Chapter 8 Sam #3
My wave crashes against the first dummy with a satisfying crack.
The dummy buckles and falls. Magicians’ dummies are specially crafted for relative durability—a durability that’s enhanced by no shortage of arcane energy, to withstand the abuse we dole out—but I’m satisfied to see a new tear appear in the plain black material.
I cast the Spell of Air next. Artificial wind roars through my ears as arcane energy spins with the twirl of my fingers.
I circle the space in front of my second dummy as I sight the target.
As I move, a tornado of arcane energy whips itself to life, covering the space between my body and my target.
I hold it in place for just a moment, letting it spin and spin.
Sweat beads my temples. My spell buckles against the constraint of my willpower.
It wants so badly to attack, to destroy, to do exactly what I crafted it to do.
I hold it for just five more seconds, to prove to myself that I can. And then I let it go.
The tornado is one of my more neatly cast arcane creations.
I’ve historically struggled with keeping the Spell of Air contained within its traditional vortex, but this one remains on point, twirling with deadly precision toward my second dummy.
When it makes contact, the target goes flying, spinning off the wall.
It hits the opposite wall with a slam that vibrates through my bones. Beauty and terror indeed.
The Spell of Earth comes readily enough to my body when I cast it.
The floor rumbles beneath my feet as I step heavily from side to side, knees bent as low to the ground as I can manage.
I draw power up from below, arcane energy rooting me in place as a ripple of magic coasts along the arena floor toward my third target.
It explodes upward at the last moment, dragging the dummy off the wall and down to the ground.
I pause to catch my breath before I prepare for the Spell of Fire.
Fire was always Jamie’s favorite in this sequence.
Fire called to something nestled deep within my brother’s spirit: light and warmth, but also an appetite for aggression, a blazing hunger that drove him far from home to places where his kid sister couldn’t keep up.
The Spell of Fire has always come hardest to me.
Still, I try. Sparks of magic lick their way down my fingertips.
With painstaking care, I gather the arcane energy threaded through my muscle.
I need to turn it into kindling that will take down my target without making a mess of the whole arena.
The Spell of Fire is the wildest of the Four Elements, the hardest to control, but that’s the challenge of it. The beauty and terror of it.
It’s why Jamie loved the Spell of Fire best of all.
Sweat drips down my forehead and stings my eyes, blurring my eyesight as I try to marshal my focus.
I blink stubbornly, refusing to be deterred.
“Come on,” I whisper. Heat builds inside me.
I can do this. Jamie could always do this so beautifully.
And right now, I just want to feel Jamie close to me, if only for a moment.
“God, you’re incredible.”
My focus breaks at the stranger’s voice. I let go of the spell and, with it, my focus on controlling arcane energy. The sparks of magic at my fingertips wink out as if they never existed at all. Heat vanishes from beneath my skin, leaving me cold.
Carefully, I turn around.
Tamsin Blackwood stands at my back, on the training arena’s threshold, as the door swings ajar. “Um, the lock didn’t stick properly,” she says by way of explanation. “So I thought this arena was empty. I was about to help myself, but this one is clearly…occupied.” She ducks her head. “I’m sorry.”
I look Blackwood’s daughter up and down.
She’s dressed for training, which is to say, she’s got a designer-branded dueling robe thrown over her usual athleisure uniform.
It makes her look a bit more chilled out than usual.
Her auburn curls, however, have been pulled aggressively upward into a tightly coiled bun that would make the most stringent of ballet mistresses proud.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I say at last, my tone a bit more curt than intended. “My fault for not checking the lock.”
“I didn’t mean to snoop.” Tamsin’s looking past me at the three dummies I demolished with a strange light in her eyes. “I just…I didn’t know you could cast magic like that. You know, the Four Elements are—”
“Basic.”
“Fundamental,” says Tamsin. “But it’s rare to see them cast at such a high level. You’re really polished. And just…well, really good.” She laughs nervously. “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, right? Lysander Rook wouldn’t pick a crappy magician to be his second.”
“Thank you.” The beginnings of a headache stir in my temples.
Tamsin’s being perfectly pleasant, but I didn’t expect to deal with her here and now.
At this point, I’ve practically got her training schedule memorized, thanks to all my deep dive Internet stalking, and her appearing here right now is a deviation.
I don’t like deviations. I’m thrown off my stride, and I know it.
“Anyway, I love the way you cast magic.” Tamsin’s still rambling, but I’m only half listening.
“I’d love to pick your brain on that, actually.
Maybe we could go for a walk? I haven’t really seen much of Arcane New York—I only ever stop through Agatha’s when I’m in town, really—and it would be cool to check out more of the shops and stuff. Want to come with?”
“Tamsin. With respect.” I massage my temples. “I’m not sure that you should be ‘picking my brain,’ as you call it, a few weeks out from facing my champion in one of the most hotly anticipated magician duels of the year. Conflict of interest and all.”
“Oh.” Blackwood’s daughter visibly deflates. I don’t know why my heart twinges a little at the way her face falls. Get a grip, Sam. “No, you’re right, that makes sense. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
“And I’m also sorry to have interrupted your training.”
I sigh. “You really need to quit apologizing so much.”
“I will. Sorry. I mean, uh—yeah.” Tamsin gives me an awkward little wave. “Anyway, I’ll be seeing you around, then?”
“I don’t think it can be helped,” I say dryly then wince at how dismissive that sounds. Not that I should care about sounding dismissive around Blackwood’s daughter. “Hey, why don’t you take this training space? I’m going back to my room, anyway.”
“Oh, that’s all right, I don’t—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the dummies.” I roll up my sleeves and set about doing just that. “Just make sure you check the lock behind you before you start your practice session.” I throw her a sidelong smile.
“Are you sure?” Tamsin looks dubious, eyeing my remaining unscathed dummy. “You didn’t finish your Four Elements sequence.”
“And I don’t have to.” I finish placing the targets back upright. They look a little worse for wear, but presumably, they’ll do for Tamsin Blackwood’s purposes. “I’m not the one dueling you in a matter of weeks.”
I let the door shut behind me without bothering to say goodbye.
Maybe that makes me a coward. If I had bigger balls on me, I’d stick around longer and find a way to spy on Tamsin’s practice.
I’d even record her on my phone, maybe, and take my findings back to Rook so I could make him pick apart all her weaknesses.
I’d hand my champion every weapon I could, even the smallest of knives, just to hurt Blackwood’s daughter worse.
It’s the least of what I owe Jamie.
Instead, I retreat to the suite. Rook’s fast asleep over my laptop, while some clip of Tamsin trouncing a man whose name I’ve forgotten plays in the background. Quietly, I hit pause and close the lid of the computer. Rook doesn’t even stir.
I consider my champion for a moment. Then I fetch a pillow and blanket and proceed to tuck him in, right there in the middle of the common room floor.
Carefully, I fold the corners of the blanket around him, and upon some consideration, fetch an extra quilt to toss over him.
He gets cold easily, especially in his sleep.
“Sweet dreams,” I whisper.
Rook just keeps snoring, blissfully oblivious.
My handiwork complete, I retreat to my own room. I don’t think about beauty, or terror, or Tamsin Blackwood. I throw myself into bed, still in my sweaty clothes, close my eyes, and for once, I don’t think about anything at all for a while.