Free Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) by Kylie Quillinan

help, he needed to speak plainly.
    Ida stirred and I remembered she had given me a new tale. Tomorrow, I promised, tomorrow I would think on it. I was too tired right now.  
    If she were a real woman, how would she respond to my refusing to create her story right now? Would she be annoyed? No, Ida knew me better than I knew myself. She would accept my fatigue, and the way the melancholy made me withdraw. She would sympathise with my conflicted feelings about Caedmon and Fiachra. One a brother I had idolised my whole life, who I had thought could never disappoint me. The other almost a stranger to me. What kind of man had he grown up to be? He was a druid so he was surely knowledgeable. But was he also kind? Generous? Brave? All I really knew was he seemed quiet and ill inclined to festivities.
    If only Ida were real. I would be able to talk to her, I was sure of that. For Ida wasn't like other women. She didn't simper and giggle and mean something other than she said, like the girls I encountered at various celebrations. She would be genuine and straightforward. She would help me untangle my feelings. Ida would understand me.
    I finally slept and dreamed I saw Ida standing beside the haystack, watching me. As always, she was pale and fragile-looking, and her midnight blue dress seemed to whip around her legs even though there was no draft within the tightly-made barn. She smiled at me, but there was no fondness in the motion, then raised one white hand to press it to her lips. She blew a kiss towards where I slumbered in the hay and then walked away.  
    In my dream, I heard the barn door slam shut behind her. A chill breeze sent snowflakes whipping around the barn, but soon settled. I slept on, warm and comfortable and tired after such a long day.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ida

    I feed on his despair. He feeds on the tales I whisper. A symbiotic relationship of sorts. We need each other, but he needs me more. Or perhaps I need him more. I no longer remember.
    As his despair grows, I strengthen. I become more . He sees the raven everywhere: in his dreams, in his mind, in the fire. Yet he doesn't see it. He doesn't recognise me in any form other than that he gave me.
    My strength grows. I absorb the images and ideas in his tales, drawing them into myself, making them a part of me. I grow stronger and stronger, until, finally, I am strong enough. I think out and then I am. Without him. His head is his own again. Will he notice?
    Now I stretch, limbs reaching for the sky. It feels good, so good. Have I ever had a physical form before?
    I lean over him as he sleeps. So innocent he appears. To look at him, one would never know the darkness in his mind, the horror of his dreams. But he has served his purpose and I need him no longer. I could crush him now as he sleeps. But no, I leave him. We have occupied his head together for many years and his mind is as familiar to me as my own. He is like my own flesh, my blood, my mind. So I will not destroy him but instead leave him to his grim thoughts. I blow a kiss towards him.
    Power floods my body and the barn door blows open ahead of me. I step out into a swirling eddy of snow. Soft, cool flakes melt against my skin as I tip my face up to the sky. Sensations, feelings, physicality. Warm skin, cold snow, hot breath, chill breeze. I inhale and the winter night, crisp and fresh, floods my nostrils. They tingle and my lungs burn as the cold air hits them.
    I stride into the snow and, with a thought, slam the door behind me.
    On the other side of the door, the boy stirs. He knows something has changed. He just doesn't know how much.
    Where shall I go? It hardly matters. I am myself . I can go anywhere, do anything. With every step, my body feels more solid, more real. Power soaks into my bones, my organs, my blood. It seeps through every part of me until I am drenched in it.  
    I stop walking. Diarmuid once told a tale in which a druid stopped the snow from falling. I think I could do it, if I