6. Leah
Leah
“Open up your hands more; it’ll help you get some height when you cast,” Rowan’s voice calls across the training field as I try to control the thread of lightning snaking out from my palm.
I grit my teeth, concentrating. I’ve never attempted projecting my lightning beyond myself before—Kaliban was holding onto me when I fried him with my power—and it takes some focus.
It doesn’t help that I keep getting distracted by the fights taking place above us. Most of the other fledglings are up in the air, arcing and diving as they spar. The sound of beating wings and crackling lightning keeps drawing my eyes upward, encouraging me to size up my peers.
At first glance, the sight is pretty intimidating, but luckily I’ve seen plenty of ephilium battling on the plains.
I can see the differences between the fledglings and the way the soldiers in the Brigade fight.
There’s still a lack of experience among them.
Just watching them brings back some of Syrus’s lessons to me.
He was a good teacher, and I can almost hear his voice now, can imagine what he’d say about the fledglings—the gaps in their defense, the hesitations in their strikes.
Those thoughts are punctuated by Rowan offering kind encouragement I’m not entirely sure is earned.
“Not bad for your first try,” he says, closing the gap between us. “You have to remember that our lightning is naturally wild and unpredictable. It will go wherever it wants if you let it, so you have to keep it on a tight leash.”
“Do you always have to focus so hard to tame it?” I ask, a little breathless with the effort. My palms are tingling, pins and needles dancing across the flesh where bright white energy pulsed a few moments ago.
He shakes his head. “It always requires a degree of concentration, but controlling it will come more naturally with practice. And there’s only so much you can do anyway if you’re not imbuing or channeling with a weapon.”
“What’s the difference between those two?” I ask.
He draws his sword, releasing a bolt of lightning that crackles its way from his fingers down his blade.
“Channeling gives you more power but requires you to maintain a connection with your weapon. We save imbuing for projectiles—arrows, throwing stars, shells. But there’s a time limit on those. Your power will only stick around in them so long before dissipating.”
I nod. “I think I’d like try imbuing with arrows. I have some experience with those.”
“Good idea,” Rowan says, sheathing his sword. “Play to your strengths. Although you should probably know that ephilium bows tend to be a lot tougher than Mire versions. It’s the magic our carpenters use when they shape them. You may need to adjust.”
“Oh I know,” I say, unable to suppress a smirk.
The bow I scavenged and used on the plains was an ephilium one, but when Rowan gives me a curious look, I dodge bringing that up.
“I think you’ve forgotten that the yew wood you guys use for all your bows comes from Strata.
It works better with your magic, right? More flexible.
” From what I’ve seen, Aradis is pretty lacking in the forest department anyway.
No wonder the ephilium value trade with Strata for things like timber.
“Ah, yes,” Rowan says. “I should’ve thought of that. It’s just strange, hearing you talk about the Mire, or calling us ‘you guys.’ You have to remember you’re one of us now. You should be proud of it.”
I offer him an awkward smile. I know he’s trying to be nice, but I’m still pretty far off considering myself a child of Aradis.
“You know, it’s very kind of you volunteering to help me like this, but please don’t let me keep you.” I nod up at the other fledglings. “If you want to do some proper training, I mean.”
He scrubs at the back of his hair, lightly rumpling the chestnut locks. “It never hurts to revisit the basics. We never know what the trials might throw at us.”
There’s an easy, contented confidence to him.
Not quite arrogance, but he’s so sure of himself he’s just on the edge of it.
Perhaps that’s to be expected when you’ve always been handsome and talented and liked.
I haven’t known Rowan two days, but the way his peers treat him makes it clear he’s always been a golden boy.
“And what about if some of those skills aren’t an option?” I say, pointing upward at the sky full of fledglings.
Rowan gives me a sympathetic look. “All the nephilim I’ve heard of developed wings.”
“And how many of them had as much human heritage as I do?” I ask.
“Well, yes, your blood might be a little diluted. But you’re an Illidore. That counts for something, trust me.”
It’s as if my ancestors heard him and want to play a joke, because the whump of frantically beating wings sounds just above us.
“Watch out!” Filippa shouts as she comes barreling toward us, unable to slow her momentum. Rowan moves to grab me, but I get myself out of the way in time, leaving Filippa to skid across the ground, the armor around her shoulder leaving a deep groove in the earth as she grinds to a halt.
I hear her groan as I hurry over to her. “Hello, ground, I really hoped we wouldn’t meet today,” she mutters.
“Are you all right?” I ask, offering her a hand.
“Absolutely thriving,” she says with a sarcastic smile as she ignores my hand and scrambles to her feet. “Sorry about that. That bastard clipped my wing, and I couldn’t right myself.”
I follow her gaze to see Keros swooping down toward us, looking smug.
“Why don’t you stay down in the dirt with your runt cousin, Illidore?” he calls. “Leave the flying to those of us who know what the fuck they’re doing.”
I step forward, about to hurl some colorful curse at him. But Filippa gets there first.
“You didn’t look like you knew what you were doing yesterday when you nearly wrecked that gazebo, Keros Perichor,” Filippa says. “Pity your face and it didn’t get better acquainted. Might have improved your look—though…no, on second thought, that might be expecting too much of the gazebo.”
Keros reddens before making a rude gesture and flying away. I stare at Filippa, impressed.
“I think I might’ve just fallen a little bit in love with you,” I say.
She grins, wiping a smear of dirt from her cheek. “I don’t know how things go in Strata, but here in Aradis, that kind of shit is illegal between cousins.”
That makes me laugh so hard that Rowan has to tell me to get a hold of myself.
Later that day, Captain Hasteed runs weapons drills with us, and I get a chance to try the imbuing Rowan was talking about before.
Of course, every other fledgling can already do it, so it’s hard not to feel self-conscious when I keep getting separated off and told to practice more.
At least Filippa helps me pick a bow from the academy armory ahead of class.
Having the familiar weapon in my hands makes me feel like I’m on firmer ground.
Maybe that confidence is what I need, because it only takes a few stern corrections from Hasteed before I manage to get my lightning to wrap itself around the arrows.
Then with a little more practice, I can get it to stay fizzing through the arrows long enough for me to nock and release them, sending power radiating out in a furious crackle of energy when they hit the target.
“You’re a quick learner, Fledgling Illidore,” Captain Hasteed says, though she somehow manages to make it sound more like an accusation than praise. “Perhaps it’s to your advantage, mastering your magic with a bit more maturity under your belt. How old are you, anyway?”
“Um…twenty-four, Captain,” I say quietly—but not quietly enough. A few of the other fledglings overhear it, earning me a fit of snickers and whispers.
Something shines in the captain’s eyes that might also be amusement. “You’ve aged like a human. Most ephilium your age are still in diapers.”
More snickers from my peers, but I simply straighten up, meeting Hasteed’s gaze. “I’ve managed to pack quite a bit into those twenty-four years, Captain.”
“Well, you’ve proven that you know your way around a bow, so I’m inclined to agree. And you’ll find your aging likely starts to slow now that your powers have developed. I had a great-aunt who was nephilim.”
A jolt of surprise runs through me at the news.
I hadn’t even considered that aspect of coming into my power, but I also don’t have the luxury to dwell on it.
I might not have the chance to age at all if I’m not ready when the trials come.
I can only hope being in Aradis—surrounded by ephilium and their power—is the push my body needs to develop more ephilium traits and abilities.
I’m exhausted by the time I fall into my bed that evening, but not so tired that I’m not conscious of how empty it feels.
When I was in Infernum, Syrus’s huge hellcat Triya would sleep next to my legs most nights.
The rest I spent in Syrus’s bed drifting off, safe and sated beside his large, warm body.
I wish I had someone to talk to about all of this, but even more, I wish I could simply be wrapped up in the solid protection of his arms—the kind of embrace that would stop me worrying about what would come tomorrow.
Remembering that spurs more memories…painful, intimate ones I can’t let go of. His strong hands bandaging my side, his thumb brushing across my freckles as he murmurs beautiful things to me…
It’s dangerous, thinking about Syrus at this time of day, because as soon as I fall asleep, I dream of him.
A pair of crimson eyes gleams at me from the shadows, leathery wings unfurling around me. I’m laid out in front of him, an offering on an altar—naked and begging for him. Not caring that he’ll devour me, that I’ll lose myself to him if I give in.
His voice whispers in my mind, low and enticing. “Let me in, Leah. You know you want to.”
And I do want to. I’m desperate to have him inside me again, to fill me up, mind and body, until there’s no distance left between us.