She nodded. “Maybe.”
She left him a few moments later and walked back over to Logan Tom. The Knight of the Word straightened and turned immediately, his entire demeanor changing. Something about his reaction to his sister reminded Kirisin of Tragen. But that was ridiculous. The two had just met, and besides, Tragen had been pretending. It was just the way men responded to Simralin.
Even so, he watched them for a moment, pondering the idea that men found his sister irresistible. He didn’t. Mostly, he found her smarter than he was. But she was his sister, after all. She was just Sim.
He jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants and grasped the Elfstones between his fingers, impatient with the wait, looking for something to do. He was still looking when an Elven Hunter burst into the clearing and hurried over to Simralin. She listened for a moment, and then turned to look at her brother. Kirisin felt his breath catch in his throat. He knew at once what she’d been told. He didn’t wait for her to approach. He simply nodded.
It was time.
He took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to relax himself. Then he brought out the Loden Elfstone and stood looking at it as it rested in the palm of his hand. Would it do what he wanted? What would using it feel like? Was he up to this?
He brushed the questions and doubts aside, knowing they did him no good, that they only served to distract him. What he needed was to concentrate. What he needed was to believe. He could do this, he told himself. He could do whatever it took. The Ellcrys had confidence in him, and he must have confidence in himself. He had gone through a trial by fire to get to this moment. Two precious lives had been lost in the process, one belonging to a Faerie creature and one to his cousin. They must not have been lost in vain.
He was aware that everyone was looking at him. No one was saying anything. No one was moving. They were simply watching and waiting. A silence had settled over the surrounding forest, a deep hush that refused to be broken. He could hear himself breathe in that hush, could hear the beating of his heart in his ears.
Do it now.
He closed his fingers over the Loden, feeling his skin mold itself against the Elfstone’s faceted shape. He could feel every knife-edge ridge, every smooth surface, the details forming a picture in his mind. He closed his eyes. He knew what was needed—to imagine what he wanted to see happen, to visualize it as clearly as he could and by doing so bring it to life. That was how the seeking-Elfstones worked. That was how the Loden would work, as well.
He pictured the forest, the city, its people and animals, the Ellcrys and her gardens, everything that stretched around them in a sylvan cradle of life save for the defenders, who were crouched well back in the trees, away from where he would attempt to direct the magic. He envisioned it all, took hold of it, and drew it in. By doing so, he drew himself in, as well. He went down inside, carrying everything he had pictured with him, taking it deeper than he had thought it possible to go. He felt himself sinking, but even though it frightened him at first, his fear quickly gave way to recognition.
He no longer needed to worry if he could find a way to summon the power of the Loden.
Its magic was coming awake.
He could feel it unfold like a flower and then work its way through him, an entwining of heat and light, a twisting of something alive. It was magic born of the Loden, but of himself, too. He could not explain how he knew this or why it should be so, but he could sense it as surely as he could sense the change happening. He opened his eyes, a quick peek. In the palm of his hand, the Loden was a glowing orb. Heat was rising and light spreading, the former filling him up, the latter encapsulating him. He experienced a moment of panic, but fought back against it and locked it away.