The Spell Realm by Dima Zales, Anna Zaires

of study. Gala accepted his praise with pleasure, even though this way of doing spells didn’t appeal to her as much as doing them directly.
    The language itself was very natural to her. It was precise and logical. There were things like conditional statements—if A is true, then B follows—that existed in regular speech. However, with verbal spells, these statements had formal definitions and always had to be spoken in a specific way. There were a lot of words for formulas and quite a bit of formal mathematical constructs with their own version of grammar.
    After hours of drilling, Blaise decided she was ready.
    Closing her eyes, Gala recited the spell, followed by the Interpreter litany. It was supposed to teleport her a short distance. When she was done speaking, she opened her eyes and saw that Blaise’s face was much closer to her. Before the spell, they were sitting about an arm’s length apart, but now her knee was touching his. Even though she had planned it exactly this way, the sense of wonder was overwhelming.
    Filled with joy, Gala looked into Blaise’s eyes. He held her gaze, and she could feel the growing connection between them. The joy immediately transmuted into something else—something that only Blaise could make her feel. Her heartbeat picked up, and she unconsciously moved toward him, her body beginning to ache with a strange longing.
    “Gala . . .” There was a soft, deep note in Blaise’s voice. It made her skin prickle with heat, as though she was burning from within. “Are you sure about this?”
    Gala stared at him, and then, without saying a word, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “I’m not as naïve as you think,” she murmured before pressing her lips to his. She could hear the catch in Blaise’s breathing, and then he encircled her in his arms, pulling her into his embrace and deepening the kiss. The fire burning inside Gala spread until she couldn’t think, overwhelmed by the sensations. The intensity of her feelings was too much, too sharp, almost as it was when she lost control before . . . and then she suddenly felt unbearable heat—heat that was coming from outside herself.
    Gasping, she drew back . . . and saw that the meadow around them was ablaze.
    She must’ve accidentally set it on fire.

Chapter 14: Barson 
     
    “I hear you thought I was dead?” Barson said, stepping forward when Augusta just continued staring at him, seemingly frozen in place.
    “You’re . . .” Her face was pale, her lips barely moving. “You’re not dead.”
    “No, I’m not,” he said gently, pulling her toward him. He could feel her beginning to shake, and fierce satisfaction surged through him. She cared. She genuinely cared about him. Nobody could fake that kind of physical response. He also felt an unwelcome twinge of guilt for putting her through this—a guilt that he immediately suppressed. As he had hoped, the Council had voted to confront the threat of the young sorceress, and he strongly suspected that the Guard being ‘dead’ was a factor in that decision.
    “How?” Augusta whispered, reaching up to touch his face with a trembling hand. “I thought I saw you die . . . Is this real? Are you real?”
    “Oh, I’m real,” Barson assured her, picking her up and carrying her over to the bed. “Why don’t I show you just how real I am?” he murmured, starting to take off her remaining clothes.
    And for the next couple of hours, he proved to her that he was fully alive and well.
     
    * * *
     
    When they were lying spent in each other’s arms, Augusta began crying. Surprised, Barson stroked her glossy hair, not knowing what else to do.
    “I’m sorry,” she said after a minute, wiping away the tears. “I think I’m just exhausted and . . . and so relieved that you’re alive. I still can’t believe it. How did it happen?”
    Barson hesitated for a moment, then decided that he had nothing to lose by telling her about the battle. As he