Alyce was certain her face would remain a permanent crimson for the rest of her life.

  Since noon, Ryles had been excitedly regaling several retellings of her uninhibited dance around the manor’s well. Earlier recounts depicted her more tame, skipping around it with an occasional twirl. But by the time the sky bruised into a tarnished purple, the stories had her prancing about with reaching hands, or spinning in a round with invisible dancers, even climbing onto the wellhead and acrobatically catapulting herself back to the earth in a spectacular leap, all the while singing and laughing.

  She groaned. Should anyone wonder what a spiritual possession might look like, Alyce would be the perfect example.

  Falling in step by her side as they traveled the castle town’s quieter outer ring, Kytes remained straight faced during the retellings. Though whenever Ryles began to pantomime the choreography with his childlike theatrics, the mage would bite down on his lower lip to suppress laughter.

  “I’d appreciate if you were truthful, but are his stories true?” Alyce finally asked, watching Ryles gleefully skip hand in hand with Bea

  With the manor’s water sweet and clear again, Alyce was given permission to visit the castle town’s wells, a task she eagerly took on. Afterall, the wells had always been her responsibility to look after and her duty still, even if she had unintentionally soured them. Since the errand might require further spellwork, Kytes volunteered to accompany her and because Ryles was eager to witness more magic, the child demanded to tag along. Fortunately for Ryles, Bea was all too willing to keep the young lordling from being caught underfoot. Unfortunately for Alyce, throughout the venture, the yellow haired maid was far too encouraging of the boy’s antics, gleefully taking part as an actress to his plays.

  “You were definitely — spirited while dancing to a song none of us could hear,” Kytes confessed, grinning when Alyce clapped both hands over her scarlet face. “Although you were more graceful than that.” He motioned at the pair badly pirouetting across the graveled path ahead of them.

  Alyce sputtered. “Mad, then. Well, have you danced with a nymph before, Esphyr Kytes?”

  Having heard the word, ‘dance’ and ‘nymph’ in the same sentence, Ryles sprinted back with Bea in tow. “You have? Like Alyce?”

  Alyce could not stop the smirk spreading across her face when the mage’s frame turned rigid.

  “No, I haven’t,” Kytes answered politely.

  “Really? But Alyce said the nymph was very pretty,” Bea insisted. “I would imagine a fire nymph would be more — unfettered.”

  Snapping a hand at Bea, Alyce hastened to quell her friend's mischief. She was thankful Ryles had not understood Bea's intent, the child unabashedly smiling up at his older company.

  And nor did Kytes, whose frown shifted into uncertainty. “I don’t understand.”

  “Wild, Esphyr,” Bea resumed, ignoring Alyce’s glare. “Energetic, passionate?”

  Kytes made a face that teetered onto the line of disgust. “The lampades are austere nymphs. Torch bearers to the afterlife. With what fire’s responsibility is to mankind, I can’t imagine them being anything but unyielding.”

  “But fire is very pretty.” Ryles happily chirped, wriggling a small hand into Kytes’. “And warm. Scares away the dark. That’s why Papa wants to give away the magic lanterns during Samhain. Before it becomes night everyday.”

  Regretful creases formed at the corners of Kytes’ mouth. “With longer nights approaching, Master Hollis and I will most likely need to leave for Thalhurst soon.”

  Alyce’s heart sank but she nodded anyways. If the mages were leaving already, then her magical education needed to be determined. With luck, she could remain close to home and attend the county’s Chapel. But—

  She had enjoyed the Esphyrs’ lessons. She felt their attentive care in her wellbeing.

  “Already?” Ryles’ lower lip jutted forward, the child making little effort to hide his disappointment. “I wish you would stay. I like you better than the mages that visit us.”

  “I do too,” Bea agreed a little too wholeheartedly to Alyce’s liking. A sly smile crept along the pretty maid’s pink lips. “You’re so much younger than those crotchety old men, don’t you agree, Aly–?” She yelped when Alyce shoved an elbow into her side.

  “The night’s getting dark, Bea, and we’ve got two more wells left,” Alyce grinded out through gritted teeth. “The last castle town well is nearby. Why don’t you and Master Ryles check on that one. It's next to the smithy and I’ll see to the one in the orchard.”

  Cornflower blue eyes darting between Alyce and Kytes, Bea tittered. “Well, don’t be too long, unless you want to.” She gathered Ryles’ hand in hers. “Let’s go visit that well and say hullo to the smithies, hm?”

  Ryles squealed in delight. “Maybe they can make more lanterns so we can give them to the Esphyrs and the pony!”

  With Bea and Ryles departing back to the town’s center, Alyce and Kytes struck out for the towering gatehouse. As they crossed the drawbridge, Alyce fumbled for her moonstone. The bruising sky had long been stained into a darker blue, leaving barely a stroke of plum behind the distant hills. Lucent stars set the cloudless night aglow, but with the silver waxing moon not yet risen, the earth below remained in shadows. Alyce rubbed her eyes, hoping they would adjust quickly. The way to the well was familiar to her, but in the dark, the orchard could easily become a tenebrous labyrinth.

  “We’re looking for a half-tilted tree that’s leaning into the road,” she explained to her companion. “That would be the row for the well.”

  “The same one from a few days ago then?” Kytes mused. “The tree we were under because Mouse wouldn’t budge.”

  She smiled. “That’s the one.”

  Light flickered at the edge of her vision and she turned to see an amber flame in Kytes’ hand. She nearly screeched, swallowing it in time and emitting a whimper instead. It wasn’t a fire he held but a golden crystal.

  “I thought we would need it, considering how dark it’s getting,” Kytes explained. With a flourish, he directed the crystal’s spelled light to illuminate the wooden planks ahead.

  Alyce could not tear her eyes away from the gleaming crystal. Like the stained glass in the manor chapel, its vibrant glimmer stood out in the agricultural county of matte modesty. Beautiful and lustrous, she wanted to examine the rare sight closer, appreciate its sparkle and crystalline shell.

  “How pretty…”

  Her pattens scraped loudly against the transition point of plank to gravel and Alyce nearly tripped. Blushing at her vain yearning, the maid swiftly tried to recover from her blunder. Sparkling jewels and manor maids were an ill pairing and she had never coveted those material luxuries before. Frankly, she shouldn’t be allowed to possess the moonstone either!

  “It’s a citrine crystal,” Kytes explained, unable to hide his concerned glance. He had noticed her near fall. “Well favored by fire mages.”

  “I had thought it was a flame,” she admitted. “It reminds me of the glass mural or the stories my lady once told me. About how the cities had colorful lights on every alley and street.”

  “Oh!” The amber light bobbed in time with his surprise. “Yes, a lot of wealthier cities would have crystal lights. Back home, they were so plentiful that households and shops were blinding because of them, even the narrow alleyways.” A shadow crossed his face. “Thalhurst is similar, but every street is assigned a different color.”

  “So the streets are lit by crystals?” She analyzed the moonstone in her hand. Its light was hazier than the citrine, casting the shadowed trees in a thin sheen of pearl. Longing ghosted her lips. “I wish I could see that in person.”

  “Would you like to?”

  Her heart missed a beat as the notion played in her mind. Go beyond the orchard and see the colorful cities that Síle once told her about? She had been content with listening and dreaming about them. But now with her awakened powers, it’s not like she could stay at the manor anyways. The people had seen her roaming about the wells, and while Alyce was glad to meet the cheerful nymphs, she could not ignore the hushed whispers that surrounded them all afternoon. The truth was going to out.

  Alyce tried to string her lips and eyes up into a convincing smile. “One day.” She was sure those two words were the right ones to utter. “I owe my lady to take care of my lord Ryles. He’s only five and — although the Neburh Chapel is a bit far, it is close enough that I can visit when I must. And if I truly am affecting the water, I want to make sure he has safe water to drink and the orchards bear wonderful fruits.”

  “And the hills remain green.“ To her relief, Kytes’ eyes welled with understanding. “Of course. I can see that you care for him a great deal. He is most fortunate.” Then his expression soured. “I did speak to Master Hollis. Informed her you have no intention of leaving Neburh. Our plan is to visit the nearest Chapel on our way back to Thalhurst, in hopes we can find a suitable teacher for you.”

  Warmth colored her cheeks a rosy pink. He had not forgotten her half exhausted plea in the manor’s church. “Thank you, Es—.”

  Movement scurried up ahead and she squinted. Farther down, a silhouette was traversing up the path. Hastily, she directed her light higher to perceive the individual, flooding the orchard’s lone road in a ghostly white.

  Bent low by heavy boughs, the listing tree peered past its straighter brethren. The lower branches bobbed as a single fallen apple rolled away from the foot of the tree.

  “Ah, the marker to the well,” Kytes said cheerfully, noticing the tree. When she did not answer, he looked back to see her face had turned an ashen gray. “What’s wrong?”

  She quickly lowered the moonstone. The dreamy medley of orange and white lights must have clashed with the shadows and played a trick.

  “I’m not used to traveling into the orchard after sunset,” Alyce lied, rubbing her eyes. “A bit jumpy, that’s all.” She smiled ruefully. “Probably because of the nymphs and ghost talks the last few days.”

  Sympathy replaced his concern. “Learning magic will help with sighting them unexpectedly,” Kytes promised. “Once you have a better grasp on your magic, you can choose when you want to see or feel them.”

  “Like you?” She gingerly took a step off the dirt path and on to the orchard’s grass. Unlike during the day, the loam soil was moistened and soft, turning each footfall into a chore. As she trudged between the natural colonnades leading to the well, her wooden pattens sank lower into the grass.

  “Yes.” Kytes offered a hand to ease her venture, which she gladly accepted. “It makes things easier, only seeing what a normal person should be able to perceive. Less stressful. Nowadays, if the lampades really want to talk to me, they send will o’ wisps to signal conversation.”

  Alyce cringed, tightening her hold. “Will o’ wisps? Ghost lights? The ones that live in cemeteries, bogs, ruins —?”

  “Most of the time, those are fireflies. Harmless lightning beetles.” He gave her hand a comforting pat. “We should stop talking about ghosts. Would it help if I brightened the way?”

  He flipped the citrine crystal back onto his palm, its rune pulsed once before irradiating the surrounding leaves in warmer greens. The mage’s consideration has turned the light from candle glow into a vibrant torch.

  “It’s as bright as the sun,” she exclaimed. By all appearances, she had promptly forgotten her fears, her eyes bright with awe.

  A splitting scream sent Alyce careening forward. Deserting the moonstone, her second hand sprung out to brace for impact but it never touched the ground. Kytes had saw her fall this time and caught hold of her forearm, before easing them into a gentler sink. She tried to find footing again, but each attempt sent pain lancing up the soles of her feet and she collapsed onto the grass.

  “Easy now.” Kytes ordered, his tone firm but laced with worry. He returned her pearly moonstone and wrapped her fingers around it. “Try not to move.”

  She opened her mouth to answer when another cry rang out. A grief stricken toll that stirred the quiet air around them. While Alyce froze, Kytes snapped his head around. The shriek was quick to die, echoing down the aisle and toward the direction of the well.

  “It’s a nymph,” she mumbled, her insides churning with certainty. “That scream belonged to a nymph.”

  A hand settled on top of her freezing ones. “Let us return to the manor.”

  Nodding, Alyce strove to stand but with a painful yelp, her legs buckled beneath her. She gasped, fearfully feeling at her calves. It was as if there were a dozen scores carved into her flesh. Heart quickening with dread, she yanked up the bottom of her skirts to inspect the injuries.

  They were bare, not a single blemish upon her pale skin.

  “I’m assuming there’s something amiss with your legs.” Kytes was quick to politely sweep her skirts back down.

  “I can feel cuts all over. But — “ Alyce tentatively traced above her legs with a careful hand, unsure if she should be relieved that there was no marring or fearful that there were none. “I don’t see them.”

  Kytes leaned closer, his eyes serious. “Colleen, you are in no condition to suffer another Lament.”

  She stiffened. “A Lament?”

  “Yes, the moonstone here can protect your mind from her call, but not your body if she demands it. Like right now. Let us return to the manor.”

  Trembling, Alyce bowed her head. He was right. The blissful manor nymph had been a delightful thing but this felt like the cistern nymph’s grief all over again. Unpredictable and waiting, nightmares ready to crawl into her mind. Tightening her hold on the moonstone, the maid was ready to concede when the emitted warmth fluttered under her fingers like delicate heartbeats. It reminded her of the whirring that was the manor’s nymph’s chatter.

  “Wait.” Alyce said softly. “Why is she crying? Is she in pain?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll come back later to find out what’s wrong.”

  Alyce remained rooted to the ground. “The day you came to the manor and I fetched water for Mouse, this is the well I visited. And I had —.” Her eyes searched the darkness ahead. “Felt this same feeling that day. Not as strongly but the same.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “Let me see her. You can only feel her presence, but I can —.”

  “Have you forgotten why we’re visiting the wells? Or what happened at the cistern?” Kytes’ patience was replaced by urgency. “You can turn water by simply feeling a certain way. And they influence you. Channel everything into you! Your body is already reacting to her pain.”

  “But I’m physically fine, aren’t I?”

  “Colleen.”

  She thrust the moonstone in his face. “If the crystal is protecting my mind, then teach me how to regain my body.”

  Kytes stared at her. “You make it sound so simple. There is a reason why mages flee in the face of lamenting nymphs. They possess us,” he answered flatly. “It is why Hollis left the cistern with you. No one wants to lose their claim over their minds.”

  “Yet you stayed,” she insisted, briefly remembering the mage’s back as she retreated up the cistern stairs. “For all the sorrow you felt, you didn’t leave. Did you?”

  “I have dealt with nymphs all my life. Had to. Not because I want to but so I can make talismans to repel those mournings and save others. I practiced magic since the day I was born. And I am not about to allow a novice with hardly a day’s worth of doing magic to confront a nymph’s Lament a second time. In two days.” His umber eyes were wide with panicked insistence.

  “More than a day, Esphyr. Apparently, I have been affecting the water for a very long time.”

  Her retort was swiftly smothered, another cry bemoaning the spirit’s distress through the orchard. Alyce flinched but refused to break eye contact with Kytes. If her hands trembled, she hoped they were mild.

  “I am of man, who she tried conveying her pain before. But I didn’t hear, didn't understand, and I couldn’t have helped at that time anyways. But now –.” She leaned forward earnestly. “I can do something. The wells of Neburh are my responsibility, Esphyr.”

  For several drawn seconds, he didn’t speak, his averted gaze burned with an impatience that Alyce nearly smiled, reminded of his affinity’s namesake. Finally his shoulders fell in a defeated sigh.

  “You want to find out ails the well.”

  “Yes.”

  Kytes carefully pulled away from Alyce’s grasp, rolling back on his feet in a crouch. Resting his forearms against his knees, he ducked his head down in a defeated pose.

  “The five senses,” he muttered to his knees. “Reminds us to stay in the present and remember what we are, who we are. To the matter of physical touch, describe to me four things you’re only supposed to feel right now, what’s actually possible given the reality of your current situation.” He gesticulated a cut. “Not the phantom pain planted in your nerves.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  His enunciation was too precise, detracted even, and it compelled her to act accordingly to his instructions. It might also be her imagination, but the moonstone she had left in her lap felt a twinge colder. And she had begun to miss his warmer presence. Closing her eyes, Alyce obeyed, concentrating on anything her fingertips could immediately find.

  “I feel the grass. They prickle when you brush them, but some of the blades are wet from the soil or perhaps because of the autumn night air.” She inhaled deeply, smelling the earthy scent of verdant trees and the bitter tang of dead leaves. “Moisture upon my cheek, cold but pleasing. And also —” She found a cold patch on the hems of her skirt. “The grass is probably staining my dress.”

  Despite the circumstances, an amused huff betrayed the mage and eased the tight knot in Alyce’s stomach. “I hope grass stains aren’t too difficult to wash out,” he murmured. “What else?”

  Her fingers began to inspect the cotton linen fabric that covered her legs. “The vertical grains of my dress, the fabrics made of knitted linen.” Gritting her teeth, Alyce pressed her hands against her calves, prying her mind away from the vivid imagery of deep cuts. “Linen against skin.” She squeezed her eyelids tighter, willing her senses to believe the spoken words. “Really too thin for this weather, but I've got layers of it…”

  Slender fingers glided over one of her hands and warmth sank under her skin. She shivered in delight, grateful for its company. “How do you do that?” she whispered.

  “Runic fire mages burn warmer because our magics are harbored within ourselves. We call it heart’s fire.”

  “You give your fire to mankind.” Alyce’s eyes fluttered open in time to see an azure blue twinkle from sight. She turned over his hand, finding a raised lesion embedded into the center of his palm. With the last few days, she had seen him scratch at it, and she had grown familiar to the etching. Two angular lines connected at a joint. “Master Hollis said it is your nature to do so.”

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  She yanked her head up to glare at him. “No, it does. Mine doesn’t.” Alyce wrenched her legs from under her, furious at her own weakness. She had succumbed to phantom pain while Kytes constantly harbored his own. The nymph was also pleading for help and here she was unable to stand! How could she help anyone if she grieved over their wounds? “This pain. It really is not my own.”

  In her hasty bout of courage, Alyce leapt up to her full height. Then her adrenaline cooled and she waited with baited breath. Tentatively, she leaned back and dared to bounce on her heels. There truly was no pain, not even a single lingering prick. “It’s like magic. It’s gone!” she exclaimed.

  The tight knit at his brow soothed. “That was incredibly risky,” he scolded kindly. “You’re like a great wave sometimes. Calm, frothy, then a turbulent surge. I was worried you would fall.” He groaned, rising to his feet. “You are quite remarkable.”

  Alyce straightened her skirts in a cascade. “You did say that before.”

  “I did, but also this.” Kytes leveled his eyes seriously with hers. “You must remember our minds are powerful tools at imagining and accepting notions. It can turn our greatest nightmares into reality or bring forward light and instill greater clarity. What you just did, what that practice does. It's not magic, just human things. Especially when we approach the nymph and she begins to inflict us pain. Know which thoughts are hers, and which are yours. You must.”

  “So serious.” Alyce teased and his eyes narrowed. “But I’ll remember. Pinch myself if I have to because I do want to help her. And if I’m unable to —.” She shook her head fiercely to dispel the thought. “Then we’ll go back.”

  Mustering a confident smile, she strutted for the well, each step determinedly balanced as she walked through softer dirt and loose gravel that threatened her footfall. Everytime her ears caught a whimper, she jutted her chin forward, scraping her nails against the moonstone and appreciating its discomfort. Movement danced at the corners of her vision, but her focus remained ahead, her mind refusing to wonder.

  Warmth slipped over her wrist. “We’ll work together,” Kytes murmured, keeping pace with her stride. His crystal’s amber light ushering the shadows away. “With your heightened state of emotions, you’ll be able to see where she is.”

  Alyce licked her lips nervously. “And her wounds?”

  He grunted an affirmation. “That too. And with her permission, I will see to the well.”

  Honing her eyes to the dark, she saw a sunless mass sprouted from between the trees. It was only when the crystal’s glow reached further that the wellhead turned a shade redder. The moisture in her mouth evaporated. It was only five days ago that Alyce skipped to the wells, content in the belief that her home was safe. How ignorant she discovered herself to be and the orchard unfamiliar and subduing, everything cast in a different light.

  Tucked against the base of the wellhead, a dark figure sat hunched over like stone. White withered blooms were braided into dusky gray hair, hues that echoed the well’s tiled roof. Mossy tendrils encapsulated the nymph’s feet like overgrown stockings, climbing up deep cherry skin and burgeoning out as a green velvet gown would. Spotting the red fragments that covered the brittle grass around the well, Alyce’s heart lurched. Chippings. Red brick chipped from the well.

  The nymph made no movement to address them, her face hidden by arms splintering with deep craters and resting upon bent knees. And yet, fragments continued to crumble from fracturing cracks. Mossy threads creeped to balm the deteriorating skin, hiding the blemish with curling fronds.

  Clamping a hand over her mouth, Alyce bit back a cry. The moss was not a dress. It was holding the nymph together.

  “It wasn’t like this,” Alyce whispered, her voice tight in holding back her tears. “I don’t remember the well looking like this or at least — I don’t think it did.” She clenched the moonstone to her chest. “Or I never noticed. How could I not have noticed the well’s condition? I’ve visited so many times before…”

  “Because when nature deteriorates, it is a gradual thing.” Tapping a finger against the hand covering the moonstone, Kytes pulled Alyce from her growing frustrations. “It festers in plain sight but unless you’re looking for it, you’ll never know. Do not blame yourself, Colleen. You did not see her.”

  “But I could have.” A singular tear rolled down her cheek. “Had I been a real mage, I could have.”

  Glancing past him, Alyce saw black voids staring back. The nymph had turned to perceive her unwelcome guests. She could see the spirit’s face had once been lovely, but now it was spoiled with pits. There was a deep cut that split her lower lip, leaving a dribble of black seeping through the old wound.

  “She sees us?” Kytes asked, following her gaze.

  “Yes,” Alyce mustered. “What do we now?”

  “As we showed you this morning, we begin with an offering. A gift.”

  The nymph remained deathly silent, tracking their approach with unblinking eyes. Even the citrine’s orange light brought little warmth to the spirit’s complexion, instead painting her face in more eerie shadows.

  “Well nymphs are what we called crinaeae, Thyis’ daughters that preside over fountains, cisterns, and other monuments dedicated to exist with water,” Kytes explained, kneeling down before the well. “They are usually the kindest of her daughters, having adored mankind enough to watch over their structural creations —.”

  A granite pebble clattered noisily next to his knee and Alyce turned in time to see the nymph retracting her hand.

  “She might not adore mankind very much right now,” Alyce remarked wryly.

  “No. I don’t think she does,” Kytes agreed, scooping up the same rock and testing its weight. “Crinaeae, I don’t have a true gift but Colleen Alyce wants to help you. And so do I.” He pressed the pebble in his fist before returning it to her. Markings that Alyce hadn’t seen before glowed on top of its speckled surface. “Would you accept this? So I can see the bottom of the well?”

  The nymph’s eyes darted to the stone. Though still unblinking, there was a glimmer of mild interest before the stained lips twisted and she hid behind bent knees again.

  When the silence drew too long, Alyce exchanged a look with Kytes. A shake of her head was enough for the mage to know his words fell upon deaf ears.

  “I find it strange.” Kytes admitted, rising to his feet. “I feel her misery, but it’s restrained, held back. And nymphs are not shy about singing their lament. Yet, she is mute.” He picked up the pebble the spirit had refused. “ I don’t like it. It’s as if she's waiting — biding time.”

  A shiver ran down her neck. “For what?”

  He grumbled his uncertainty, swiveling his body to examine the ground and trees. “Do the townspeople visit this well often?”

  “The men, they are orchardists who tend the apple trees.” She pivoted with Kytes, bringing her moonstone up to illuminate their surroundings. “They drink from it or draw water from this well for the trees.” Wrinkling her brows, Alyce began to pace around it. “There’s usually pails kept here, like the ones by the castle town’s wells. So the men don’t have to lug buckets to and fro every morning and night. And they wouldn’t — .” Having walked an entire circle around, she still had not sighted any of the referred pails. “Forget them at home. It is more convenient that way.”

  She looked up at Kytes, who wore a troubled expression. “There are other wells in the orchard. Perhaps the men left them there.”

  The tension on his face eased. “That must be it.”

  Nodding to herself, Alyce scanned the trees once more before noticing a cylindrical shape underneath a tree. “There is one here.” She trotted over and bent down to grasp the handle. “The men must have forgotten it this morning, there’s even water in it.”

  The water’s surface flickered with light as Alyce lugged the pail up. Had the moon risen above them already? Glancing up, she searched the sky, but found only distant twinkling stars. Cold water dashed against her bare toes, reminding Alyce of the still filled vessel and she tilted the pail to pour water under the tree.

  Anger swelled into her chest as she dumped the pail further, hot and warping frustration.

  “Alyce!”

  She swung around, turning blazing eyes on Kytes. “What?”

  The mage spoke softly as if comforting a cornered creature. “Let go of the bucket.”

  “There’s still water in —.” She stared at the water line. It remained filled to the brim. As if she had not poured out any at all. Appalled, she gasped, thrusting the pail away with a resounding dull clunk. Tipping from its heavy weight, it fell over the base and rolled onto its side and to her horror, water gushed out in a never ending stream, rushing water swirling into a muddy glop. Like blood pouring from an open wound.

  A horrible shriek tore at her ears and Alyce dropped to her knees. Desperate to upright the bucket, she fumbled blindly for it, swallowing rapidly as a thick sour taste enveloped the back of her throat. The overwhelming scent of wet mud and grass made her stomach turn. When she finally set the bucket back on its base, Alyce began to gag again and she was drawn roughly aside.

  “The bucket,” Alyce mumbled, wiping her mouth. “What sorcery is this?” She flinched as another wail resounded through the orchard.

  The figure had broken from her huddled form to a sprawl, curled fingers clinging to the wellhead. The nymph convulsed with sobs, thumping her forehead against the bricks..

  Prying away, Kytes looked to depart for the well. “Colleen, stay here. I’ll see to the runes.”

  “Runes?” She halted his retreating arm, her eyes pleading for an explanation. “What runes?” Her fingers latched tighter when Kytes failed to answer, his expression darkening.

  Breaking out of Kytes’ hold, Alyce raced for the bucket, stifling a cry when she saw liquid beginning to rise toward the brim. She saw the light clearer now, emitting from deep inside the vessel. A dark etching was painted at the bucket’s bottom. It warped with the rippling water, but the shape was symmetrical, a sidelong cross with longer lines jutting out from the sigil’s heart, like a radiating sun.

  Her shoulders slumped. The etchings still meant nothing to her, but she recognized what this was, or was supposed to be. And she felt uneasy the longer she stared at the ink.

  “It is an illicit rune.” Kytes confirmed gravely “The rune moves water from well to another source, but it does not stop. It constantly draws whenever the bucket empties.”

  It sounded so simple, so convenient to have. “That’s not right. We’ve never had this before,” she muttered, briskly shaking her head. “No, oh no. That can’t be right. My lord would never allow this. I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

  Having in possession illicit runes will incite not a fine, but a punishment. Regardless of who obtained them, the ruling governance will suffer the consequences. And the Sancti enforced this rule for the king.

  She heard Kytes’ approaching boots. “You must believe me,” she begged weakly. “My lord did not order this. And the people —.” Alyce quailed when he stopped next to her. “They –.”

  Her words failing, she rounded her back. Not all the people, the maid wanted to protest. Not all.

  But she wasn’t sure. The orchardists used them. That much was clear. And their families, did they know?

  “Colleen.” A hand rested on her shoulder. “One step at a time.”

  She whimpered and nodded. The baron had said the Esphyrs were reasonable. And right now, she really wanted to believe that.

  “We cannot leave the nymph in this state,” Kytes continued. “I am sure the main rune is at the bottom of the well. She cannot stand and you had pain on your feet and legs. I will render it useless so should there be more vessels that draw water from this well, all of it would cease.”

  “How? If the rune is at the bottom?”

  “The stone I tried giving the nymph. It holds a fragment of my fire. With it, I can dive into its depth and seek the illicit time.” He hesitated with a sharp inhale. “But it will burn.”

  “It will burn us.” Alyce's mouth formed the words she spoke only a day ago. An echo of the cistern nymph’s fear.

  “Yes. But this is a necessary pain.”

  Alyce rose shakily. “The wells are my responsibility and I want that cursed rune gone. No matter if it hurts, I will take it.” He opened his mouth to protest but Alyce showed him the moonstone. “You gave me this, it is enough. I won’t lose myself to her emotions, even if I feel it. I can’t. I will be there with her.”

  Kytes remained quiet then closed her fingers over the white stone. “She will sing her lament. That I am certain. So you must try your best to stay in the present. And…” He released her but his mouth wrung into an apologetic line. “I am sorry.”

  She tried to put on a brave smile. “A necessary pain, Esphyr. It’ll be alright.”

  The nymph recoiled the moment their lights touched the well, her black eyes glistening with wet rage. Tucking the stone into a fist, Kytes knelt before the nymph.

  “We know the source of your pain, but it is inside the well,” Kytes began, his voice respectfully low. He placed the discarded stone back on the ground. “Crinaenae, please accept the gift from before and I will rid you of the affliction.”

  When the nymph made no acknowledgment to his urging, Alyce dropped to her knees. She could feel the nymph’s gaze boring into her as she descended. It bestowed shame and guilt on her shoulders, demanding apologies to fall from her lips. But Alyce clenched her hands, digging divots into her palm.

  “Crinaenae, the Esphyr can destroy the rune inside the well. Please let him,” she begged. “It will only hurt for a short while then never again.” She offered an upturned hand. “And I will inform my lord, let him know of what has happened, and ask the people to stop. So please believe me and let him help you.”

  The black eyes grew beady as the nymph judged the pair in silence. Then she reached forward and exposed her moss covered legs. On closer study, the legs looked to be covered in raised swellings, green hills that rose over brick like flesh. And it was at the bottom of her foot that the nymph began to pick at a larger green mound.

  Nauseated, Alyce snatched for Kytes’ hand. Under the coiled fronds was a bulbous shape which harbored an orange glow under the nymph’s thinning skin. It breathed like a living thing, illuminating the other boils that were once like it but have all become disfiguring black blemishes. And upon each wound was a painted mark, sharing the same scrawls as the sigil in the bucket.

  “There’s bumps everywhere but here.” Alyce gestured at her own foot. “There’s one that pulses like it’s alive.”

  From the nymph, there was a soft rumbling. Unlike before the spirit now watched them both with a hopeful look.

  “I think she understands.” Alyce continued to tell Kytes, not breaking eye contact with the nymph. “Go on then.”

  With his departure, Alyce was quick to find the moonstone, her fingers fleeing for its assurance. Closing her eyes, she sought to memorize the crystal’s polished surface against her palms. She pictured its swirling blue lines and milky clouds, thinking of anything to ward off the escalating fear brewing in her stomach. She had agreed to this. Wanted this.

  Cold seeped into her and her eyes popped open. Upon her knee was a scaly cherry hued hand. The nymph had crawled closer, mirroring Alyce’s apprehension.

  I affect the water. Alyce remembered. Even in moments like this. I feel her emotions and she can feel mine.

  “I trust him,” Alyce said more to herself than the nymph. “I really do. He will remove the pain for us.”

  The sound of water plunked deep within the well and her breath stuttered.

  “But I suppose if I had been a real mage, I could have prevented this. Protected you. And the people wouldn’t have done any of this,” she whispered miserably. “I really thought everything had been fine. The wells are fine, the people are happy, my lord has aid, master Ryles can grow up without worry! Neburh is safe!” Tears threatened to fall from her quivering eyes. “But because I knew nothing, my lord will need to bear the people’s wrongdoings. And they too will suffer whatever is decided.”

  Warmth tickled under her soles then reached over to envelop the rest of her feet. It was a gentle heat, carefully traversing spots where the old boils were strewn, but even then Alyce would flinch when the warmth became too much and began to sear.

  She could hear Kytes’ mumbling and once she glanced back to see what he was doing. His eyes were clamped shut, his hands placed on the wellhead. On occasion, his fingers would drum and twitch as if moving things aside.

  Then she felt it, a throbbing blister at the sensitive padding of her foot. Kytes had found the illicit rune. She hissed, drawing a sharp breath through her nose, but remained still. However, the nymph wriggled, pawing to scratch at the wound. Worried that the blemish might break, Alyce gathered the nymph’s hands and dragged them into her lap. A weeping wound could lead to infection and although a spirit wasn’t a person or animal, Alyce was not ready to take more chances.

  “You mustn’t,” she told the fighting nymph, the spirit’s behavior reminded her so much of Ryles that Alyce loosened her hold. “He is helping us. And you’ve done so well already. A little longer and the rune will be no more.”

  When the nymph twitched again, Alyce brought their hands to her chest. A cold surge filled her lungs and she let out a shuddering breath. Like lightning, dark eyes flashed to hers and in them, Alyce saw a familiar orange glimmer.

  Kytes’ light, she realized. It was sitting on top of the wellhead.

  “Your eyes reflect what is above your well,” Alyce whispered. “I didn’t realize.”

  The nymph blinked then shed a single tear. It rolled down her cheek, swiveling around pitted skin and down the side of her opening mouth.

  Visions began to flit into Alyce’s head. A tunnel made of cherry bricks and high above, gaussian light filtered in, bestowing the water with a sheen of gold. Low rumblings and laughter drew close and shadows blocked out the rays, but Alyce found herself relishing the sounds the intruding silhouettes made. Then something hit the water and to her involuntary delight, she watched a glowing stone sink toward the bottom of the well.

  My first gift.

  She was ready to spring to the wellhead to express her thanks when a horrible pain made her tumble back. Lifting her leg, she found her skin had bubbled at the ankle and she paused at the sight. Then after a long while, the gift dimmed and she was thrown a new one and a different blemish grew on her other leg. And then another pretty present, and another ugly swelling burst at the soles of her feet. It all hurt, yet the voices above remained jovial and at first forgiveness found its way to her heart. Forgiveness for man. Because they had given her gifts.

  Alyce’s face was drenched with hot tears as she jerked out of the memories and freed her hands. The maid could feel the ringing cries in her ears again, a song the well nymph had begun to sing. “Those aren’t gifts!” She said, digging her toes into the earth and feeling gritty discomfort scrape into her nails. Think of the present, think of now. All of this is a necessary pain!

  The nymph finally smiled, but the slit on her lips wept black anew.

  I know.

  Alarm bells sprang in her head and Alyce drew back an inch, suppressing her desire to scream. The memory of the cistern’s nymph gaping jaw was still fresh in mind and the widening grin beckoned all sorts of uneasiness.

  “Please stop! Please! Those weren’t gifts. They didn’t know any better!” Alyce cried out, frantically thinking of a more suitable offering. Like lavender, the sprigs from Síle’s garden. She blindly searched her pockets. “But I know now! And I can bring you better ones! Forgive us just once more!”

  Azure stars ruptured before her eyes and Alyce did scream, flinging her hands over her face. Her entire body, every patch of skin felt like it was on fire and an iron stench scorched the inside of her nose. She writhed, feeling her nerves shriek as flames traced lines against her flesh then a final burst of blue swept everything into darkness.

  Alyce laid motionless on the ground, too afraid to get up or even open her eyes. She could hear Kytes scrambling to her side, his hands carefully propping her up as he repeatedly whispered apologies.

  “The illicit rune. Is it gone?” The question burned her throat and she coughed.

  “Yes. It is no more.”

  Rough fingers brushed against her tear streaked cheeks and she winced. “Your fingers hurt,” she managed to croak. “My clothes and hair are a mess, the ground is full of dead grass and dirt. That’s all I feel.”

  He barked out a strained laugh. “Still with me then?”

  “Yes.” She faltered. “How is the nymph?”

  “I can’t see her. But I think she’s worried.”

  On cue, a cool touch rested on her knee and Alyce’s eyes fluttered open. Through swimming vision, she saw the nymph peering at her with wide dark eyes. Her lips remained bloody but they trembled as if the spirit might begin to cry. The blisters on her legs and feet had turned into a blackened landscape, an unattractive burn, but the glowing sigil and scrawls were gone.

  “She hasn’t gone mad?” Alyce whispered. “But I heard her sing.”

  Then her eyes fell to the ground. Before the nymph’s feet, laid a long stem with thin leaves attached.

  “You gave her lavender. Or rather you threw whatever was in your pocket at her.” Kytes grinned when a sob racked the maid’s body. “But she accepted it. Her first real gift.”