Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Marcella gazes at me with wide eyes. “So you truly manifested your magic this late in life, then chose to make a blood wager with a king based on your ability to gain acceptance into the most selective and revered academy in all of the Three Kingdoms, despite knowing nothing of how your magic works, realizing you couldn’t fulfill your side of the wager should you lose, thus resulting in your own death? ”
I smack my lips together and nod. “Yup, that sums it up neatly.”
Marcella shakes her head and chuckles softly under her breath. “You have bigger balls than any man I’ve ever met, that’s for sure.” She flicks her eyes to Gray. “No offense.”
He shrugs. “None taken. Trust me, I get it.”
Marcella laughs, and then proceeds to tell us about how her wielder’s mark manifested.
It happened early on. She was tending to the fields when it appeared.
Her parents—poor farmers just trying to make ends meet in Rolfbear, a poor farming town in the Anatolé Kingdom—had told Marcella they were going to have to both cut back on food rations and sell some of their sheep, one of whom Marcella loved dearly.
Desperate, Marcella was in the fields crying, begging the crops to flourish.
And to her amazement, they listened.
A patch of wheat sprouted to near perfection.
With tears still welling in her eyes, she tried again.
And it worked again. That was when the mark manifested.
She raced home and showed her parents, and when they saw the sheer size of it, saw what she could do, they immediately went out to the market and sold a family heirloom to pay for a teacher.
Then, as soon as she learned how to better control her magic, she used it to produce the successful spice farm her family now operates.
In fact, she used it to help all the farmers in Rolfbear yield successful harvests.
In turn, the town went from a struggling backwater to a gold mine of desirable crops.
And it’s not that I needed another reason to like or respect Marcella more, but hearing her story certainly gives me one.
“So, that isn’t a misconception?” I ask both her and Gray. “The size of a wielder’s mark truly does indicate a wielder’s strength?”
“Just about,” Gray answers. The three of us sit in a small circle as we talk.
“The size of a wielder’s mark typically acts as an indicator of the wielder’s raw potential.
Since some believe it to be a pact between the wielder and their magic, it’s been said the size shows the allowance of magic the gods gave you.
Technically, it can manifest on any part of the body, but it most commonly appears somewhere around the wrist or forearm.
To have one stretching all the way down the arm, however, is largely unheard of.
It would imply the wielder’s innate capabilities are…
well, something to be feared, to say the least.”
To my surprise, Marcella does not boast or laugh at the subtle compliment.
Instead, she simply elaborates on what Gray said.
“At first, the wielder’s mark just reflects a wielder’s magic type.
Like flames for fire or waves for water.
There are all kinds of different variations, but most appear with a similar foundation.
But—and this is a rather recent revelation proposed by scholars—the mark isn’t static. ”
My brows furrow. “What does that even mean?”
It’s like Gray is zapped with energy, and his eyes round as he comes alive with intrigue. “You know about this?”
Marcella arches a brow at him. “Why are you surprised by that?”
“Because it’s so new. Because it’s not something publicly accepted as fact yet. People fear that particular advancement in our understanding of our marks because, to them, it resembles an Abdite corrupting their mark too closely.”
“Most people fear what they don’t understand. I’m not one of those people.”
I bounce my eyes between the two of them, noting the small tilt of Gray’s head as he studies Marcella as if for the first time. “So uhm, for those of us who still don’t fully understand, can someone please elaborate?”
“As a wielder develops and their magic strengthens,” Gray begins, turning his attention back onto me.
“Scholars now believe the mark can evolve—can change. But in order for it to do so, the wielder has to enhance their wielding abilities by such a significant amount, most don’t even believe it’s possible.
It’s part of why the theory is so divisive—many think it’s a waste to theorize on something others already consider an impossibility.
That—” He stops when he catches the lifted brows on both Marcella’s face and my own.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I got carried away, didn’t I? ”
Marcella’s eyes soften, if only a little. “Don’t apologize for being passionate. I’m only stopping you because firstly, it’ll confuse Lyra if you continue on, and secondly, we are operating on a time limit here.”
Gray nods, shifting his gaze to me. “Sorry,” he says again.
I offer him a reassuring smile before circling back to the earlier point in the conversation. “So, that’s why you hide your mark? Because it gives away how strong you are?”
She nods. “You got it.”
My brows furrow. “But why hide something like that?”
Gray is the one who answers. “Most wielders choose to hide their marks if they can. It’s easier that way. You either put a target on your back for being too strong, or you put one on your back for being too weak. Regardless, it’s not something most wielders like to discuss.”
I clamp down on my growing smile. I can’t help myself. “So, to be clear, I shouldn’t go up to a guy and ask him how big his mark is?”
Marcella howls with laughter.
Gray tries not to laugh, but ultimately caves. He covers his mouth with a fist, attempting to hide his growing smile. “No,” he responds through his chuckle. “No, you should not.”
The three of us laugh together in our tiny circle like we’ve been friends for ages. Though I suppose Gray and I have, Marcella fits in as seamlessly as a sky fusing its light with a horizon. It feels…nice.
Once Marcella’s laughter dims, she exhales a long breath—her demeanor taking a sharp shift—and turns to look at me.
“All that delightful information to say, a wielder’s mark is heavily intertwined with a wielder’s magical capabilities, and you are at a serious disadvantage without yours.
Right now, asking you to detect your essence flower is like tying a hunting dog’s legs together and telling him to go track his prey. ”
Talk about a mood killer.
“But can it be done?”
Marcella’s answering smile is sharp. “With both his instruction and mine, it certainly can.” She shifts her gaze to Gray. “Tell me, have you detected your essence flower already?”
My eyes whip to him. Has he? Why wouldn’t he say anything?
Gray drags his hand through his hair. “Yes,” he supplies softly. “I believe I have.”
Her lips flatten into a thin smile, and she nods her head. “Thought so.” She turns back to face me. “We’ll definitely be able to help you. Starting now, even. Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and sink down into your magic.” A pause. “Wait, you have at least figured out that part, right?”
I squint an eye open and look at her. “Mhm. Gray taught me.”
“Fantastic,” she chirps.
Shutting my squinted eye, I spiral down and down into that magical place within me.
Marcella’s voice sounds distant when she asks, “Are you there?”
I nod.
“Then let this be a quick lesson on control: lakt? runs through us much like a river streams through earth. We are its vessel, and it is our vital source. You must steer it, mold it—take charge of it. You are its master, not the other way around. Remember that.”
“The beauty of magic,” Gray adds from the other side of me, “is the way it is both dependent and independent of our very selves. It has its own heartbeat, but your veins give it purpose.”
Feeling slightly overwhelmed by all the information I’m receiving, I attempt to heed their words. I plunge into the flowing river of lakt? within me, and I wrap myself in its feeling, twining it through my bones. A warm feeling washes through me.
“Now,” Marcella says. “Pretend there is a small piece missing from your magic. Pretend that you want it back— need it back. Where does your magic tell you to go?”
I do as she says, and I'm shocked when I feel a tug on some unseen thread in the center of my chest. “South,” I murmur, my eyes still closed. “I think I’m being pulled south.”
I open my eyes to find Marcella wearing a look of unbridled approval. “You figured that out much faster than I thought you would.”
I smile, then look over to Gray, who watches me with soft eyes. “Where is your essence flower pulling you?” I ask him.
“North,” he supplies, his voice gentle. “Up the trail and toward the mountains.”
“Oh,” I reply. “I’m not sure how far south I’m supposed to go, or whether I should venture east or west, just that—”
“—Lyra,” Gray interjects softly. “You did great. You’ll hone in on specific directions more once you get closer to your flower.
” I attempt a smile, but it’s weak and unconvincing.
Gray scoots closer to me and tips my chin up with the crook of his finger so that I have to look at him.
“You can do this—with or without me by your side. You are capable, and smart, and brave. You have nothing to fear.”
Except I do. There is much I fear.
Marcella’s pointed cough loosens the air. She looks at me, but points a finger at Gray. “Where can I find one of those?”
Marcella and I watch Gray venture northward, following the pull toward his essence flower.
He glances back at us a final time, and I offer him a parting smile, while Marcella gives an overly animated wave, her other hand resting on her hip. Gray shakes his head, laughing, and turns back around to head off on his own.
Still watching him, I say to Marcella, “You don’t have to come with me. You’ve already done enough to help. You should go back to the arena. Hell, you might even get bonus points with the captains for your speed. ”
“I know,” is her only reply.
“I don’t want to cost you anything.”
“I know,” she says again. Marcella eyes me sidelong. “But as a fellow flora-wielder, I’m dying to know your essence flower. Plus, any minute spent with those stuffy highborns is a minute too long. I’d much rather slum it with you.” She nudges me with her elbow and winks at me.
A laugh rises in my throat as I turn away from the north trail. “Thank you,” I say, my voice far more loaded than I would have liked.
The corner of her mouth tugs upwards. “You and me? Untitled lowborns that nobility think shouldn’t be here…we are going to prove them wrong.”
My fingers clutch at the ice necklace resting at the base of my throat. Thestis’s sweet face appears in my mind paired with a simple thought—
I will not let them win.