Chapter 15 #2
With one hand bent behind his back, Casimir twirls nimbly on his heel, pacing back and forth in front of some mosaic artwork carved into the ground. “Attack me or defend yourself. Whichever you choose, you must always do one of those things. Remember that.”
“What?” I question, swiping water droplets from my narrowed eyes. “What are you even—”
Before I can finish my sentence, Casimir sends a sheet of ice shooting for my ankles, locking me into place. “Stop it!”
How is he doing that so effortlessly, anyways? I don’t see any wielders around whose lakt? he can Bind to. Just how far a distance can he reach for someone’s magic?
“If you want me to stop,” he drawls, “then make me stop.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Wield the magic in your veins.” He says it so simply; like it’s just that easy.
“There are no wielders around,” I point out.
“Call the magic to you,” he counters.
“I—”
The ice gripping my ankles melts, and a blast of wind knocks me down before I get the chance to argue further.
I whip my blazing gaze to him. He just clasps his hands behind his back and shrugs indifferently.
And what’s pissing me off all the more is that he looks so gods-damn casual while doing all this, with his unbound hair and loose clothes. Like this is all just so easy for him.
I will not let them win.
That still includes him.
I grit my teeth and rise. Wiping the dirt from my training clothes, I open my palms skyward and attempt to draw in magic. The only issue is, I just climbed hundreds of stairs and have about as much energy as a pebble.
“Dig deep,” Casimir urges.
“Yes, because saying that always helps.”
Thunder rumbles over my head as small, gray-tinted storm clouds form directly above me. They sway on an invisible breeze, hovering. Within seconds, they open their gates, and rain pours down, drenching me.
“Try harder.”
I brace my hands on my hips and resist the urge to do something completely childish like stick my tongue out at him. “Joke’s on you,” I bite out bitterly. “I love the rain.”
The corner of his lip kicks up. He lifts two fingers, twirling them in the air. Lightning cracks across the contained storm above me, and a bright blue bolt snakes down from the cloud and bites my skin.
“Fuck!” I wince, shooting Casimir a sharp look. “That hurt.”
“It was supposed to.” He again clasps his hands behind his back. “And it’s only going to get worse from here.” Another bolt of lightning strikes for me, but I dodge it, rolling out to the side. Casimir continues talking. “I taught you a lot this week. Tell me what you’ve learned about your magic.”
“What—right now?”
Another lightning bolt, this one three times faster and four times hotter, strikes right at my feet. I blink at the intensity of it, a little horrified.
“Please do not ask me ignorant questions,” Casimir says through a sigh. “They waste both our time.”
I arch a brow, glancing up at him. “Noted.” I rise, circling him as I watch his hands carefully.
“A Binder’s lakt? is like a muscle,” I begin, recalling all that Casimir has taught me about our magic thus far.
“It needs to be worked and strengthened to be capable of attuning properly to other wielders’ magics.
If done correctly, a Binder can wield the magic they’ve connected to with the same strength and potency as the originating wielder themself. ”
Casimir remains standing straight-backed, his fingers still clasped together. Only his chin moves as he follows my movements. “And if a wielder’s lakt? is weaker than yours?”
“Though difficult,” I answer, “I can still filter my own magic through it, increasing its strength.”
“And what are the risks?”
“Two which are most pressing.” I pace in front of him, keeping my palms turned up as I attempt to call on magic.
Thus far, I’ve received no answer, so I recite what he’s taught me and bide my time.
“The first is my own burnout. If I draw on too much magic at once, I can eviscerate myself mind, body, and soul.”
“A painful feat which you’ve already experienced.”
Crimson pools in my mind. Shouts echo quietly. Lyra, you have to let go of your magic.
I shake my head against the memories. “The second risk is I can cause another’s burnout if I pull on too much of their magical resources at once.”
“And the final thing you’ve learned?”
“You suspect Binders can have a primary magic.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning a magic source they can always call on. One which will always answer.”
“But?”
I sigh. “But you also theorize the wielder must accept the magic—another peculiarity of Binding. If the wielder chooses right, it will feel like silk in their veins, allowing them immense mastery over the magic type. If they choose wrong…”
“It’ll be like poison,” Casimir supplies, studying me. “And have you yet decided on what you believe yours should be?”
I curl my fingers into my palms. “No.”
My reward for that is being swept up in a small hurricane filled with bone-chilling water, a gust of wind again knocking me down.
“You need to. You may unlock another level of power once you do.”
Casimir continues speaking about our magic, yet I don’t protest. My veins are finally warming, a humming sensation awakening beneath my skin.
My call for magic is finally being answered.
“Since we are the only ones of our kind,” he says, seeming completely engrossed in what he’s telling me, “there isn’t much research on the matter, but I have a theory when—”
I don’t let him finish his sentence.
Someone’s lakt? clicks into place with mine, and I throw my hand out, a giddy stream of fire roaring from my palm, barreling toward his head.
With fluid movements—and one arm still annoyingly bent behind his back—Casimir redirects the flames, moving his hand and spinning them into a tight circle.
He keeps them hovering next to him, the bright orange tendrils continuing to turn over themselves.
“Oh now see, that is rather interesting.” He observes me.
“I did not expect fire to answer you first.”
I rise from the ground, sliding my foot back as I assume my fighting stance. “Why not?’ I ask defiantly, despite the answer being quite obvious.
“Because you fear the flames. You fear the risk of being burned.”
My chest squeezes as my heart stills from beating for two whole seconds. Two sentences echo like a sweeping ballad inside me.
I’m scared something like this will end in flames.
Then I will burn, Lyra, so long as it’s by your flame.
I shake my head at him. “You know nothing.” Another answer to my call arrives, and a different lakt? clicks into place with mine. This lakt? against my own feels warm and familiar.
Roots spring from the ground, twisting over Casimir’s calves, charging up to twirl around his limbs. Black flowers unfurl their venomous petals, a ghostly vapor streaming from their center.
He glances at it, a look of approval on his face.
“Clever,” he admits. “But not good enough.” Casimir releases the spinning flames and uses them to burn the roots and flowers to a crisp, the remnants disintegrating to ash and crumbling to the ground much like my ego. “You were better off with fire.”
With a flick of his wrist, he sends a quick succession of water streams spearing toward me. I manage to dodge the first two, but I am caught in both the face and the chest with the rest.
With anger tearing through me, I erect a network of thorn-coated vines and send them soaring straight for his heart.
Yet with fluid movements, he forms a wall of ice to enclose himself.
The moment the vines kiss the glittering surface, the ice stretches out, freezing them in place.
Within seconds, they shatter into a million scattered pieces while a noise which resembles shattering glass pierces the air.
He watches me, and I can tell he wants me to wield fire again.
Yet I refuse, feeling angered by his earlier words and defiant toward his wishes.
I drop my hands back down to my sides, not willing to fight him any longer.
Casimir sighs. “It would seem your natural affinity is for flora and fire. I suspect those are your two best options for your primary magic.”
I tilt my head at him, suddenly curious. “What’s yours?”
The corner of his lip curves up, yet he remains silent. When enough time has passed for me to recognize he isn’t going to tell me, he jerks his chin in the direction of a staggeringly giant arched door, hewn from bronze and encased in gold. “Come,” he says. “There is much for me to show you.”
Casimir turns and heads for the entrance.
I follow, finally afforded the chance to take in my surroundings.
The first thing I notice is how high up we truly are.
We are towering above the oasis below, as if propped up on a small mountain, hovering suspended in the clouds.
The second thing I notice is the lavish courtyard Casimir and I had just been battling within.
Gold railings encase the entirety of the courtyard, and a white, beige, and blue pebble mosaic design sprawls across the ground.
I notice the smooth, sprawling building carved from white marble and adorned with gold last.
It looks like a palace of dreams.
As we near the door, I realize various panels depict different scenes.
There is a large wolf whose eyes are stars.
A deity resting her hand upon a kneeling man’s shoulder.
There is an illustration of a fire, and one showing two people dancing together at a ball.
I glide my fingers over the panel depicting a nondescript woman playing a lyre.
“Are you ready?”
I glance at him pointedly. “If this door is any indication of what’s waiting for us beyond the threshold, I have a feeling I could never truly be ready for what I’m about to see.”
“Your feeling would be correct.”
He guides me inside.