Quinn took one flower and drew forward. The flames were scalding. “To my old life,” he whispered so only the fire would hear. And he tossed the red chrysanthemum into the blaze.
The feast began. Quinn felt a lightness he had not felt in a long time. People chatted happily, glad to unburden themselves from the year’s grief. Even Amarice seemed happier. “Tonight, we grieve. Tomorrow, we find solutions,” she told him. He asked her about the dance. “The dance of mulo. My mother was Deyoni. The Feast of Fire was their holiday first.”
“It was unlike anything I have ever seen.”
“You’ve never seen Deyoni dance magic?” She seemed surprised. The Deyoni often danced for money around Elandria.
He shook his head. “I was never allowed to go see them. Is it earth magic, though?”
“In its purest form.” She poured herself a glass of fire-wine. Quinn had never learned that the Deyoni were magic at the Academy. His parents had always said they were demon-worshippers, but he wrote that off as superstition. He made a note to ask Amarice more and to write about it to Rafe.
Daisy began the tradition of naming the year’s favorite memories. People laughed at everyone’s stories. Though the night was about grieving losses, it was also about the death of a year. Quinn reflected on his year as he listened. What was his favorite memory? He thought of nights out with his friends, of great classes and good marks. To his right, Amarice rattled off a story of a journey to the sea she had made in the summer. As he listened to her melodic voice, he knew.
“Quinn, your turn.” Amarice touched his hand. He swore he felt a jolt of lightning rush through him at her touch. He smiled.
“When I received word of my apprenticeship.” He took a drink of fire-wine; the smoky liquid mingled with a touch of cinnamon burned his throat. He nodded at Matthew to his left to tell his story. Quinn turned his head to look at Amarice, her grey eyes dancing in the firelight. She gazed into his soul and smiled. He wished she would touch him again.
The night continued with toasts and laughter. Slowly, people went off to their rooms. The Feast of Fire was supposed to end with private reflection; though the wine and intimacy of the night had many pairing off, arms intertwined. Quinn watched Amarice approach the fire and bring the flames down to a controllable level. She disappeared not into her chambers, but into the western wing with a beautiful Scholar on her arm. Quinn fought a twinge of jealousy and disappeared into his room, alone.
Chapter Eight
Quinn glanced at the clock and sighed. He had taken up residence in the library for the last three hours, reading a dry tome about the art of diplomacy. He marked his page and closed the book; he could not take much more of the tedious writing of some Scholar from three hundred years ago. He wondered where Amarice was. She had told him they would take a walk on the grounds later.
It was the third day of his apprenticeship, but Quinn could not help but feel like he was on an extended vacation. Her tasks for him included getting to know the Villa residents and taking advantage of a library without waiting lists. She had said she wanted him to “ease into” his apprenticeship, whatever that meant. He had spent the morning asking a few of the Scholars about their diplomatic work, then settled himself into the library’s leather sofa with a stack of books.
He considered going for a run or seeing if the baths were unoccupied. Or perhaps he could nap: that damn book had bored him to the point of exhaustion. He stared into space, weighing his options when the Sage entered.
Although he had been at the Villa for a week, she still took Quinn’s breath away whenever she entered a room. He wondered if he would ever grow complacent to her beauty and hoped he would not. Today, she had braided her hair, and it rested over her shoulder. Her open-backed, sapphire dress fit snugly over her arms and bosom before flowing like water over her hips. She carried a sense of peace with her into every room she entered.
“You have a letter,” she told him and placed an envelope in his hand. He turned it over. Rafe. He missed his best friend already. Quinn thanked her and opened the envelope, surprised to find a five-page letter inside.
He could hear his friend’s voice through his letter. He gave every detail of the Academy’s Feast of Fire celebration—and the after-party. Jack had reached the point of drunkenness that he broke down in tears, wailing about selecting the right apprenticeship and career path. Rafe assured him it had been quite pathetic, and Jack enjoyed his first day with the old apothecary immensely. “Sarah has become quite the bitch,” he wrote. “I think she misses you.” Quinn doubted it; he was sure anger motivated her instead. He gave him the details of Professor Viridion’s magic cohort. “I manipulated the air around me today into a soundproof bubble and grew embers into flame from nearly two feet away. I’m excited to continue pushing the limits of my Gift.” He also wrote about the mass burning in the Forest of Seluya. The Scholars in the region are overwhelmed and are having trouble planting saplings in the scorched earth, he wrote. Messengers have been pouring into the Academy excessively.
He looked up when he finished reading. Amarice had a stack of letters of her own. She read them quickly, penning a short reply to each. She used the book Quinn had been reading earlier as a makeshift desk.
Amarice caught Quinn staring and smiled. She held up the book guiltily. “It’s about all this damn thing is good for,” she said dryly. He laughed in agreement. “Who was your letter from?”
“My roommate from school, Rafe.” Once again, he found himself sharing more details of his life with her, describing his friendship with Rafe from their first day at the Academy. She listened intently, laughing at his funny stories about his friend.
“He sounds quite special.”
“He sure thinks he is,” Quinn replied, an unmistakable tone of affection in his voice. Though still immensely private, Quinn had shared more about himself with Amarice in the last few days than he had shared with anyone. Minutia, mostly, but Amarice could read much of the emotion that lay behind his stories. He changed the subject. “Do you have any news from the capital?”
She shook her head. “Only that the King has dispatched extra Inquisitors to investigate. Most of my mail has been from Scholars wondering how to grow trees in dead earth.”
“Is it possible?”
Amarice’s smile illuminated her face; her eyes wild with excitement. “Meet me at the Consort’s Tree in just a few minutes.” She bounced away. Her habit of leaving without explanation or farewell added to her mystery. He laughed to himself and wondered what she wanted to show him.
***
Ten minutes later, Quinn met the Sage at the Consort’s Tree. She now wore a velvet cloak in deep crimson over her dress. It was cold today, but he had not seen her wear anything of the sort before. The red suited her well. “I need all my magic for what I’m about to show you. I won’t be able to keep myself warm,” she explained. “Come.”
He followed her through the clearing and down the slope of the mountain. She stopped at a random point and sat on the grass. He crossed his legs and sat next to her. “The problem,” she told him, “is that the Scholars in Seluya are trying to channel the earth’s life into the saplings rather than the earth itself.” She pulled a box of matches from her cloak and lit one. “Forgive me,” she whispered, not to Quinn but to the earth itself as if it were sentient. She set the flame to the grass, and, using her magic to create a small boundary for the fire, watched as the flame grew and singed the earth. “Tell me, Quinn, what you know of the Law of Connection.”
Quinn knew the laws of earth magic well; it was only the execution with which he struggled. “The Gift can only be harnessed by connection to the element. If you cannot physically touch what you wish to manipulate, you must be near enough to envision a cord connecting you.” The Sage nodded in approval. She did not speak again until the flames died to a slow spark. He tried to memorize the curves of her face as she watched the fire.
Finally, she broke the silence. “The Scholars in Seluya are trying
to pull life from the burned topsoil or from other plants to grow new saplings. But nothing can grow in dead soil. Instead they must connect to the earth that still lives, deep below the topsoil, and pull the life from there.”
“But…you cannot see down that far. How can the Law of Connection apply?”
She smiled. “What they fail to teach you at the Academy is the Law of Connection is not a law, but a tool. You are the connection; that is why you are a Scholar. We are inherently connected to the heart of the earth. I’ve caused quite the controversy with the idea. It’s just not tangible enough for most Scholars to want to accept.”
Quinn understood the unwillingness of Scholars to accept the Sage’s idea. He needed tangible and rational in his life. But perhaps, he mused, not everything is so neatly explained. He ran his fingers through the grey soil, crumbled and dead beneath his hands.
Amarice placed both her palms on the circle of burned earth and inhaled. Her eyes were closed. He watched as she slowed her breathing in concentration. Quinn felt a tingle in the air. Streams of visible magic flowed from her hands into the earth. After a few minutes, he saw the soil change before his eyes. The scorched grey slowly turned into the rich, black soil it had been before. The Sage moved her palms, electric with magic, over the area, revitalizing the earth into a living entity once again. Once the area was refreshed, she opened her eyes. She placed her right hand in the air, and a gust of wind came to wash away the last bit of burned dust. Quinn had no words, only awe.
Amarice removed her cloak and lay on the ground, eyes closed again. She looked weak, and he knew that had taken a considerable amount of her magic. He did not speak as she pulled the Gift of the Earth into her body. He simply admired her as she lay, both for her immense power and knowledge and for her exquisiteness. He fought the urge to touch her face.
After a few minutes, the Sage sat up and spoke. “Normally I would have meditated beforehand so as not to deplete my magic so quickly.” She stood, and Quinn followed. As she tried to take a step, she stumbled. Quinn took her arm in his to support her. Amarice smiled and accepted his support, too weak to pull away and walk alone yet. Both she and Quinn suppressed a feeling of how right it seemed to walk with their arms interlaced.
“Will you go to Seluya to help?”
“No. I thought about it, but other Scholars must learn to do the magic themselves. Intuition tells me I should stay here. I’m the leader of the Scholars, not their crutch.” Her strength returned with every step she took, the Gift of the Earth flowing from the ground through her bare feet. But she did not pull away from Quinn.
“Amarice, do you know why I cannot control my Gift?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” he inquired.
She smiled. “You must figure that out for yourself. You will, soon. I’m sure of it.” She finally pulled away as they passed the Consort’s Tree. “I will see you at dinner.” She turned toward her private chambers and walked away from him. He stared after her, wishing he could have followed her. He wanted to know more—more about earth magic, more about her, more about himself.
He returned to the library with much to ponder. Only in his bursts of anger had he ever seen tangible magic. But small bolts of lightning streamed from the Sage’s hands when she performed powerful magic. He knew of no other Scholar who could do this. Her insight on the Law of Connection, and his observation of it, had rocked his entire knowledge of magical laws.
And she knew why he could not harness his earth magic, but she would not tell him. He had spent years trying to figure out why he could not control his Gift. What made her so sure he would figure it out soon? He sighed and collapsed on the oversized armchair in the library. He did not understand.
He mused over these new discoveries in silence until dinner. But he gained no new insight, and he had trouble keeping his thoughts from how it had felt to walk arm-in-arm with Amarice. Get it together, Quinn, he told himself.
Chapter Nine
Two weeks later, Quinn sat in Amarice’s study reading yet another book about diplomacy while she answered her letters. He glanced up occasionally to watch her. Her brow furrowed whenever she wrote quickly and intensely. If she needed to stop and think, she ran her hands through her hair. Sometimes she blurted random obscenities and mumbled under her breath. He had enjoyed learning her quirks and habits, and by now, she seemed fully human to him—no longer a mythical power.
Despite his attraction and respect, he had settled into a routine and could not help feeling that he had learned hardly anything. She gave him no structured lessons, no lists of required reading. He still had not figured out why he could not do earth magic, and she still refused to tell him. She kept saying to just “get used to life at the Villa.” His frustration had increased ten-fold the last few days, though he suppressed his negativity.
Amarice spoke suddenly. “I have been summoned to the palace for a meeting with the King and the Chief Inquisitor. I hope they have some leads. I will be gone a couple days.”
“Will I be going?” Quinn asked, a trace of hope leaking into his voice.
“No, not this time. Just stay here and have some fun. Matthew has returned from his trip. I’m sure he has some interesting stories.” She went back to writing her letters. Quinn felt a burst of anger growing, and he could not control it.
“Brigitte’s tit! I did not come here for a damned extended vacation!” Flames leapt from the fireplace as he yelled. His outbursts of emotion were dangerous. He froze, unsure what to do as the fire spread across the floor.
Amarice waved her hand with an infuriating nonchalance and the flames danced their way back into the fireplace. Her Deyoni-woven rug had burned to a crisp. “I liked that rug,” she said with no hint of emotion in her voice.
Quinn bowed his head, embarrassed, and sank into a chair. He felt his face grow hot. “I’m sorry. That was unacceptable. It won’t happen again.”
The Sage laughed. Quinn looked at her, shocked. He could not figure out what was funny. He had yelled at the most powerful woman in Elandria and nearly set her study on fire. But she sat behind her desk, laughing. He did not know what to say.
“You still don’t get it, do you, Quinn? Your magic only manifests, and manifests quite strongly, when you let yourself feel. I’ve given you this ‘extended vacation’ as you called it to force you into frustration and to break you of your need to have structure. Your very essence screams your need of structure and rules because you use that to suppress every emotion you have. I do not know what happened in your past that has caused you to stifle every feeling. But the Gift of the Earth is a gift of emotion. You will continue to suppress your earth magic for as long as you suppress the emotions that make you human.”
Quinn sat, stunned. No one had ever spoken this way to him. No one had ever read his soul so accurately. And suddenly, everything made sense. The mental block Professor Viridion had described was the block he had placed on himself. But he had spent the last twenty-four years learning to suppress anything he felt. He was unsure how to stop. And he felt scared: scared of the wild magic that came with his outbursts and scared of the hurt in his heart he had never confronted.
His mind flew back to Corthy. He could hear the voices of the village adults whenever he made something happen on accident, speaking of sin and evil. He remembered the fear the other children had of him, the isolation he had from everyone except Elaine and his brother. He remembered trying to earn his father’s approval and love but never succeeding. And he remembered his mother’s eyes, kind and filled with love, but also with sadness and shame. His very existence had tarnished his family’s reputation.
A lump grew in his throat. “They thought I was possessed by demons,” he whispered. He could not bear to look at Amarice. If he had, he would have seen her eyes fill with tears, her face flush with empathy.
“Oh, Quinn.” She did not push the matter. She simply watched him stew in his memories, fighting the urge to run to his side and offer him comfort. After a long while
, he cleared his throat and raised his head to meet her eyes. “Go. You have reflection to do. I will return in two days. We will speak more then.”
He murmured a word of thanks and left her study. He did not attend dinner that night nor breakfast the next morning. Her heart ached for him, but she could not help him until he helped himself grow.
***
Amarice left the next day after breakfast. She thought of Quinn the entire ride to the palace. His brown eyes had been overwhelmed by sadness. She wondered if she had done the right thing by not offering him comfort. She smiled as she remembered when they had walked together weeks before. But Quinn was her apprentice; in a few months’ time, he would be gone. She took a page from his book and suppressed the emotions that had begun to develop and focused her energy on the news the King would have for her.
She met with the King and Chief Inquisitor as soon as she arrived. King Roland, a jolly man with chocolate skin and a large round belly, was one of her favorite people in the world. Her history with Prince Raymond at the Academy had given her a unique role among the Royal Family. Though Sages were always the closest advisors of the King, Roland was the closest thing she had ever had to a father.
King Roland greeted her cheerfully in his study. The Chief Inquisitor, a stern, older man named Marcus Congreve, stood and gave her the salute of greeting. She assumed her role as Sage instead of Amarice, and listened to the news from the country.
“You were right, my lady Sage,” Marcus told her. “We believe the three attacks are related, although we don’t know how. However, there have been reports of a growing suspicion of Scholars and Deyoni in the outlying villages. My men have heard rumors of travelers who talk of the evils of earth magic. Most people have written these stories off as some dated religion.”
“Do we know who these people are?” the Sage replied in a flat voice.
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