Can you keep a secret?

She helped take his cloak off, and huffed a grin when she pushed it aside, but when she reached for the scarf around his nose and mouth, he quietly shook his head and let that matter rest. She pulled one of his anxious hands into hers, and the sheer size difference, paired with her belief in him, made his heart ache in his ribs.

But the conversation moved to lighter things, and he wouldn’t have thought much of her wanting to meet the witch of the woods (what child doesn’t want adventure?) had she not made such a nervous addendum that made his brows flicker down in worry. He could tell there was something on her mind, and he was suddenly taken by the impossible wish that she shouldn’t have to carry nightmares or heavy burdens, that she remain young and effortlessly cheerful for just a little longer. Málmr’s fingers closed around hers, gently protective. It was a futile wish, but it weighed on him nonetheless.

When he finally asked, she stood up without a word and led him toward the treeline, and at first he tensed up, unsure if the witch might appear so close to someone’s home. He kept looking back to keep Lucie’s house in view, but when it disappeared around a bend, he started to protest, but Lucie shushed him and continued through the underbrush with silent conviction.

Whatever her answer to his question, it was important enough to risk the woods, even after his story. So he accepted it, held her hand a little tighter, and let her lead. He had his shields, and he wouldn’t let the witch’s servants come anywhere near her.

And when she finally stopped and turned, shining like a new star in the dark autumn wood, his breath caught in his lungs.

Shock kept him as still as stone.

Magic. Lucie, Danaë’s only daughter, held magic.

He wished he could have light-heartedly taken in her new appearance and said, ‘This is a beautiful thing,’ but the smile she held, the smile no child her age should have to wear, told him that they both knew it wasn’t. He wanted to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ but kept those words clamped between his teeth.

Instead, he took a few steps towards her, knelt down on the grass, and took her little hands in his again. He was grateful now that Lucie was far enough away from the city to not know what he’d been ordered to do, to bring in whatever new mages he could find, to hunt down those fleeing Namarast.

By all means, the Archon’s orders would have him do what he protested against months ago at the rally – taking a child away from their home. His Oath to the Order would never make him bend to that. So in a gently traitorous tone, he replied, “I will trade your secret for one of mine, and we can keep them together.” And he pulled down his scarf, the cloth catching on his tusks as it fell around his neck.

Words stifled in his throat for how to continue – whatever he said would hold so much weight to it, and this was too important a moment to squander like he had with Sylen.

“Do you....” His throat tightened. “...Does your mother know? Has she told you what...having magic means?”