Chapter 35
So training with magic became my routine in the days that followed.
Every morning, I woke up, questioned my life choices, and went to training, which consisted of physical use of magic , and learning magical scriptures and a few hours devoted to self study(questionable).
It turned out that ancient mages had an infuriating habit of recording magical knowledge in different scripts.
Every afternoon, I attended lessons on magical scriptures, and the only thing I truly learned was that mages apparently held a personal grudge against straightforward languages.
Every evening, I returned to my room mentally exhausted and mildly resentful of the very existence of magic.
I still made plenty of blunders, but I could now manage the basic things with a reasonable amount of confidence. Though I would never admit it out loud, I really did have an excellent teacher.
I could move pebbles without launching them into unsuspecting shrubs.
I could lift leaves for more than three seconds, provided I didn't become too excited about it.
I had even managed to create sparks on purpose, which felt like progress despite the fact that one of them had singed the edge of my sleeve.
Apparently, magic responded better to patience than enthusiasm.
An unfair system, if you asked me.
The lessons on magical scriptures were proving considerably more difficult.
Every symbol had three meanings depending on pronunciation, context, and what I suspected was sheer malice.
"Read that," Rhaevan said one afternoon, pointing at a line of text.
I looked at it carefully.
"...Fire."
"No."
I frowned.
"...Burning?"
"No."
I looked at the symbols again.
"...Large fire?"
"It says solace."
I slowly lowered the book.
"They should really write different scripts for different meanings."
"They are different."
"I don't think so. This entire system is flawed."
He shook his head and let out a quiet breath.
Another time, he handed me a different text.
"This one?"
I studied the page.
"...Window."
"It says protection."
I stared at him.
"Protection from what? Flying windows? Why can't they write it in some legible language? Jeez... why do I even have to learn this?"
"Because magical texts and spells are written in these scripts."
I sighed and handed the book back to him.
"I suddenly understand why ancient mages spent so much time alone."
He laughed at my words and continued, "They'll get easier once you get the hang of them."
"Easy for you to say, Mr. Perfect. Language was never my stronghold to begin with."
"And yet you've learned enough to argue with every book I give you."
I considered that.
"That's different. I'm naturally talented at complaining."
He laughed again.
"You certainly practice often."
I placed a hand over my chest.
"I can't believe my own teacher would insult me like this."
"I wasn't aware it qualified as an insult."
"It absolutely does."
He laughed again.
The sound had become strangely familiar.
I wasn't entirely sure when that had happened.
Then he simply looked at me, his head resting lightly against one hand.
"I missed this. It feels like you're yourself again."
My smile faltered.
For one impossible moment, the room felt quieter.
"I..."
My mind, so wonderfully capable of inventing sarcastic remarks under any other circumstance, abandoned me without warning.
I cleared my throat.
"I should probably leave. I have... errands."
"Errands?" he repeated.
"Yes."
He waited.
"Very important errands."
He looked unconvinced.
Unfortunately for him, so was I.
I stood a little too quickly, nearly knocking the chair backwards before managing to catch it with what I hoped looked like dignity.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Then I escaped.
It was absolutely an escape.
I walked down the corridor at a perfectly reasonable pace.
Only when I was certain I was out of sight did I realize my heart had somehow forgotten how to behave.
Ridiculous.
He had merely said few words.
Few perfectly harmless words.
There was absolutely no reason for my face to feel warm.
By the time I reached my room, my brain was in full revolt.
I slammed the door, leaned my back against it, and squeezed my eyes shut. This was a direct violation of Rule Number One: Keep an Ice-Cold Distance. I had promised myself I would. Honestly, after everything he'd done, ignoring him should have been easy.
The man had betrayed me. He'd dragged me back here against my will and basically checked his watch while my life fell apart. I still had the emotional scars, a mountain of unanswered questions, and a perfectly good reason to be furious.
So why was I completely failing to stay mad?
"Damn it."
I marched over to the bed, dropped onto the edge, and buried my face in my hands.
I knew how this story ended.
Trust doesn't just die when you bury it.
It sneaks back into your life through the most annoying little loopholes.
A shared laugh. A familiar routine. Spending two hours watching him patiently explain the difference between two magical symbols that looked exactly the same except for a tiny speck of ink.
Somewhere between reading impossible texts, my defenses had crumbled. I'd lowered my guard without ever meaning to.
I didn't just hate the situation. I hated myself.
How can you be so weak?.I scolded the empty room. How are you laughing with him like he didn't ruin your life? Why are you actually looking forward to 6:00 AM training?
With a miserable groan, I fell backward onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling. "Damn it, Cassiane."
I was doing it again. Slowly, carelessly, I was falling right back into the orbit of the exact person who had broken my trust.
And the absolute worst part?
He wasn't even trying to win me back. He hadn't begged or given a grand speech. He was just... existing. Being patient. Being kind. Being entirely too familiar, like a comfortable old jacket that also happened to have a frustratingly handsome smile.
He was just there, making me question every single wall I'd spent weeks building.
"You are an absolute idiot," I told the ceiling. Whether I meant him or myself, I was too tired to decide.
Naturally, the ceiling didn't answer.