by S. W. Clarke
The other two fae waited for Liara to speak. They were either aware of our history or sensed the tension like a palpable thing in the air.
Liara’s spoon hovered above her yogurt, her face unreadable. Then, after a few seconds, she dipped it in. “You’ll need more than a muffin and coffee to eat.”
The tension dissipated, and the other two fae relaxed.
“Maybe she’s an intermittent faster, Liara,” the green-haired fae offered.
“That’s right,” I said, though I had no idea what that meant. “Maybe I am.”
“Intermittent fasting means you don’t eat during certain windows. She’s eating,” the pink-haired fae pointed out.
Liara shook her head. “Anyway, Sebille, you were in the middle of your story.”
I sat forward as the green-haired fae went on to describe her summer romance with a water mage who was “entirely too wishy-washy” for her.
I snorted into my coffee.
The others looked at me.
“Wishy-washy,” I said. “And he’s a water mage. It was clever.”
I had spent too much time with Aidan’s dad this summer.
The vaguest smile appeared on Sebille’s face. I considered that a victory. She went on with her story, and as she did, more new students filled in the empty spots at the table around us.
The one who’d sat down next to me tapped my shoulder.
When I turned, a fellow ginger stared back. She was skinny and all coltish limbs and covered in freckles. Her hair was short and straight. “You’re the fire witch,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
This was the first-year who had introduced herself to Umbra.
I set my cup on the table, breezing past the question of how she knew that. “Sure am. Need someone offed? I’m your girl.”
She smiled. “You’re funnier than I’d expected.”
My eyebrow went up. “You’d expected things?”
“Yeah. What happened to you in London last year was in the news.”
I lowered my chin. “Seriously? Are you…”
“A formalist?” She shook her head. “Gods no. But you have to pretend to be one if you’re going to live in Edinburgh.”
So I had been in the news. The magical world knew about the fire witch, which wasn’t great for me. The formalists had no doubt painted me as, well, a witch.
“I tend to like anything the formalists hate,” she went on. “Which includes witches.”
I was fond of this kid already, and not just because she was a redhead. I extended my hand. “Clementine, but you probably know that already.”
She took it. “Saoirse. And I do.”
Chapter Five
When I came into the stables for my first mounted combat lesson, Noir was banging a hoof against his stall door. He rumbled when he saw me, extended his head for scratching under the jaw.
“That’s right,” I said as I obliged him. “We’re back in business, my man.”
Mounted Combat II was mostly composed of fourth- and fifth-years. Actually, I was the only third-year of the eight of us standing beside our horses in the ring.
Farrow stood at the center, explaining the class. The concept was simple: we were to learn to use magic while we rode.
I had a head start on that—Rathmore had taught me the fundamentals of fire riding—which I guessed was why I had been entered into this class as a third-year. Farrow knew as much.
What she didn’t know was how spectacularly I’d failed at fire riding in the first guardian trial.
When Farrow had finished her introduction, she led us out into the larger pasture where the horses were sometimes left to graze. “Trust me,” she said to the question in my head, “you’ll want the space.”
Thirty minutes later, I understood why.
A plume of water rained through the air at one end of the pasture. The air whipped to a frenzy in another, sending one of the new horses into nervous dancing, his mane and tail blowing wild. The earth rumbled in another corner.
And in my little part of the pasture?
No fire at all.
I rode Noir at a trot to warm him up, then a canter. Around we went, Rathmore’s voice echoing through my head. I had to let go of his mane; fire riding took both hands. I had to allow the fire to consume me, to give the Spitfire some portion of control, but not too much.
And my flames had take Noir, too. That was the difference between me and those fourth- and fifth-years: their horses wouldn’t be encompassed by their element.
Truth was, three months without riding—or even visiting—had put a certain distance between Noir and me. I wasn’t the same rider on his back as I’d been in May, and he wasn’t the same horse under me.
We’d have to reconnect before I could give myself over to fire riding, and before he’d trust the Spitfire.
Apparently Farrow had noticed. Of course; she missed nothing. At the end of the lesson, as I wiped Noir down in his stall, she appeared at the half-door. “You did well.”
I ran the towel over his flank. “I didn’t even get to the fire part.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t do well.”
I paused. “Everyone has higher expectations for guardians.”
“Well, Clementine”—she leaned closer—“that’s the thing about high expectations. It’s in our nature to rise to meet them. Speaking of which, aren’t you in the advanced fire magic class this year?”
I dropped the towel. “I’m going to be late.”
She tapped a finger on the door, turning away. “High expectations.”
I guess it didn’t matter that I couldn’t shower after the stables. As I ran to Spark’s common room, I knew I’d be covered in sweat the rest of the morning, anyway.
I was the last one into the common room. A class of eight or ten people stood near the entry. When Professor Goodbarrel spotted me from the center, he clapped his hands. “Clementine Cole. I knew you’d make it.”
I staggered through the entry, wiping my forehead. God bless that man.
Aidan was there, hands clasped behind his back, looking especially uncomfortable. When I bumped him with my shoulder, he didn’t even feign a smile.
This was going to be a long year for him.
You wouldn’t expect it, but Goodbarrel was more of a theorist than Rathmore. If Rathmore had been all action, Goodbarrel loved to get into the minutiae of technique. And the first technique he wanted to teach us was splitting the stream of our fire.
“Now this is where you’ll truly level up.” He leaned against the couch with his hand lifted to chest-height, his fingers splayed. “When you can ignite fire on each fingertip.”
One by one, each of his fingers lit like candles. He smiled behind his hand, invited us to ask why that was such a crucial skill.
“Control,” someone said.
“Sure,” Goodbarrel shot back. “Let’s hear more about that.”
“Control allows for precision,” said Maise, the only fourth-year I really knew. “It’s helpful to be precise with fire.”
“Yes! More.” Goodbarrel gestured us on. “What else?”
“A smaller flame can sometimes be more deadly,” the boy next to me said. “It burns hotter, like lightning.”
Goodbarrel nodded. “Indeed it does. But why have I set each of my fingers separately alight?”
Aidan’s face appeared in memory, the moment five blue flames had appeared on his hand in his parents’ yard. “You’ve got five shots on one hand,” I said. “Five chances.”
“Yes, Clementine.” Goodbarrel’s whole hand lit. “And I’ll show you why five chances are better than one.”
He swept his hand knifelike through the air, a horizontal sweep that sent fire out in an arc toward the entire class.
About half of us—and me—ducked. It had the instant effect of bringing me straight into my body.
Two people dissipated the fire. The other three didn’t react in time.
Every face must have been wide open, because Go
odbarrel clapped his thigh, burst into laughter. “I just love doing that on the first day. Really wakes you young folk up.” When Goodbarrel stood, his face went serious. He raised his hand again, all five fingertips igniting. “It took me months to learn to do this, but it’s perhaps the most important skill I can teach you. Here’s why.”
His fingers curled toward his thumb, and when he flicked his hand open, fire shot from his four fingers, raced faster than my eyes could track into four of us with almost instant hisses.
I glanced down at the fire dissipating harmlessly on my shirt, thanks to Umbra’s fire-dampening enchantment.
Goodbarrel’s flames had moved faster than I’d thought possible.
When I looked back up, he was grinning, cheeks rosy above his red-gold beard. “And I’m not even that fast anymore.”
The next forty-five minutes were spent seated, cross-legged, Aidan and I next to one another as we both stared at our upraised hand and attempted to set our fingertips on fire.
Turned out, I was really good at turning my whole arm into a torch. Not much good at anything else. Which wasn’t surprising; “control” and “precision” were my two least-favorite words.
Beside me, Aidan had managed to do two fingertips by the end of class. I kept grousing, looking on enviously. Even when Goodbarrel adjourned us, I didn’t move.
Maise came by and slapped me on the back when class was done, stood over me with brown eyes gleaming. “Come on, fire witch. Nobody’s going to die because you can’t do Goodbarrel’s trick on the first day.”
If only she knew.
When I stepped into the meadow, the sun had already fallen halfway to the horizon, slanting through the trees.
And no one else was around.
I clenched the apple I’d brought from the dining hall, bit into it with all the pent-up ferociousness I’d brought to this first meeting with Ora Frostwish.
Of course she would keep me waiting. That definitely seemed like something untrustworthy people would do.
My mind had already latched shut. I didn’t know how I’d learn from her when I couldn’t trust her, but I couldn’t change the fact of my enrollment in this class. So here I was.
Alone, apparently.
“You eat that apple like you hate it,” a voice murmured from above.
When I glanced up, she gazed back down at me from her crouch on a tree branch. Her hands hung between her legs, elbows resting on her thighs, eyes fixed on me, waiting.
One of my eyebrows popped. “That’s how you’ve got to eat an apple. Otherwise it’ll get the best of you.”
She straightened, dropped to the ground in a flutter. She landed with cropped blue hair afloat; she’d gotten a haircut this summer. And dammit, it suited her. As did the dark professor’s robes she wore, the golden cinch at her waist. “Do you know where we are?” she asked.
That question was too obvious. I rolled my eyes skyward. “I’m guessing Romania. Maybe Bulgaria. But no one’s ever bothered to tell me.”
A faint smile appeared. “Really? That was an oversight. It’s Romania, Clementine.” She paused. “But that wasn’t what I meant.”
I didn’t answer. This was beneath me, but I was doing my best ice queen impression: pursed lips, folded arms, tilted head.
Okay, this wasn’t all to do with Rathmore’s warning. It was also to do with all the times I’d seen Frostwish whispering into his ear at dinners, dancing with her at the winter gala. The way he called her “Ora.”
Call me petty, but I blamed my heart. I could never control the damn thing.
Frostwish pointed into the trees. “That’s where you escaped me during the guardian trial in May.” She fixed keen eyes on me. “That was when I knew Callum was right.”
Now my petty heart beat overlarge. “‘Callum was right?’”
“He thought you were one of the most promising students he’d ever seen.”
“Because of my fire magic?”
“No, Clementine.” Frostwish stepped closer. “I didn’t even see you use your fire. I think he referred to that as ‘good enough.’”
He would say that. I gave the apple another hard bite, ripping the flesh out to the core.
“I see your ego written all over you.” Frostwish’s eyes flicked to my abused apple. “And yet you should feel complimented. Do you know what it means to show great promise without great talent?”
“A lifetime full of disappointment?”
She smiled prettily, which I found difficult to reconcile with my need to distrust her. Fae made themselves so hard to dislike. “It means you have incredible drive. Callum described you as unputdownable.”
She kept saying his name. That last time, my throat got thick. My eyes closed for a moment longer than they should.
I’d never known he’d thought well of me.
Not like this.
Frostwish’s hand fell on my shoulder, and my eyes opened. “You may think you were assigned this course by the headmistress. But it wasn’t Umbra who asked me to instruct you in hexes—it was I who asked her.”
“Why? I’m no air witch.”
“Ah, but aren’t you?” Her eyes remained fast on mine. “Every fire witch has a little air witch inside them.”
“If that’s true, then every fire mage should be able to use air magic.”
“No.” She shook her head. “A fire mage isn’t born of an air mage. Fire passes down through the line, as does air.”
My brow furrowed. “But a fire witch is always born of an air witch?”
In the pause that followed, I scrutinized Frostwish’s face. She didn’t answer with the same quickness as before, and the smile that appeared wasn’t so natural. But she said, after a beat, “The fire witch is such a rarity that she has only ever been born to an air witch. And that gives you a special duality. One that will allow you to cast hexes.”
“You’re sure of that?”
Frostwish’s head tilted. “If history is to be believed.”
I swallowed. “What history are you referring to?”
“If only you could see the mages’ library in Edinburgh, Clementine.” She turned away, swept a hand through the air. “The main room is the size of this entire meadow. There’s even a section devoted to witches.” When she glanced at me over her shoulder, dimples appeared. Of course she had dimples. “The smallest section at the library contains twelve thousand books.”
“The formalists would arrest me in Edinburgh.” I paused. “Are you a formalist, Professor?”
She laughed. “Join with those squares? Gods no. They’re perfectly dull, unimaginative. But I did grow up in the city. Shame it’s been overrun with rubes. Every time I visit my old mentor in Inverness, that’s the word he uses. I happen to agree.”
She hadn’t answered my first question. “And you said I wouldn’t be the first fire witch to use a hex.”
Frostwish turned back to me. “Far from it. That is, of course, provided you’re willing to learn.”
I one-shoulder shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”
“Always.” She clasped her hands. “You can part the veil, Clementine. You’re already powerful enough to travel the world, to escape whenever and to wherever you wish.”
She was being pedantic. “But if I choose to stay at the academy, then I have to participate in your class.”
“You’re never going to learn to hex properly if you don’t want it.” She paused. “Do you want it?”
“I don’t even know what it is.”
Her chin lowered, eyes large on me. “Shall I show you?”
“Absolutely.”
“On you.”
My eyebrows rose. “What?”
“You’re the only other soul present for me to hex.” A small smile appeared. “It won’t hurt. At least, this one won’t.”
I paused, fully distrustful. But I figured if anything happened, Umbra would spidey-sense it. “All right.”
Frostwish’s perfect lips parted, and her mouth began to shape whispered word
s. Her eyes hardened, boring into my skull as a soft breeze washed over me.
As it did, every muscle in my body flexed, and I went completely rigid. Stiff. Immobile.
She had paralyzed me.
Chapter Six
Eva leaned forward with enormous eyes, hands on knees as her bed creaked beneath her. “And how long did she paralyze you for?”
I flopped back on my bed, rubbing my fingers together to enjoy the feeling of control over them. “I don’t know. Maybe ten seconds, maybe ten minutes.”
“How don’t you know?”
“It was the worst feeling I’ve ever experienced.”
“But you said it didn’t hurt.”
“It didn’t.” I stared at the soft lamp hanging from the ceiling, the magical flame burning inside. “But for those ten seconds or minutes, she had complete control over me. She could have done anything she wanted. I never want to feel that again.”
“So you told her you don’t want to learn hexes?”
I lifted my head. “Are you kidding? I’m all in.”
“But why? If it was the worst feeling, you wouldn’t want to inflict it on anyone else, would you?”
“I would want to inflict it on the Shade’s army. I probably wouldn’t mind inflicting it on any formalist bastards who try to capture me. The more I practice it, the stronger my mind will grow against anyone else trying to hex me. So why wouldn’t I want to learn it?”
A pause. Then, “I’m surprised Umbra approved it.”
I rose to my elbows. “What does that mean?”
“It’s putting incredible power in the hands of a twenty-one-year-old. Devastating power in...”
“In the hands of a fire witch,” I finished. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“Fire is a corrupting element, Clementine,” Eva said softly.
Now I understood what this was about. “Aidan told you what happened between us this summer, didn’t he?”
