from trembling.
Just let it happen. It wants to work.
I felt the power rising in me, strong and frightening, a force that could overtake me if I let it. I clamped down, suppressing it.
The glass shattered, spraying water and glass shards into the air. I gasped and ducked, and heard Griselda’s sharp intake of breath behind me. When I turned, a thin trail of blood ran down her cheek.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She wiped her face with her hand and looked at the bloody smear next to her thumb. “No harm done. That was promising. There was something there with the water. This is what always happens?”
“Not always glass shattering. I can’t predict what it will do. No one can. I’ve flooded two classrooms, burned Aren, made a rash appear on Emalda when she walked by one of my lessons. The magic is there, but I can’t make it do what I want.”
“Hmm.” She ignored the mess on the desk and walked the perimeter of the room, drumming her fingers on the low bookcases under the window as she passed, eyes on the floor. “Well, it’s too strong. That’s your biggest problem.”
“Aren mentioned that. Albion, too. I think I agree.”
“Hmm. And you’re afraid of hurting someone.”
“Always. Ever since I burned Aren. I was trying to see his thoughts, but...”
“It was bad?”
“It wasn’t good. It could have been a lot worse, I think, if I hadn’t been holding back. Then I tried to heal that and made a mess of it.” The loss of that skill broke my heart. I’d developed such high hopes for becoming a healer, but could barely heal my own scratches as any Sorceress should have been able to without thinking. My magic didn’t seem to help with that any more than it did with my classwork.
Griselda spun on one boot heel and came back toward me, walking between the desks as her dragon had. “You can’t afford to hold back. But I understand. It’s hard to master a skill when your energy is focused on trying not to kill anyone.”
At least someone understands , I thought. “So what do I do?”
“We’ll keep working together. Try some other things. Tell me, how does your magic feel to you?”
I closed my eyes and felt it again. “Like warmth? Like a tiny sun inside of me.”
“Compared to what? Or whose?”
I looked up. “Well, Aren’s feels—” I stopped myself when I caught the knowing smile she tried to hide behind her hand. “What?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “As I hear it, you only began to experience magic in any form a few months ago, when you came to the island.”
“True.”
“Did you feel his magic before then? Did he use it on you?”
“No, I wasn’t aware of it at all until I woke up here on the island.” My face grew warm as I realized where she was going with this. We magic users were able to sense power in others, but there were only a few ways to become familiar with the specific feel of another magic-user’s power, with its signature. It could happen if a Sorcerer used magic directly on someone, as I had on Aren when I’d had the ability to heal him. It often came after spending years together, as in a family or a close working environment. Aren suspected that was how Severn had located him before.
Or it could come from great physical and emotional intimacy, from moments of complete unguardedness. The nights when I sneaked out of the school to be with Aren had opened me to that until his magic felt familiar to me, until I felt I carried a piece of it with me. Even now, if I concentrated, I could feel its cold depths.
If I hadn’t felt his magic before I broke my binding, if he wasn’t supposed to be using it on anyone on the island, and if he and I weren’t supposed to be seeing each other outside of classes…
Griselda seemed to be following my thoughts, amused by my discomfort. “I thought you and he weren’t supposed to be sharing such closeness now.”
“Well, I—” I stammered. Not that we could get in trouble now that he was gone,
Just let it happen. It wants to work.
I felt the power rising in me, strong and frightening, a force that could overtake me if I let it. I clamped down, suppressing it.
The glass shattered, spraying water and glass shards into the air. I gasped and ducked, and heard Griselda’s sharp intake of breath behind me. When I turned, a thin trail of blood ran down her cheek.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She wiped her face with her hand and looked at the bloody smear next to her thumb. “No harm done. That was promising. There was something there with the water. This is what always happens?”
“Not always glass shattering. I can’t predict what it will do. No one can. I’ve flooded two classrooms, burned Aren, made a rash appear on Emalda when she walked by one of my lessons. The magic is there, but I can’t make it do what I want.”
“Hmm.” She ignored the mess on the desk and walked the perimeter of the room, drumming her fingers on the low bookcases under the window as she passed, eyes on the floor. “Well, it’s too strong. That’s your biggest problem.”
“Aren mentioned that. Albion, too. I think I agree.”
“Hmm. And you’re afraid of hurting someone.”
“Always. Ever since I burned Aren. I was trying to see his thoughts, but...”
“It was bad?”
“It wasn’t good. It could have been a lot worse, I think, if I hadn’t been holding back. Then I tried to heal that and made a mess of it.” The loss of that skill broke my heart. I’d developed such high hopes for becoming a healer, but could barely heal my own scratches as any Sorceress should have been able to without thinking. My magic didn’t seem to help with that any more than it did with my classwork.
Griselda spun on one boot heel and came back toward me, walking between the desks as her dragon had. “You can’t afford to hold back. But I understand. It’s hard to master a skill when your energy is focused on trying not to kill anyone.”
At least someone understands , I thought. “So what do I do?”
“We’ll keep working together. Try some other things. Tell me, how does your magic feel to you?”
I closed my eyes and felt it again. “Like warmth? Like a tiny sun inside of me.”
“Compared to what? Or whose?”
I looked up. “Well, Aren’s feels—” I stopped myself when I caught the knowing smile she tried to hide behind her hand. “What?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “As I hear it, you only began to experience magic in any form a few months ago, when you came to the island.”
“True.”
“Did you feel his magic before then? Did he use it on you?”
“No, I wasn’t aware of it at all until I woke up here on the island.” My face grew warm as I realized where she was going with this. We magic users were able to sense power in others, but there were only a few ways to become familiar with the specific feel of another magic-user’s power, with its signature. It could happen if a Sorcerer used magic directly on someone, as I had on Aren when I’d had the ability to heal him. It often came after spending years together, as in a family or a close working environment. Aren suspected that was how Severn had located him before.
Or it could come from great physical and emotional intimacy, from moments of complete unguardedness. The nights when I sneaked out of the school to be with Aren had opened me to that until his magic felt familiar to me, until I felt I carried a piece of it with me. Even now, if I concentrated, I could feel its cold depths.
If I hadn’t felt his magic before I broke my binding, if he wasn’t supposed to be using it on anyone on the island, and if he and I weren’t supposed to be seeing each other outside of classes…
Griselda seemed to be following my thoughts, amused by my discomfort. “I thought you and he weren’t supposed to be sharing such closeness now.”
“Well, I—” I stammered. Not that we could get in trouble now that he was gone,
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