CHAPTER EIGHTEEN（Untitled）Branikk

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Branikk

I hate the lost look on my bride's face. Teasing her to woo her is one thing. This is quite another. My Grace is full of strength. She just needs a little help finding it again.

"Come." I pull her up to standing. "Show me this ride your magic conjured." Perhaps focusing on this machine from her world will steady her, and I want to know more about it, more about her . All the moving pictures she showed me on her phone were about other people. This is my first real glimpse at something from her life.

Outside, she works the levers and buttons of the machine, and the great wheel begins to spin again.

The water nymphs let out a cheerful cry and go back to their diving sport.

One basket slides past us, only a foot off the ground at this, the lowest point in its circular path.

"We have to be quick and time it right to get on," Grace says.

"I'll follow your lead." This is, after all, her area of expertise.

She darts forward as the next basket approaches, wrenches open a lever that swings open a small door on its side, and jumps in.

I follow close on her heels, leaping up a couple of feet as the basket begins its upward climb.

She laughs, her wide mouth relaxing as she sinks onto one of the bench seats. "You're not supposed to get in while it's moving, but we always do once all the fairgoers are gone for the day."

I unsling my bow and quiver from my back and settle onto the bench beside her.

The sides of the basket are clear, allowing an open view of our surroundings. As we climb, the pine trees bracketing the river narrow into points at the top. I wave at Aurora, watching us from the riverbank, and she raises a hoof back.

Then we break free of the trees, rising up into the air until they spread out in front of us like a green and blue patchwork quilt slightly rumpled by gentle hills. The sun slants in from the left in a golden glow darkening to orange.

"It's so beautiful here," Grace says. "I should have known it wasn't Earth. Everything's more colorful, more real, more…" Her hand reaches and makes a grasping motion. "More alive."

"Magic suffuses Alarria. It might be concentrated in the standing stones, but it's everywhere." I grasp her hand and squeeze. "It's in you now, too. You used it when you made this."

We dip back below the tree line, the basket heading for the ground, but neither of us makes any move to stand.

Around and around we go, looking out in a different direction each time. We even switch to the other bench seat so we can take in new views.

Yet as amazing as the landscape is, my gaze returns to my bride's face over and over, delighting in her amazement. She's seeing Alarria for the very first time—truly seeing it.

I try to imagine being pulled away from everything and everyone I've ever known. A bit of confusion and denial seems only right. Goddess knows, I'd fare far worse deposited in her world.

As we begin to rise above the trees yet again, she asks. "Where's your home? Can we see if from here?"

I spin in my seat, taking my bearings from the sun setting to the west. Putting it at my left side, I point north. "It's that way, but Moon Blade Village is too far away to see, even from your creation's great height."

"Tell me more about it?"

"We make our cottages inside living heart trees."

"Inside them? How?" My lips twitch, and she lets out a soft huff of amusement. "No wait, let me guess. Magic?"

"Magic." I reach over and pull an arrow from the quiver. "I don't have the same skills as those who work the heart trees. Mine is a different kind of wood magic that helps my arrows fly true when I shoot them. But I have enough to fashion wood in smaller ways. I made my bow and all of my arrows."

I pick up her hand and lay the shaft of the arrow on top of her wrist. Pulling on my magic, I tell the wood the shape I want, one quite different than when I worked it previously. The four fletchings radiating in all directions flow together into only two, which lay flat against her skin, the pretty yellow of the golden lark feathers bright and colorful. Then the shaft bends, wrapping around her wrist three times until the obsidian arrowhead nestles on top, centered between the feathers with its sharp point buried in wood so it can't hurt her.

"I don't know if humans wear jewelry such as this, made from wood and feather and stone," I say. "Elves always wore lots of gold and finery, but as Wild Fae, orcs tend to stay closer to nature."

"No, it's perfect. I break regular jewelry all the time or worry about it getting caught in motors and things." She turns her wrist this way and that, looking at the bracelet. "It's even more special because you made it."

Warmth suffuses me at her words, and I keep her hand in mine as we rise above the trees again, looking out over a darkening forest. The high cries and splashes of the water nymphs fade as they find their sleep in the river bed, leaving only the sound of the river. A feeling of peace hangs over us, one I'm only used to feeling when I'm by myself, off on a hunting trip. Usually, when around other people, I'm the witty one, the charming one. I love my friends and family, but it's rare for me to enjoy companionship without the pressure to perform. To allow myself to simply be .

I didn't realize this would be yet another thing my precious bride would gift me.

My grip on her hand tightens.