Sleep was once a sore subject with me. I required about twice as much as the others and I used to fight it, trying to keep up with them. Chevelle knew that, he’d seen what I’d done to myself.
I’d been different in so many ways, and he knew them all. Things didn’t work the same with me, I wasn’t born with the natural instincts for magic. I’d always had to work at it, find the power and force the control. But I had overcome it. And now, I had a new problem.
“So,” I started, “practice.”
“Show me what you’ve got,” he answered.
I really didn’t want to do this, but I closed my eyes, centered my breathing, and released. The stones beneath our feet started to vibrate and shift, the walls shook, the iron in the window let loose an ear-piercing metallic creak. Tiny sprinkles of rock fell onto my face and I stopped, sealing the stones back in place before opening my eyes once more.
He looked dubious.
“Yep,” I said. “And that’s not even angry.”
“You’ve been angry?” he asked.
My face twisted cynically. “Ruby’s been here.”
It was clearly a joke, but he didn’t laugh. Not even a little. And then I smiled as I realized how much he’d been forced to deal with her antics while I’d been bound. I wondered what all she’d put him through.
“You chose her,” I reminded him.
“I used to think so,” he said.
I chuckled. “Things do tend to have a way of working out for her.”
“Cursed fairies,” he grumbled.
“Cursed fairies,” I agreed.
“Do you have a plan for demonstration?” he asked, clearly determined to change the subject.
“I think I’ll wing it.”
“Brilliant.”
We were silent for a moment. Finally, he asked, “Fire?”
“All right,” I answered with little confidence.
He stepped beside me so we were both facing the long, empty space and used his magic to chuck a rock from the box in the corner. As it flew across the room, I raised my arm and pointed at it in an attempt to focus solely on striking it with a fireball. Not one flame lit but the rock exploded.
“What was that?” Chevelle asked.
I shrugged. “Did I mention sometimes it doesn’t work properly?”
He nodded, expressionless. “This time, try to shatter the stone.”
Another rock launched from the box, flying straight into the expanse. I focused on splitting it and it burst into dust. I looked to Chevelle.
He tore a small piece of fabric from the hem of his shirt and held it before me. “Burn this.” I started to glance down, but the first finger of his other hand stopped me. “Not my palm.”
Right.
I concentrated on the fabric for a moment before the idea of burning his palm recalled one of those odd, not quite me memories. The lines of a map burnt into my palms. An old trick we’d used on Fannie. Ass, I thought, for one fraction of a second, before I realized I’d gotten angry.
I gasped at Chevelle’s intake of breath and raised my hands in a helpless gesture as the flames died down.
“I see what you mean,” Chevelle said through clenched teeth.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I just... I got irritated for a second.”
He eyed me questioningly and I glanced at the seared flesh of his hand. I might have still been irritated. At my expression, understanding came over his face.
“Let’s just call it even,” I suggested.
“Aye.”
“And,” I continued, “in case you’ve forgotten, we are in agreement that you’ll not use spells near me unless absolutely necessary.”
He stared me straight in the eye. “We are even from here.”
My jaw rolled involuntarily. Come to think of it, there’d been a lot of catching up on his end while I’d been bound. “Fine,” I answered, taking a step toward him.
We stared at each other for one long moment and then the unburned hand clenched into a fist. When I’d been bound, I had thought him constantly angry with me. But I knew him again, and I understood this was a different kind of restraint. He wouldn’t touch me, he’d let me decide.
When I didn’t respond, he stepped back. “The others will be waiting.”
With a promise to continue practice in the morning, we made our way to Anvil’s study. Asher had always met with his guard in the throne room, keeping it a formal matter, but I didn’t care for the echo of the high ceilings or sitting elevated among those who protected me. And it wasn’t as if Anvil ever used his library.
It was a small room compared to the other meeting places in the castle. A long oval table was centered at one end, a few plush chairs sat at the other. High windows cast odd shadows in the corners, but the natural light seemed to feature the flat of the table. Scattered about the room were my guard.