The Lost Art of Life Magic (The Lost Arts #4)

Chapter One

Cormal

The awkward silence was deafening. The Princess had just walked out of her own thirteenth birthday celebration—because Cormal had walked in.

Princess Larenia had always been extremely vocal about her support of Perian, the carnalion who’d hidden among them at the castle.

She’d hurled accusations at Cormal’s head and declared her undying love for the demon who’d lied to them all—and who’d been secretly seducing and feeding from them.

The Princess had steadily opposed Cormal at every opportunity until he and the Queen had succeeded in banishing Perian from the castle and protecting everyone.

Well. Nearly everyone.

When the Princess had gone silent after Perian’s removal, Cormal had been relieved.

Briefly.

Since that day, Princess Larenia hadn’t said a single word to him.

And at virtually every opportunity, if he was in a room, she simply walked out of it: meetings with the Queen, dinner, classrooms, training, the stables.

If they approached each other in the corridor, she turned around and walked the other way.

He hadn’t realized before then just how loud silence could be. But oh, how he knew it intimately now.

Brannal had always told him that he needed to learn to control his temper, but Cormal hadn’t anticipated just how necessary that would be when he became Summus and was in charge of all the Mage Warriors.

But then he hadn’t expected to become Summus at all, yet one more thing that people didn’t believe. He saw the look in their eyes, knew they thought he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. It was one of the last accusations Brannal had leveled at him before he left.

How could they not see? Cormal had never wanted this! He’d been trying to save Brannal, not drive him off into the arms of a demon!

No one wanted to listen to him, not even Delana, who’d told him quite bluntly that he’d made his bed and now he had to lie in it.

Cormal hadn’t made any of this mess. This was all Perian, a carnalion who should never have been in the castle, who shouldn’t even be alive… The demon had been gone for almost two months now, yet Cormal couldn’t get out from under his shadow for so much as a single moment.

It was infuriating.

But Summus wasn’t supposed to lob fireballs just because he was frustrated, at least not in front of anyone.

He’d had lots of practice not appearing as humiliated as he felt. He looked at the Queen and the Prince, the former looking as impassive as usual, and the latter looking faintly amused, almost like he enjoyed watching this play out so painfully for Cormal.

Gritting his teeth, Cormal bowed.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty, Your Highness. There is a matter of some importance that I must attend to.”

Because the alternative was him standing in that celebration with everyone staring at him because the guest of honor had run off due to his presence.

He was clearly lying, but it was that or lose his temper and loudly announce that he was leaving so that the brat—the Princess, whom Cormal was sworn to protect—would come back.

He turned on his heel and stalked out, head held high, remembering how his father had told him that dignity was all important and one must never forget that one was the most powerful person in the room.

He hadn’t meant physically demonstrating that power, necessarily, but showing it in every line of your body, in your demeanor, in the way you treated others.

Cormal had never felt less powerful.

He realized that his hands were clenched into fists and wondered briefly if they’d been like that the entire time.

He stalked down the hall. What did it matter?

He didn’t seem to be able to convince anyone of anything no matter what he did, so what did it matter if they saw him on the edge of losing his temper?

What did it matter if he actually lost his temper?

Would that change what any of them thought?

Maybe a show of temper was exactly what they needed, because if they didn’t understand why he’d done what he’d done, if they were at least afraid—

The fireball exploded out of him and flew down the corridor. Cormal was still staring at it, wide-eyed, when it struck a wall of water and hissed and spattered into nothing.

He turned. Sagged a little. Delana had one eyebrow raised, her blue-green eyes judgmental. It was an expression he’d seen a lot of recently. She was almost five inches shorter than he was and yet still seemed able to stare down her long, straight nose at him.

“You really should work on that temper, you know.” Her voice was chiding.

She looked perfectly put together, Mage Warrior uniform neat, her hair pulled back in its usual braid, her square gender beads blending into the dark strands.

Nothing blended in with the stupid bright red of Cormal’s hair.

Really, it was the perfect indicator of his temperament these days, and that was infuriating.

“I’m not in the mood,” he said crossly.

The second eyebrow joined the first. “So you think it’s all right to throw fireballs down the corridor? What exactly would you have done if I hadn’t been here?”

“Set the corridor on fire, I imagine!” he snapped.

The eyebrows came down sharply. She stepped closer to him. “This is not the way Summus behaves.”

His hands were balled into fists again, and he snarled, “Maybe it’s the way this Summus behaves.”

She looked singularly unimpressed and not at all afraid of him. He couldn’t decide if she was brave or stupid, or maybe a foolhardy mix of both.

“Apparently, it is the way this Summus behaves, and perhaps you should look to that behavior when you question why you aren’t gaining the respect that you wish from the other Mage Warriors.”

Fire and water. It was moments like these when he couldn’t figure out why he was friends with Delana.

But then, everyone else had turned their back on him, had picked Perian over him.

And what did it say about Cormal when people he’d been friends with for years picked a demon over him? He clenched his hands tighter.

She stared him down. “I will drench you with water if you don’t pull your head out of your ass.”

She’d do it, too. There weren’t very many people who would dare, not since he’d become Summus, but she was definitely one of them. Most of the other Water Mages were giving him a wide berth, like they were worried he would act out against them just because he was a Fire Mage.

Because that seemed to be the assumption these days, that if he decided he didn’t like you, he might get rid of you.

“He’s a demon!” Cormal hissed furiously. “A carnalion. We kill carnalions!”

Why was this such a difficult concept for them to grasp?

It just didn’t make sense. It was the basis of their very existence as Mage Warriors!

Didn’t everyone remember what had happened the last time demons had been in the castle?

Didn’t they remember how many people had died? Cormal had to stop it this time.

Delana’s expression shifted to something else, something worse. Pity.

“Yes,” she agreed. “We have killed carnalions. But when you see something that doesn’t make sense, what do you do?”

He stared at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Do you try to figure it out?” she asked. “Or do you destroy it because it scares you?”

“I was not scared,” he told her.

She just stared at him for a long moment. “If you want to earn respect, maybe you should be worthy of it. Try to lead by example, and maybe work on that temper.”

His fists were clenched again. Delana stared down at them, flicked a very judgmental look back up at his face, and then turned and walked away.

Cormal clenched his fists harder and did not let himself lose his temper and throw a fireball at her retreating back, because he was an adult, he was Summus, and he might think that Delana was almost entirely wrong, but she was right about that much.

He didn’t think Brannal had ever lost his temper as Summus, not that Cormal could easily recall, anyway, at least not until the carnalion seduced him, and he had given up everything to be with him.

Cormal’s breath caught in his throat. Even then. When he closed his eyes, he could still remember that swirling vortex of the elements, fire, water, earth, and air all swirling furiously together, contained but just waiting for a mere thought to be unleashed and wreak havoc.

Brannal had been facing Cormal and the Queen, and Cormal had been perfectly aware that if Brannal had lost his temper, Cormal wouldn’t have been able to withstand him.

He’d just been coming to understand how far under the carnalion’s spell Brannal had fallen.

There had been no reaching him, and the fact that the Queen and Cormal had done everything in their power to keep everyone safe by getting rid of Perian had been something that Brannal refused to tolerate.

If he’d had a temper like Cormal did, there was a good chance Cormal would be dead.

He was trying to live up to the standards of a man who’d walked away from literally everything that he’d worked for, who’d seen the choice between continuing to do his duty and protect Queen and country and everything he cared about or a carnalion—and he’d picked the carnalion!

Yet Cormal was the one being judged. Cormal was the one who was being ignored by the Princess.

The carnalion had spent hours alone with her every day.

How could Cormal be one of the only people who was horrified by how dangerous that had been?

How could no one else understand that they had to mitigate those risks immediately?

They were Mage Warriors. It was their sworn duty.