by Kova, Elise
“Well, our lessons may be severely cut back soon enough,” Sehra said gravely.
“What? Why?” Vi leaned forward in her chair. Sehra had seemed so determined to teach her at the start. Now, only a few months in, she was already cutting back their lessons?
“Between the solstice and the construction of the infirmary, along with the spread of the White Death, my attentions are needed elsewhere.” Sehra ran her fingers along her lips thoughtfully, as if debating her next words. “No… not merely that. I am already seeing you progress beyond what I can teach, princess.”
“That’s not true,” Vi whispered. “I still have so much to learn.”
“But I only have so much I can teach.”
“You told me you would help me control my magic.” Her voice rose slightly.
“Foremost, I told you I would teach you all I know of the power of Yargen… which I have. Between the fundamentals and the tome you have been pouring over, you know as much as I do. No, more than I, for you can read the glyphs and I cannot.”
Vi swallowed air down a dry throat. This couldn’t be right. There was so much more to this magic, so much she didn’t understand.
“But… my fire, at the capital they will expect… I need to masquerade as a Firebearer.”
“Do you think you cannot control your magic?”
“I…” She thought of the small motes of flame she had conjured from time to time, reminding herself that she was gaining more control. “Not well enough.”
“I doubt that.” Sehra stood. “Come.”
Vi couldn’t do anything but follow. Leaving everything behind, they walked down to the back edge of the castle. Vi hadn’t ventured down this way since her lessons with Jax had ended in favor of her tutelage under Sehra.
“Leave,” Sehra commanded. The warriors heeded their Chieftain, but Vi heard them grumbling. Sehra must have as well, but she led by example in ignoring them, moving once they had the area to themselves. She pointed to the nearest stone pit. “Vi, down you go.”
As Vi descended, Sehra stood on the upper edge of the ring, held out her palm, and the nearest tree branch arched unnaturally down, as if trying to shake her hand. Vi watched as the Chieftain broke off a few smaller sticks and sent the branch back on its way. She tossed one nonchalantly into the pit. The stick landed unassumingly in a small puff of dirt.
“Set it on fire with juth.”
“Juth.” As Vi repeated the word, the symbol appeared to her with perfect clarity, her hours pouring over the tome paying off. After practicing so much with durroe and the subtle vibrations that word left behind, this was like the crackling of a coming storm just beneath her skin. Vi had ignored it from the start; this was the one word she didn’t want to embrace. “To destroy. I think that’s the last thing I need. All I want is to make sure my fire doesn’t destroy things.”
“Perhaps the best way to ensure that you do not reap destruction accidentally is by learning how to destroy things intentionally?”
Vi stared at the stick. She’d never felt so daunted by something so harmless as a twig.
“If you wanted a simple fire, I could summon one.” Before Sehra could speak, a thought occurred to her. Vi’s head jerked upright. “How can I make fire without words?”
“It is what I explained to you foremost… Your first relationship with your magic was with the understanding of a Firebearer. On some level, we learn magic the way we learn anything else—by imitation. Everyone expected you to be a Firebearer, demonstrated it for you...so your malleable magic did its best to imitate what it saw.
“For small feats, it is only natural that you can channel the magic to use it in that way,” Sehra said in a manner that assured Vi she spoke from experience—though with Groundbreaking, Vi would assume. “But could you create an illusion as a Firebearer?”
“No Firebearer can.” That was squarely a Waterrunner skill.
“Do you feel confident creating a large fire you could control with those methods you use to make a spark?”
“No…” The small sparks in her palms were one thing. But the only way she managed to control any large amount of magic—like the fire against the diseased noru—was by looking at her magic as light.
“Then destroy it with juth.”
Vi stared at the stick, sliding out her feet to hip-width as though she was facing off against an invisible opponent. Lifting one hand in the air, the symbols attached to juth were already swirling in her mind.
She allowed the glyph to encompass all her thoughts. It pushed aside Jax’s former tutelage—the instincts she’d had drilled into her for years about how to summon fire. She was not making fire—she was making a channel of light that would become fire.
Vi’s eyes dipped closed as she tried to imagine the power seeping forth from her fingers, spinning from a white-hot invisible spool deep within her. It didn’t radiate off her skin without focus. It was like a candle-wick, ready to burn.
“Juth.” Vi’s voice went low with dangerous intent.
She knew this glyph—inside and out. Her upbringing as a Firebearer gave her an additional lens to understand it that Vi did not have with durroe. Fire was something she understood or, at the least, had ample practice with.
Just like Taavin had said… The words were not just words. They weren’t mere sounds or symbols. They were meaning combined with understanding brought to life with intent. It was greater than the sum of any individual part.
Woven lines and circles appeared above her hand, streaking through the air in bright beams of magic. It carved the pure essence of destruction itself. Vi may not understand everything yet, when it came to being a Lightspinner.
But she understood how to make something burn.
Power sparked up her chest, little crackles like tiny fireworks exploding behind her ribs. It was as though they were rushing along her arm in a race where the finish line was somewhere behind her fingertips. A similar glyph appeared surrounding the twig. Her magic had never looked so bright—so confident.
As quickly as it came, it went, snuffed out with an almost audible crack. The scent of smoke filled the air and there was a small pile of blackened ash where the twig once was. Vi turned up toward Sehra, balling her hand into a fist.
“On your first attempt… Just like I said, princess, you will soon surpass all I can teach.”
* * *
Back in her room, sweating and exhausted, Vi locked her door. She’d sent all her servants away—reassuring them several times over that she could, indeed, bathe and dress for bed on her own. It was early for her to be secluding herself for the night, so they gave her strange looks, but eventually agreed.
Let them gossip to Andru about the strange princess, Vi thought bitterly. He may well be trying to kill her anyway. Did it really matter what he thought?
There was something she wanted to try without an audience.
Something had changed in her, in that fighting pit. There was a different feeling about her—her magic specifically. A feeling of control, of a deep understanding she’d never quite mastered before.
Taking a deep breath, Vi held out her hand and let her magic lift off her skin. It hovered in the air, almost gracefully, tiny wisps of bright white light woven into threads that only she could command. For the first time in her life, Vi thought there might be something beautiful to magic. Not just any magic, but her magic.
“Narro hath,” she uttered, and willed the symbol to take shape just as it had with juth in the pit. She knew the words. She knew her intent. And, most importantly it seemed, she now understood how to draw out her power in a stable way.
The two magic words left her mouth, but all Vi thought was, show me. She wanted more than a disembodied voice. She wanted a stable connection—an opportunity to truly talk to Taavin face to face as she did at the apexes.
This time, when she summoned Taavin, Vi made it clear to her magic exactly what she was expecting.
The glyph lifted off her hand. For a brief moment, Vi wo
rried she was losing control. But the supreme sense of rightness surrounding the words narro hath continued to fill her and Vi trusted in her act. She trusted in her magic.
Starting near the ceiling, the magic circles spiraled downward. They gave off strands of magic that took form. And in the next moment, Vi’s black eyes met a pair of bright green ones.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“How… what…?” He stole the words from her lips as he looked around her room, shock on his face. “How did you—?”
“I did what you said to—”
But before she could finish, the magic sputtered. The symbol unraveled and vanished from her grasp like a line cast out to sea, slipping through her fingers as it caught on a tide. She stared at his eyes as they widened by a fraction, and then he was gone. The light vanished.
Vi widened her stance some. She wasn’t about to give up that easily. Not after she’d come so far. She raised her hand and repeated the process. “Narro hath.”
The light spun out, and she watched him appear once more. So she could confidently make the glyphs now—brighter and more complete than before. But she still couldn’t seem to sustain them.
“Anchor it,” Taavin said quickly, as if reading her mind. “Keep the circle around you, connected to you. Yes, closer to your hand, don’t project it out so much. It’ll be more stable that way.”
Vi took a deep breath, focusing more on the magic pouring from her fingertips than on the man himself. She tried to imagine it winding around each finger, tying it there like a kite string. Only when it seemed secure did she dare shift her gaze to him.
Taavin was focused on her arm. He was still cast in light, mostly transparent, shifting between there and not. It was less than the connection they seemed to have at the apexes, but far more than what she’d managed thus far.
“How are you doing this?” he whispered after a long moment. His eyes trailed up her arm and to her face, searching. Vi dared to meet them, searching back.
“The same way I have been talking to you until now—narro hath. I’ve just managed to actually make a glyph this time rather than the haphazard approach I’ve been doing until now.” Vi spoke slowly, trying to keep as much focus as possible on keeping her power stable. “I’m getting better at it.”
“No, that’s not how this works… this type of connection…” His gaze shifted from her hand to her chest. Vi followed it, looking down. There, just like during her very first vision, like the ruins, was a faded symbol shimmering over her watch. “You have an imprinted token of mine.”
“A what?” Vi’s free hand rose to the watch. The magic stuttered with the motion and Vi fought to keep it.
“To communicate with narro hath requires an imprinted token of the other person.” He took a step forward, looking down at her over the narrow bridge of his nose. Vi studied his features—they were sharp, not unlike hers, but with a distinctly inhuman edge to them. “I had thought our communications were merely a result of our relationship as the voice and champion. But now I know this whole time it’s been narro… How do you have a token of mine?”
“I don’t know,” Vi answered honestly.
“Is it because of this you were able to torture me all these years?” His voice deepened, becoming deathly serious all at once.
“Torture you?” she whispered in shock. “I wouldn’t—”
“Your voice haunts me.” The solemn statement stilled her. His eyes searched hers, as though he’d find answers there. “I know your face better than my own mother’s. You’ve reaped destruction on my mind with the mere sound of your voice. I lose days behind my eyelids and wake, only remembering your form.” His eyes fell back to the watch. “Why? Is it because of this? Or because you are the champion?”
He wasn’t lying. There was too much pain there for him to be lying. This wasn’t some joke or test. It was real suffering he had endured. Suffering, apparently, she was responsible for. How had she not seen it until now? Why hadn’t he told her from the start?
Vi was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to help him, but she didn’t know where to begin.
“I’m sorry… But I don’t know.” She held the watch tighter. “This was a gift. It was my mother’s—not even mine until months ago.”
He looked away, toward her window. Vi wondered if he could see her room. For her, it was only him. Wherever he was remained hidden.
“Maybe she found it somewhere?” Vi suggested, taking a step forward. The light around her hand flickered again and his form almost blinked from existence.
“That would be quite impossible, as I have not stepped foot beyond Risen since I was a child.” There was a note to the longing in his voice that resonated with her own. She knew well what it was like to be trapped somewhere, tortured by things she could read and see through her maps but never reach.
“Where is Risen?” she asked softly.
“Meru. You know it as the Crescent Continent.” He turned back to her and once more Vi found herself transfixed by his ears.
“Are the elfin common on Meru?” Vi asked.
“You could say that.”
“How about vague answers? Are those common?” Vi frowned in frustration.
“That may only be me.”
The magic flickered once more. He blinked out of existence and Vi stretched her arm further, as if she could push more magic out that way. Taavin re-solidified, looking back to her hand.
“You’re losing strength.”
“I can manage,” Vi insisted. There was so much more she wanted to talk with him about.
“You’re lying.”
“And you’re a little annoying.” Vi didn’t expect him to smile at that, but he did. The shortest upturn of his mouth.
“Rest, Vi. If you’ve managed this connection now, it will be there still for you to continue bothering me with when you’ve replenished your energy.”
“I haven’t done anything to you—” Vi paused, then quickly corrected herself, “—until recently.”
He looked at her for a long moment. The argument Vi expected never came.
“You’re not what I expected you’d be,” he said softly, thoughtfully. His gaze was almost… tender. How could the same person look at her with equal measures compassion, skepticism, and pain? It was a mix of contrasts that shouldn’t fit together.
“I suppose it’s mutual,” Vi whispered in reply. “I didn’t expect you at all.”
They simply stood, staring, for a long moment. In him, Vi saw a portal to a world she’d barely imagined. She saw truth, and secrets of the universe she hadn’t fathomed weeks ago. And she couldn’t help but wonder what he saw in her.
“Does our deal still stand?” Vi asked finally. “Even though I have this supposed token of yours… will you teach me how to use this magic if I find the apexes for you?”
He paused for a long moment. Briefly, her heart raced in fear that he was going to say no. But then…
“Yes, it still stands. If anything it’ll be more effective now that you’ve mastered this much.” He looked away again. “Besides, it’s not as if we have any choice. We have roles to play, you and I.”
That sense of duty was one Vi knew better than any other. “Taavin, I—”
“Rest now, Vi. Summon me again when you have the strength.”
It was as if her magic had been waiting for his permission. The threads, worn down like her energy, snapped, and the light disappeared into the darkness. Vi staggered back, collapsing on the bed and staring at where he had been—staring at her hand and what she’d done.
* * *
She summoned him the next day.
Immediately after her lessons, Vi feigned a stomach ache and had a simple dinner sent to her room. On hearing she was supposedly ill, Ginger tittered about, but Vi finally sent her away too. She waited for a good hour before holding out her hand and uttering the words.
The light appeared before her, flickering at first and becoming stable. Vi remained focused on every line, ensuring tha
t the slowly swirling circles around her fingers stayed in place—close to her skin, just as he’d instructed. Only when she felt the magic stabilize did she look to her visitor.
“You seem more confident with that.”
“Me? Confident with magic? You have the wrong girl.”
“I’m just as surprised as you, to see one of the Dark Isle using Lightspinning. Though I must remind myself you have your contraband book that should’ve never made it across the Shattered Isles.”
“If my book upsets you so much, why don’t you come and get it back?” Vi retorted. The jab hit harder than she’d intended.
“If only I could.”
Taavin looked away and Vi studied his profile. Other than the scar that ran from his left eye, down his cheek, his face was as polished as a sculpture. Though she was certain the light that constantly outlined him contributed to the ethereal illusion.
“Why can’t you?” she dared to ask. He’d said he’d never left his city the last time they spoke and Vi had heard volumes lingering under the statement. Until now, however, they’d only ever spoken of practical things—magic and visions. This was the first time she was making an intentional effort to venture beyond the basic framework that had brought them together.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.” Her lips curled up into a smile, hopefully encouraging and not mocking.
“My position, as the Voice of Yargen, means I am to remain by the flame at all times. I couldn’t leave if I wanted.” And he did want to. Of that Vi was certain.
“Trapped by your position…” Vi looked at the swirling magic around her fingertips. “That’s one thing I think I understand better than most.”
For the first time in her life, Vi shared the sentiment with someone and did not have them immediately disagree. He didn’t try to point out all she had in the power of her station. Nor did he chastise her for the feeling of entrapment. He merely stood in quiet camaraderie.
“What does the Voice of Yargen do?” Vi asked. “Keep this flame burning?”
