I found one of those squirrel-like things. She tried but it didn’t work.”

“Dammit, I said D-I-E a dozen times and the thing just sat on a branch and laughed at me.”

Mistress Tightseam said, “Good. Now you know something you didn’t before. That’s what experiments are for. Finding out what happens.”

“That wasn’t very useful to find out,” muttered Goldenrod.

“Sure it is. You’re learning one of your limits. That’s important.”

Redinkle gave Goldenrod a mug of water. She drained it and handed it back.

“A limit is when I know it won’t work. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t is just random,” said Goldenrod.

“I’m glad to know it’s not automatic,” said Newman. “I was wondering if I’m actually good at hunting or if it was just all the times she said ‘good luck’ when I left.”

That earned him a fist in the ribs. He grinned at her.

Tightseam focused on analyzing the magic. “It worked on the orcs, not on the squirrel. We need to find the possible differences and find experiments to test them. Different locations. Different moods. Whether the target is a threat. Does it only work at home?”

“No. I found the vineroot by the river.”

“Right. So what do the orcs, healing Redinkle, and finding vineroot have in common that the squirrel doesn’t?”

“The orcs and Redinkle’s burn were both scary,” said Newman.

“But the food search wasn’t,” countered Tightseam.

Goldenrod looked up. “No, I was scared. I was putting up a good front but landing here, facing starvation, wondering if someone would steal our food—I was scared all day.”

“Then that’s a new hypothesis—your powers work when you’re scared. How can we test that?”

“I’m thinking.” Goldenrod stood up from the table.

Newman said, “Heights are an easy fear to trigger. We could set up a rappelling line. It feels scary but it’s perfectly safe.”

The campfire burned briskly, providing warmth and light on this cool evening. The cooking rack had been put away after dinner, letting it burn unobstructed.

Goldenrod didn’t answer Newman. She stared at the fire, concentrating on the problem. Redinkle hadn’t been scared when she first started a fire. She was frustrated and angry. Goldenrod focused on the fatigue and tension from the unsuccessful experiment. Added jealousy of Redinkle controlling her powers so easily. Imagined people mocking her for not being able to be useful. Her pulse beat in her ears as her blood pressure climbed. The fire was ignoring her, mocking her magic. She ground her teeth. She wanted to stomp on something. Stomp out the fire, but it was too big.

Goldenrod said, “This fire is out!” as she shoved her hand into the flames.

The fire vanished. Blackened wood sat in a pile. The last wisps of smoke drifted away, no more following them.

Goldenrod fell back, hands clutched to her chest. “Ow ow ow ow.”

Newman’s chair fell over as he rushed to her. “Let me see your hand,” he said, prying it open.

The hand was unharmed.

“Ow. Not hand. Ow. Chest hurts. Ow. Ow. This fire is lit.”

The flames flared up to their previous strength. Newman grabbed Goldenrod and rolled them away from the fire.

“Okay, that’s better.” Goldenrod disentangled herself from her boyfriend and sat up.

“What the hell was that?” demanded Newman, still prone.

“An experiment,” said Mistress Tightseam. “Executed without any of the planning or review for safety we’d discussed previously.”

“It worked,” said Goldenrod.

“Then why did you fall down?”

“The spell worked. But it wasn’t just a punch. It hurt like a sledgehammer to my chest. Relighting it eased it some.”

Newman looked from her to the fire and back. “Killing an orc, that just takes a slice to a nerve or artery. A small change. Putting out the whole fire all at once—that’s a big change.”

“Finding the vineroot didn’t take any change. Just a bit of steering.” Tightseam paused.

Newman realized Belladonna also just needed a little bit of steering as she ran through the woods.

“What about the healing?” she continued.

Redinkle had her hands over the fire as if she was checking for changes. “It took me a week to heal. She made changes slowly.”

Goldenrod took her seat again. “Then I’ve learned two limits today.”

***

The next day Goldenrod put magic aside to focus on gardening. Her mind was on critter traps as she walked down the lane. When another woman stepped in front of her she absent-mindedly started to go around.

“Lady Goldenrod, I need to say you haven’t been thanked enough for all you’ve done for us.”

“Oh, um. Thank you.” Goldenrod recognized her as Mistress Filigree, one of the master crafters.

“Not nearly enough. May I give you a hug?”

“Uh—all right.”

Goldenrod reflexively reciprocated Filigree’s hug. It was firm but brief. As they parted the craftswoman took both of Goldenrod’s hands in hers.

“My dinner last night was a stew of fish with diced vineroot. All I could think was that without you