Chapter 22 Those Who Can’t Do
THOSE WHO CAN’T DO
CEDRIC
The library in King’s Keep was rather intimate compared to the aisles and aisles of carefully cared for books that made up the one at the academy in Paideus.
The small room was filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves and rolling ladders that had always made Cedric feel far more comfortable than the rest of the cavernous rooms in the palace.
Even as a child, he could remember sneaking off between lessons, hiding in one of the quiet alcoves with a book until Tristan or Tenny or, heaven forbid, Lord Church came looking for him.
It was in one of these alcoves, lounging in a narrow velvet armchair with a small pile of scrolls pooled in their lap, that Cedric found Tenebris Nox.
The nocterrian did not look up as Cedric approached.
“You seem like the sort of person who knows a lot of things about a lot of things,” Cedric said, his tone carefully measured.
“Do I?” drawled the nocterrian. “What kind of things do you need to know about?”
“It was suggested that you might be able to help me with my, uh . . .” Cedric rubbed the back of his neck, lowering his voice to a whisper despite the fact that they were the only two people present. “You know.”
“Your magic.” Nox finally tilted their head toward Cedric. “You won’t burst into flames by speaking the word, you know.”
“Humans aren’t supposed to have magic of their own.”
“You also don’t need to whisper. I can promise, the shadows are the only ones listening.”
Cedric didn’t find that particularly comforting.
“And you can consider all your secrets safe with me,” finished the nocterrian.
Brow arched, Cedric said, “Can I?”
Nox had that typical look of amusement on their face. “Did you or did you not come to me for help?”
Cedric pressed his lips into a hard line.
The nocterrian sighed as they rolled up the scroll in their hands. “So. What exactly is it that I can help you with, regarding your . . . you know?”
“That’s part of the problem,” Cedric admitted.
“I don’t really know. I don’t understand where it came from, why it showed up in the Sanctum.
Why it all but disappeared in the months after, only to return now.
” He gestured to his token, glowing dully against his quilted black doublet.
“It hasn’t seemed to impact my ability to use normal magic, but—”
“That’s the ‘normal’ way to use magic, is it?” Nox said, lips pursed.
“You know that’s not what I meant. I only mean that it’s different.
It doesn’t feel controllable. I’ve only just learned how to keep it smothered when it flares up, but just that takes an inordinate amount of focus.
And it’s worse whenever I’m around”—he swallowed—“certain people. Suffice it to say, the moments when it does flare are inopportune indeed.”
Nox hummed. “This may come as a shock, but there actually are certain people in this palace who are a greater authority on uncontrollable power than I am.”
Cedric shifted his weight. “Yes. Well. I came to you.”
“Fair enough. My advice, then, is this: You need to practice.”
“Insightful,” Cedric deadpanned. “Can I get a serious answer, please?”
“I am being perfectly serious. You need to try to actually use your magic, not spend all your time smothering it.”
“I can’t practice. Two weeks ago, I could barely summon a spark.
Now, it’s awake but . . .” He grimaced, Elyria’s hiss of pain when he’d burned her lips ringing in his ears.
He thought about the scorched dummy in the training yard, about the way he’d very nearly erupted into flame on the evening of the welcome ball.
Nox waited patiently for Cedric to continue.
“It’s a wild thing. Unpredictable and unmanageable. I need you to tell me how to manage it.”
“And I just did. Practice using your power, knightling.”
Cedric narrowed his eyes at Nox’s casual use of the moniker. Kit was the only other person to ever call him that. “I. Can’t,” Cedric said through clenched teeth.
“Why. Not?” the nocterrian mocked.
Frustration heated the back of Cedric’s neck. “Because if someone sees, they’ll ask questions. Because if I lose control, someone could get hurt.”
Nox’s lips quirked. “Those seem like separate issues that might warrant unpacking. Luckily, I have a solution for both. Have you ever been to the training room on the uppermost floor of the western tower?”
Cedric’s brow furrowed. “There is no training room in the western tower. It’s all servants’ quarters and—”
“I thought as much.” Nox stood up, red-black eyes gleaming as they extended a hand. “Come with me.”
“Wait, what are you—” Before Cedric could finish his sentence, the nocterrian had clasped their fingers around his forearm. Shadows burst from Nox’s feet, twisting around the pair of them, the library melting away in a rush of cold air and velvet darkness.
For a singular moment, when the floor dropped out from under him, Cedric felt as though he might fall straight into the void. But just as quickly, it was over, and level ground was beneath his feet again.
“Fuck, warn a man next time.” Cedric doubled over, gripping his knees as he gulped down a panicked breath, trying to steady his walloping heart. “I’d forgotten just how much I hated that.”
“Oh, that was barely anything compared to shadowstepping us all through a stars-damned labyrinth,” Nox tutted, sweeping both their arms out wide. “As you can see, this place does, in fact, exist. And now that you are aware of that fact, you will be able to come and go as you please.”
Cedric lifted his head, only for his mouth to fall open as he took in their surroundings.
He stood in the center of a mid-sized stone chamber; a tall window was cut into the far wall.
Behind him was a plain wooden door—nondescript save for the large handle, which had a complex series of runes etched into the ring.
Various training equipment lined the other two walls, including—
He froze at the sight of Elyria’s ornate staff leaning against the left wall. When he inhaled, he noticed the faint scent of almond lingering in the air.
“So, this is where she’s been hiding,” he said. Why he’d been consistently unable to locate Elyria whenever he looked for her. She’d cloistered herself in a room that couldn’t be found, save for by those who already knew where to find it.
Nox neither confirmed nor denied Cedric’s statement, only offered a sphinx-like smile. “Meet me back here at first light tomorrow—you’ll have all the privacy you require to practice properly. I’m confident you’ll be able to gain a modicum more magical control before you depart.”
“Very well,” said Cedric, bracing himself for the cold pull of Nox’s shadows once more. They didn’t come. Rather, Nox simply stepped into a shadow on their own, leaving Cedric alone in the training room.
“Right. Wonderful.” He exhaled a long breath through his mouth, flexing his jaw several times in an attempt to relieve the tightness there. He supposed spending his final day training with the nocterrian would be interesting, if nothing else.
Even if there was someone else he’d much rather spend it with.
And as Cedric exited the room, his final thought was once again wishing he simply had more time in general. Time enough to do not only the things he needed to do, but also those he wanted.
The sun was tauntingly bright as Cedric raced up the winding tower stairs, taking them two at a time, heart hammering in his chest. It was truly spectacular the way he’d lost track of time.
And were he not so concerned that he missed Nox entirely, missed his chance to take the nocterrian up on whatever they had planned, Cedric might have thought it a little bit funny.
He wasn’t laughing now. The rest of yesterday had passed in an utter haze.
Upon returning from his nocterrian-led detour, Cedric had eagerly dove into the scrolls Magister Yvan had sent him.
There were many materials pertaining to sylvan culture, and Cedric found himself reading them ravenously, searching for anything that might help him when talking to the sylvan leaders in Elderglade.
Considering the reception the Arcanians had given the human champions before the Crucible began—indifferent at best, hostile at worst—Cedric very much doubted convincing the sylvans to help would be an easy task.
But on the slim chance he might be granted an audience with their elders in the first place, he thought arming himself with knowledge of their customs wasn’t the worst idea.
He hoped he might find some nuggets of wisdom within the pages the magister had sent.
Cedric had been so engrossed in the workings of sylvan magic that he barely noticed when the sun dipped below the horizon and the cool calm of night settled over the palace.
Verdancy was a fascinating kind of magic indeed.
Everything he’d seen Zephyr do during the Crucible was painted in a new light the more he read.
Her gentle healing abilities, her deep knowledge of herbs and poultices, even her latently revealed shapeshifting, all stemmed from the sylvan ability to sense and shape the living essence that flowed through all things.
Even as the memory of Zephyr’s betrayal continued to burn, like the sting from a venomous creature that still had yet to fully heal, Cedric couldn’t help but admire her magical mastery.
According to what Magister Yvan sent, shapeshifting was a particularly advanced skill.
Most sylvans were able to glamour themselves with ease, but being able to manipulate the Verdant Veil to shift one’s own essence?
That was a rare talent indeed. Even rarer, apparently, was the ability to apply this power to other objects—true transfiguration.
It wasn’t until Addison knocked on Cedric’s door the following morning that he realized he’d fallen asleep poring over the fascinating pages.
Back aching from sleeping in such a poor position, he was a blur as he dashed from his chambers, shoving his boots on with careless haste, not even taking the time to throw on a shirt before racing out the door.
He wasn’t sure what he expected to find when he reached the top of the western tower.
How late was he? Would Nox still be waiting with their sly grin and perpetual air of amusement?
Or had Cedric missed them? Had the nocterrian prepared some sort of training exercise for him?
Or would Cedric receive a stack of arcane texts to parse through and another lecture about how he simply needed to practice?
Whatever Cedric had thought he might walk into, it certainly wasn’t this.
Wasn’t her.
Elyria was a periwinkle blur as she spun toward Cedric, who had shoved the training room door open with too much force, causing it to hit the interior stone wall with a bang.
“What the fuck?” she exclaimed, the mass of shadows in her hands dispersing through her fingers like water trickling through a sieve.
Her hair was woven in a simple braid, draped loosely over the shoulder of her off-white blouse and the plain, close-fitting leathers she wore over it.
Her wings were hidden, and she looked just as he remembered her during the Crucible—radiant, alert, and, yes, definitely a little pissed off.
She looked like herself.
And stars damn it all if it wasn’t the most beautiful sight.