Chapter 18
Perhaps physical training would have been better.
For the next hour, they sat and practiced magic.
Ezer, much to her unsurprise, had achieved nothing.
Arawn was a fine enough teacher. He walked them through a basic invocation of certain syllables, in the godstongue, in which they would place an object upon their outstretched hand, close their eyes, and focus on imagining what they wanted it to do.
And if they were to succeed … it would mean that specific god had claimed them.
It would mean they were truly meant to be a Sacred Knight who could wield magic in battle.
But they must be careful when they asked for a bit of granted magic. Too much, too frequent, and it would shorten their days.
Magic always required a price.
Arawn ran through each pillar with surprising patience, his voice gentle as he showed the younglings how the invocation should sound. It was the same utterance for each: a blanket phrase in the godstongue that meant, ‘Show me whose I am’.
A prayer meant to request a bit of magic to ones’ bare hands.
Ezer’s tongue tripped over the phrase countless times as she spoke it aloud. She felt like a fool, because children half her age spoke with grace and confidence, and she …
She sounded like she was slurring her words.
Like Ervos used to sound on his drunkest nights.
For the water in the bowl, the invocation was meant to raise a single droplet. If she succeeded, it would mean she was a Watermage, a child of Odaeis.
For the unlit candle, it was to draw a flame. Success would make her a Firemage, a child of Vivorr, like Arawn.
For the seed, success would be to get it to sprout. If so, she’d be considered a Realmist, a child of Aristra.
The dagger was meant to be used to draw a single cut across one’s palm and heal the skin back together again. That would make her an Ehvermage, a child of Dhysis, like Alaris.
And for the lit candle, it was to conjure just enough of a breeze to blow it out. They would be a Windmage, a child of Avane.
It was the one Ezer leaned towards the most.
The wind was her friend, her guiding voice. And so naturally, she held out a hand to the lit candle, thinking that it would be doused by Windmage magic. She’d simply never had the means to call upon it before.
Show me whose I am, she thought, and whispered the strange new invocation aloud.
She waited, staring at that tiny flame.
And just for a moment, she believed that it would go out.
But nothing happened.
So she tried again.
Please, she thought. Show me whose I am.
She was here, after all, given entrance to the Citadel, like Izill had said. So even if she was an Unconsecrated, born and raised beyond these walls … she had magic in her blood. She just needed to know how to bring that magic, whatever it was, out.
But when she thought of the ageing Knight in the halls – the King she’d seen in the library the other night – she wasn’t sure she wanted to pay the price.
It didn’t matter anyway. No matter how many times she tried, the candle stayed lit.
Arawn paced about the room, speaking over them all.
‘Imagine the outcome while you invocate. You must believe in your heart, your soul, that you are a true servant of the gods. That if they grant you a bit of magic to do their bidding, then you will serve them, uphold their laws in the Sacred Text until the end of your days. And even if our days are shortened, even if we do not see old age because of the power required of wielding … that is a Knight’s true purpose. To be a vessel.’
Ezer glanced away from the flame.
Until the end of her days?
She hadn’t even started her own life yet … not truly. She’d yet to learn who she was, and now she was busy trying to survive Six – a gift, in its own strange way – but beyond that?
Kinlear had promised coin for every day she survived. Mountains of it, enough to buy herself passage anywhere she wished, to see the places she’d read about in stories. She could do anything. Fall in love, if she wanted, or perhaps decide she didn’t want a man at all. But it would be her choice.
Her steps would be free, untethered, because there would be no laws to stop her.
A thousand of them, Ezer thought.
The weight of that reality hit her like a rock to the chest. Because all she could think of was her old chains. All she could think of was dragging a thousand of them behind her for the rest of her days.
She would rather go back to Rendegard.
She would rather die young and free than grow old beneath the weight of a thousand laws she could never keep. She would rather die powerless than watch her youth crumble in the mirror because of a gift she didn’t even want from the gods in the first place.
So why did failing make her so mad?
‘Gods be damned,’ Ezer hissed beneath her breath. ‘I can’t do it.’
A few eyes glanced at her.
So she focused and tried again. But the candle refused to obey her command.
A growl, and Ezer set the candle down. ‘Just go out, you son of a—’
Her words died as the stone in her pocket warmed.
She sighed and closed her fist over it.
Yes, Your Highness?
His shadow fell over her, and she glanced up to find his blue eyes narrowed. His scarred face twisted in carefully controlled anger.
Mind your tongue. His voice slid into her mind. She hated how good it felt, how familiar he was already becoming. There are children here.
I’m well aware, she thought, holding his gaze. Several had already invocated successfully.
His voice sighed against her, and she gave an involuntary shiver. You can’t invocate through heightened emotions, like sorrow or anger. Humanity blocks your connection to the Five.
Then show me, Ezer said. If you’re so capable.
He raised a brow at her challenge, especially after the truth he’d given earlier.
For a moment, she wondered if he would fail.
His stone cooled as he released it.
And then he took a breath, and stood ever so still, as if he were placing every part of himself aside.
When he opened his eyes, he practically sighed the invocation aloud. On his tongue, the words were gentle. Natural. The flame flickered … and then flared with a whoosh. Tall enough that she yelped and shoved the candle into the bowl of water.
It splashed all over the floor, and a few children broke out in laughter.
Ezer could see their eyes on her. On him.
Her face grew hot, even as he seemed surprised at his own success.
She plunged her hand into her pocket and grasped her speaking stone.
Fine, she growled into his mind. You lit a candle. That does nothing to help me. The gods do not answer my call.
Because you are angry at them, Arawn’s voice snapped back.
She swore she could feel his frustration, even as he turned and walked away, pacing about the space as if he weren’t speaking to her at all.
All the while, his voice caressed her mind.
Trust me. I understand more than you know.
You feel abandoned by the Five. You feel insignificant. But they are still here, Minder.
Across the room, she saw him pause and place his hand over his own heart. Here, where it’s quiet. Then he reached up and tapped the side of his head. Not here, where things are often a battleground of their own.
You know nothing of my mind, Ezer thought to him, even as he was currently in it.
He smiled at that. I wasn’t talking about you.
Then he was back before her again, his shadow overpowering as he knelt before her, and plucked her dripping candle out of the water.
He whispered an invocation into her mind, practically purring the request for power.
It had nothing to do with her.
But it left her breathless, wishing she could hear him sigh the invocation all over again.
Before her, the wet wick flickered to life.
His fingertips just barely grazed hers as he handed it back to her, still lit.
Then he leaned even closer, enough that she could smell the scent of woodsmoke upon him, could feel the heat coming off his skin, like he was a raging fire.
His breath tickled her ear as he whispered aloud, ‘You saved me, in the woods, when my own magic failed. You have power, Minder. The gods chose you to be here. And when you finally come to know it …’ He paused, and chuckled, his eyes meeting hers as he backed away.
‘Gods help anyone who stands in your way.’
And then he was back to pacing the rows of younglings.
She watched him go, all too aware of how close he’d just been.
All too aware of her pounding heart.
Little by little, the room cleared.
And still, Ezer tried.
Truly, she did, but eventually her head began to spin, so she set her candle down, and spent the rest of training staring out of the window instead. Watching the flashes of war, a place that Six would someday soon enter … and leave Ezer behind.
The thought pained her more than she cared to admit.
Eventually, Izill bid her goodnight with a gentle squeeze on her shoulder.
‘Don’t give up,’ she whispered. ‘It’s only day one for you. It’s been over a decade since I first tried, and I’m still here, hoping and praying.’
Ezer felt selfish, and terrible, as Izill walked away.
And then it was just her and Arawn, alone in the enormous room.
‘Tell me about your magic,’ he said, watching her closely. ‘There’s no reason to hide it. And besides. It’s your turn to tell a truth.’
Even if it was unpillared, stained magic.
But he wasn’t going to imprison her again.
She trusted that much. So she sighed and tucked a dark curl behind her ear.
‘I have always had a connection with the birds. It isn’t just a liking, it’s more like …
they see me, and understand me. As if we are one and the same. And sometimes … I hear a whisper.’
‘A whisper?’
‘A warning on the wind,’ she explained. ‘It’s a bit like the power of the speaking stone. But when your voice speaks, it’s right there. I can …’ she frowned. ‘I can feel you in my mind.’
She didn’t know why that made her stomach give a strange little flutter.