Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Nodding, I take in a steadying breath.
The flames are low, and do not give off much heat. “This is the fire, my queen,” she says slowly. “Magic can be worked here, as fire consumes, and its work is shown in flames. These are flames.” She points, and I laugh. Silvie’s mouth twitches, but she keeps her expression serious. “The way to approach magic such as this is by concentrating on the flames and the work they must do. How high do you see them, how hot can you feel them, what colors dance within them? You must see it in all ways. You must know it to be your vision. I will put them out for you.”
Silvie waves her hand, and the flames burn out. Envy burns within me at her power. She controls the fire so easily.
“Now,” she says, her voice hinting at laughter. “Concentrate on the work.”
“The work?” I ask, as if we have not talked about this before.
“Yes. The fire consumes the wood, turning it to heat and flame. That means that the power you send must…understand the intention.”
They are the same words she has said to me before, or very similar, but they reach my ears differently.
I concentrate on the empty grate, and the power that must exist in the underworld even if it is different from the power of bringing life. At first I envision taking from the floor beneath me. The black obsidian and sparkling pyrite. Vaguely I hear a scratching sound and I welcome it this time. Whatever craves for me to hear it, I listen. With my hand outreached and my head falling back, I allow my mind to think of the flames and of its purpose. Its heat. My eyes close and the vision comes without conscious thought, I think of Hades’s hard length, of his hips rutting between my legs, of my growing desire, the mere intention of letting him fuck me as he desires and how the flames of his power wrap around me.
An ember cracks. My eyes open in an instant and I stare at the wood. Imagining the flames that match the beauty of what I had in that moment. I wish to see my own desire in the flames. My lips part and I will it to give me that pleasure.
And this time, a small fire catches, the little flames dancing there before us for several beats and just as I begin to enjoy them, they sputter out again.
“Your powers are progressing,” Silvie says breathlessly. “That is more than I have seen you achieve before.”
Humming in confirmation, I attempt to hold onto the fact that I made fire. Never have I before and I find comfort in that. “They do seem to be progressing,” I agree, trying to keep my voice from showing too much emotion. “Thanks to you.”
Silvie scoots closer, both of us on our knees and squeezes my hand. Both of us look into the grate. No flames now, but there had been. They were there. I made them.
“My Queen,” she says. “Have you had your wine today?”
“Not yet.” Wine is for the Gods and divination.
“Perhaps we’ll have a glass and try again after?”
With a smile, I acquiesce although when I look back to the grate, I envision the flames and I swear I hear the crackle again. We go back to the small table. Silvie pours the wine into two goblets with a proud smile on her face. We lift the cups and clink them together, then drink. It’s a true celebration, though it is only the two of us standing side by side at the table together.
Silvie exhales, lowering her glass. “Do you know, my queen, that there are spells for things such as…love and peace?”
Her statement sends a shift through me. As if my very being knows her statement to have purpose.
“I have heard of them, but I thought they were mostly myths.” I take another sip of my wine. The flavor is rich on my tongue, and full. I savor it before I swallow. “The kinds of magic one hopes for, but can rarely use.”
Silvie reaches over to her chair and takes something out of her basket.
It is a book, bound in smooth leather with an intricate pattern embossed into the cover. Silvie holds it out to me with both hands, and I take it just as carefully, my fingertips slipping over the texture.
I meet her eyes, my heart racing. Silvie nods.
I balance the book in one hand and open the book.
The aged pages inside are covered in writing. These are ancient words. Spells that are so old they have become viewed as myths. I run my fingertips over the writing. The page feels warm with power. Or is it the heat of my intention in my hands? I think it might be both.