Fire Within

by Ella M. Lee

  “It’s not,” I said. “And it’s unlikely I’ll have anything like it outside of Flame, so don’t get any ideas.”

  “I’m not getting ideas,” he said, amused. “I gave you information, and I merely wanted some in return.”

  “Ha,” I said. “Why ask? You can just take whatever you want. Half the magical community would give their right hand for abilities like yours.”

  “They would find themselves quickly regretting that trade,” he said darkly. “My abilities are not desirable. Sometimes, even now, I wish I could give them back. They came at a price, one I was forced to pay against my will.”

  I frowned. He was telling me he felt trapped, although it was tough to believe that a man like him could feel trapped by anything. He was leaning back now, his palms resting on the floor, completely calm and relaxed. It seemed like that was his thing, to appear in control no matter what he was truly feeling.

  I wanted to discover what was under that impenetrable expression.

  “Do you like where you are today?” I asked him, turning onto my stomach—gently, so as not to aggravate my bruises—and putting my head on my hands.

  “Pardon?” he said blankly, his French accent coming through. I had caught him off guard.

  “Do you like where you ended up? Do you like your life as it is now?” I said.

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t complain too much, then. It could always be worse.” I paused. “For instance, you could be me,” I said with a self-deprecating smile.

  “I know it’s been a rough week,” he said sympathetically, “but I wouldn’t be so quick to resign yourself.”

  More vague words of encouragement. I was getting sick of being left in the dark about all the important aspects of my new circumstances.

  “Well, my tall, Burgundy-drinking, Parisian Water Rat,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, “you are one scary creature. It’s hard not feeling resignation when I’m trapped here with you.”

  He laughed. “What would help allay your fears?”

  “Maybe quit it with the stern looks and the terrifying magic?” I said, waving my hand at his impressively powerful presence.

  He narrowed his eyes, confused. “You find my magic lovely and incredible and beautiful,” he said. He had taken those words from my thoughts. “Does it truly frighten you?”

  I swallowed, afraid I had offended him. “Yes,” I said. “It’s part of you, so you don’t see it, but magic like yours is meant for intimidation. A hundred years in Flame wouldn’t have given me that quantity or quality. There are plenty of commanders in the world who don’t have what you have. Most of them, in fact. I’m just a mortal woman. You can’t sit there and pretend like you couldn’t choke me with my own blood or wrap me in a shield so reinforced that I’d suffocate in a minute or—”

  He held up a hand. “Yes, I see,” he said. “When you are a fish, you forget about the water around you.”

  “You are a shark, and I’m just a lamb.”

  He put a hand out to me. “May I?” he asked. “I’d like to show you something, and it’s easier if we’re touching.”

  I nodded, staring at his hand for another moment before taking it. His skin was incredibly warm, practically burning up, a sharp contrast to his freezing apartment. His fingers supported mine gently, and his thumb brushed my knuckles. I shivered.

  He shifted onto his stomach, our faces only a foot or two apart. We were mirrors of each other, stretched out, my left hand in his right hand.

  “Relax,” he said quietly. “Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Good. Again. Pretend you have magic, and let yourself go into centering form.”

  I listened to his rhythmic words. He was instructing me carefully, as you would instruct someone new to magic. He was asking me to meditate, to look inward, to pull my core together and strengthen it, to allow my body to still. “Centering form” was the technical and rarely used term for grounded headspace ready for complex magic use.

  “I’m not going to grant you any magic to use for yourself yet,” he said. “You aren’t ready. My magic is hard to handle under the best of circumstances, and you are not nearly at your best. I am not an ideal commander to receive gifted power from, but I will do so when I think you are stable enough. Be patient. Until then, I want you to be less afraid of me. Center yourself, please.”

  I did as he asked, instinctively finding the place within myself that allowed me to use magic so effectively. It stung that nothing was there right now except my own will.

  “Good,” Nicolas said. “Keep breathing.” He took my other hand in his, holding them both firmly.

  I loved being completely centered. I had tried several times over the past few days to get there, but it hadn’t worked. I didn’t know what had changed today, but finding myself felt amazing.

  “My magic can frighten,” Nicolas said, very quietly. “I know that, and I use it when I need to. It can impress, it can intimidate, it can appall, it can terrorize, it can injure, it can kill. I know that’s what you see when you look at me. But magic is a bond formed with the wielder by understanding and attraction and love. You know that. Flame is one of the most difficult magics because the bond needs to be so very true and pure and strong. Less so with Water, but even still, my magic is filled with that bond.

  “I love it, and it can show that love,” he continued, his voice mesmerizing. “My magic can strengthen, soothe, encourage, restore, and heal. It can calm oceans as easily as it can create hurricanes. It can reform hail into the lightest snow. It can bring forth crops and feed flowers. It can do that all splendidly because… Well, that quantity and pressure that scares you? It was all born out of a connection so strong that nothing but absolute love and adoration could have made it.”

  He went quiet for a moment, his fingers caressing mine gently.

  “I was intentionally dimming your senses, Fiona, but now I’m going to intentionally heighten them,” he said. “Don’t be startled. All right. open your eyes.”

  Opening my eyes immediately pulled me out of my center, and I could feel again. I gasped. His magic had filled the space around us. It was tight to my skin, wrapping me in coils and tendrils and ropes. It lit Nicolas up like the sun, radiant, his eyes glowing. It twinkled in my vision all around us like a million stars, like fireworks, like heavenly snow.

  But it wasn’t choking me. It wasn’t crushing me under its pressure. It wasn’t sending alarmed shudders down my spine. It wasn’t hurting me.

  Instead, I felt safe and protected. The sinewy ropes of it weren’t bindings—they were the feather-light caress of silk, the comfort of a warm blanket, the gentle touch of a hot bath. Its odd darkness wasn’t strangling; it was vast and stretched out before me like the night sky, utterly captivating. Its power spoke to me, but not in threats. Instead, I heard the whispers of ancient ships, the lap of waves, bubbling streams echoing through the morning mist. I felt its coolness spreading over me like the sweetest memory.

  I realized I had closed my eyes again. I opened them, studying Nicolas. He was entirely at ease, his eyes filled with gentleness, his face serene. He did love his magic, perhaps this beautiful side of it more than the rest. His fingers still moved over mine soothingly, as though he couldn’t help himself.

  Nicolas was, of course, more than his magic, but seeing this aspect of it taught me a lot about him. He had specifically chosen to show me this, even though he knew that it would temper my fear of him. I’d never again be able to look at his magic, even at its most threatening strength, without remembering the echo of how tender and sweet it could be. There was kindness in him, in this gesture.

  I kept my eyes on his as he deconstructed his work. The coils of his magic evaporated around me, and I felt cold again without them. The stars winked out. The safe cocoon of his demonstration faded to nothing, but the memory remained, and I could see it imprinted on him. He loosened his hands, and I realized with a start that I had been gripping him tightly. I let go, em
barrassed.

  “Thank you,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to,” he said, smiling. “I so rarely get to show anyone the parts of myself that I like.”

  I flipped over onto my back again, wincing. Nicolas sat up, his eyes wandering out the window. I closed my eyes, exhausted.

  I told myself to sleep, throwing an arm over my face to block out the light. I couldn’t fathom why my body refused to rest. I hadn’t gotten a human amount of sleep in a long time. I had fought, seen my friends killed, been captured, had magic ripped from me, and been subjected to Nicolas’s strange whims.

  Why wasn’t I completely dead by now?

  I was glad Nicolas had opened up to me. It was telling that he had wanted to put me at ease, that he had answered my questions, and perhaps most importantly, that he had asked questions. I had no doubt our deal was still in place, but I didn’t think it would hurt my cause if he got to know me and maybe started to like me. Today had been interesting in terms of advancing our relationship, but it wasn’t clear what the long-term effects of our morning out would be.

  I breathed deeply, trying to find a comfortable rhythm, trying to center myself as I had a few minutes ago, trying to recall the beautiful warmth of Nicolas’s magic around me.

  Sleep, I told myself again, and sank as far against the floorboards as I could.

  When I awoke, I was incredibly disoriented. I flung myself upright, my head spinning. I was in Nicolas’s bed once again, his duvet thrown over me. The shades on the windows were half pulled against the daylight. I could see that it was raining now, beads of water running down the glass.

  There was a tiny beautiful brass clock on his nightstand that told me it was now mid-afternoon. I stood carefully and crept to the closed door. I pressed my ear against it and frowned. I couldn’t hear anything on the other side.

  I pulled it open and skittered back a step after being met with a glimmering force shield. On the other side of Nicolas’s light-blue magic, I saw him sitting with his back to me, playing the piano.

  I pressed my hand to the shield—it was solid and soundproof.

  Hey! Hey! I thought, but he didn’t turn. I exhaled sharply.

  I moved my hand over the shield, examining it. It was a static shield, which meant it had been placed here and was detached from his magic, so he couldn’t sense this particular touch.

  But it had wards placed within it, as was commonly done, and those would alert him if disturbed.

  I just had to find the right one.

  Nicolas was an extremely competent magician. I couldn’t sense magic perfectly, but I could still see his work clearly if I focused.

  Because he was competent, he had naturally laid all the basic wards together, whether they were relevant or not. Wards to detect other magics, to detect someone messing with the shield, to dampen dangerous elements like fire, to limit magical overloads, and so on.

  And one of the most common basic wards was a ward designed to detect mortal interference.

  I felt along the shield for it, sensing the contour of his magic, blowing by one useless ward after another, as well as the rather sturdy silencing spell that suffused the surface.

  Ah-ha, finally. I pressed my palm into the ward I needed. I looked up. Nicolas stopped playing abruptly. He turned and offered an amused smile.

  I tilted my head at him and knocked on the sturdy pane of magic. He snapped his fingers, and the shield disintegrated into nothing.

  “Thank you,” I said, getting a bottle of water from the fridge and throwing myself across the couch.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to trap you. I was merely keeping the sound out so as not to wake you.”

  “You weren’t paying attention to my thoughts?” I asked.

  “Music is one of the only things that allows me to focus deeply enough to block out thoughts,” he said. He paused. “I’m impressed with your ability to navigate my wards.”

  “You are the one who called my magic detection skills ‘off the charts,’” I reminded him.

  “I’m glad I was right,” he said.

  He turned back to the piano and put his hands to the keys. I pulled my hood over my head and curled up, listening to him play something I didn’t recognize. It was haunting and profound.

  I reminded myself that he was hurt too. We were both grieving. I thought of our morning together, and it seemed like we were both doing the best we could, with ourselves and each other. I just had to hope my part in that was enough.

  Chapter 13

  Nicolas seemed to have no desire to bother me for the rest of the afternoon. I ate almonds and fruit and watched him work on his laptop.

  I wasn’t feeling much better, despite fresh air and reassurances and sleep. Even though I was continually reminding myself that Nicolas was being good to me for now, I couldn’t force myself to nap. I was stuck in a dazed state, bleary-eyed and shivering, until there was a knock on the front door well after sunset.

  “Get the door,” Nicolas called from the bedroom, snapping his fingers to lower the shield. “It’s Daniel.”

  “Hi,” I said warily to Daniel, opening the door wide to admit him.

  I really didn’t want to piss him off. I knew Nicolas would be unhappy with us both if that happened, and keeping Nicolas happy was currently my number one mission. I also had no desire to be hit by Daniel again. For such a tiny thing, he was quite strong.

  “Hi,” Daniel said awkwardly, studying me. “You look terrible. Sorry about my contribution to your face.”

  I shrugged, turning away, but he caught my arm in his delicate hand. I tensed, my feet automatically assuming a fighting stance, although my brain knew I’d be dead if I attacked him.

  “Hands off,” Nicolas said sternly, coming out into the living room. “Don’t ever touch her without her permission.”

  Daniel let go of me immediately and flipped his hand palm up in apology, though he eyed my feet interestedly. I glanced at Nicolas, surprised by his defense of me, especially since he touched me all the time without permission.

  “It’s fine,” I said to him. I met Daniel’s eyes. “You’ve already bruised me. Do you want to pick another fight?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, I learned my lesson the first time.” He walked past me, dumping the huge bag in his left hand onto the table. “I hope you like spicy food, Fiona.”

  I didn’t, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Daniel. Nicolas got up to pour wine for himself and his lieutenant—red, probably from Burgundy. I didn’t know why he skipped me, but I hadn’t wanted wine anyhow.

  In fact, I hardly wanted anything other than sleep. I was more exhausted than I’d been in years, since my early days of training with magic. I curled up against the couch, pushing away my hardly touched food, avoiding getting too close to Nicolas, who was seated near me.

  I was calmed by his demonstration earlier, feeling better about his presence and his magic, but it was still in my best interest to keep my distance from him. We weren’t friends, and we weren’t even necessarily on good terms. We were merely heading slightly more toward some middle ground. I wanted to keep going in that direction, but I knew to temper my expectations about where we could end up.

  Nicolas and Daniel were having a conversation in Cantonese that seemed to keep getting terser and terser. I didn’t know what they were saying, but after a while Nicolas was repeating the same short sentences over and over again.

  “Dan, give it a rest, please,” he said finally, exasperated. “I don’t know what to tell you. Ask Fiona if you care that much.”

  That startled me. I glanced between them. Daniel looked like he would rather gouge his own eyes out with chopsticks than address me directly. After an awkward few seconds, he cleared his throat.

  “If I ask you some questions, would you even answer them honestly?” he asked.

  I laughed. “Seriously? You need my help? That’s rich.”

  He rolled his eyes at me and then looked at Ni
colas. I almost let it go, content to refuse him, but I had told Nicolas I would try harder with Daniel. And I had to admit, I was a tiny bit curious as to what Daniel—the genius lieutenant—could possibly need from me.

  “Hey,” I said. “Try asking nicely, without assuming I’m going to screw you at every turn.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, and I heard his teeth click together in annoyance. The feral gleam in his eyes told me that he’d prefer to strangle the answers out of me, but I mostly believed him when he said he’d learned his lesson.

  I smiled. I enjoyed teasing him, and a glance at Nicolas gave me the impression he didn’t care to police our interactions. He was studying his phone, watching us out of the corner of his eye, looking relaxed and calm. His magic lay curled around him, dormant, like a large sleeping predator.

  “Would you mind helping me with something?” Daniel asked in a more polite tone.

  “What do you need, Dan?” I asked.

  I was hoping to annoy him by using his nickname, but he merely smiled and said, “Come over here, Fi.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What’s the magic word?”

  He stared at me, baffled and impatient. That’s right—Daniel wasn’t American. He didn’t understand the idiom.

  “It’s a phrase. It means ‘say please,’” I told him.

  “Please,” he said primly.

  With another glance at Nicolas, who made no indication to stop me, I joined Daniel on the couch.

  “If I promise not to hit you again, will you come closer?” Daniel asked, patting the empty space directly beside him with one of his slender hands.

  “Let’s hear it,” I said.

  “I swear I will not lay a hand on you today,” he said.

  I was surprised to find the words were not biting or sarcastic, although I caught his caveat—today. I slid closer to him, hoping he wasn’t lying and that having Nicolas here was tempering his actions.

  “I’m so glad you two are getting along,” Nicolas murmured, studying us with amusement.

  I glanced at him. I realized as I searched his face that he was reassuring me subtly with those words, indicating that nothing bad would happen.