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Summary
“Did you think it wasn't obvious?” He asked, waving a hand about. “Maybe not to the others but I’m well versed in the Weave. You’re obviously not a sorcerer and you lack the… skills to be a wizard. Plus, I can practically smell the Archfey on you. Zybilna was the name you invoked, right? Lady of the Carnival?”
“Y-you’re…” the young half-elf seemed at a loss for words, for once. Rolan smiled smugly at her, a feeling of triumph washing over him. It turned sour quickly as he watched her face twist into a delighted smile. “You’re clever.”
Watching her closely, the mage leaned back as she leaned forward. She hovered over him uncomfortably close and he felt her warm breath on his face. The smell of nutmeg, spiced honey, and amber overtook his senses as his eyes flickered between her soft spring green and coral pink eyes.
“I like you,” she purred mischievously. “I’m Tinessi, by the way.”