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“Good.”
Before I can protest his bizarrely possessive statement, he lifts his free hand, and tiny particles of water start to come together from all over the place. Within seconds, there’s a floating orb of water in front of us.
“Ah.” He closes his eyes. “That feels good.” He shifts his head from side to side and stretches his shoulders. “Like flexing a muscle I haven’t used in far too long.”
“What can you do with it?”
“What can’t I do with it?” He smiles. A million more tiny water molecules coalesce all around us. And then they begin to dance.
“What purpose does that serve?” I arch one eyebrow.
He laughs. “None at all.” He brings it all together by bringing his hands together, my hand dragged along with them.
There’s an enormous ball of water floating in front of us now, the size of a refrigerator.
“My father used to make me do that to improve my reach and my control.”
“But what do you really use water for?” I can’t think of much you could do with it, to be honest. “Mirdza says Grigoriy can fly with air.”
Alexei’s lips purse together. “He can.”
“And?”
“Grigoriy spent countless hours practicing with a sword, you know.” He shakes his head. “He was always considered to be the deadliest among us, even more terrifying than those who controlled flame, as he could put out the worst fires. But water can also douse flame. And.” Alexei waves his hand and the huge ball of water disperses, spreading evenly to splash onto the bright green lawn. “Everything in the world that lives needs water.” He points. “The flowers. The leaves. The trees. They’re all sustained by the power of water. Our most important function was to move water from places that had it to places that need it. I’m able to take salt water and distill it and then move it to where it needs to go.”
That’s helpful, but still kind of boring, not that I’d tell him that. “Cool.”
“It made the Romanovs the wealthiest family in Russia for generations,” he says. “But there are military applications as well.”
“Really?” I ask. “Drown a lot of people?”
He shakes his head. “It’s slow and inefficient. I have much faster ways to kill than that.” He points. “Which of those flowers do you not like?”
“I like them all.” I frown. “Why wouldn’t I like any of them?” I glance around. On the far end are huge, blooming azalea bushes. Next to them there are bright pink peonies with striking yellow centers. The brilliant lilac crocuses are stunning, too. But the most beautiful bloom is the hot pink Russian lotus. “That’s my favorite, I think.” I point.
“Alright, well, this isn’t what I had in mind, but I can also control water that’s being used by a plant right now. See?” His fingers gently shift, and the buds on the lotus unfurl, blooming in front of my eyes.
“That’s—that’s amazing.”
“I can preserve them so they last three times longer than they normally would. I can also. . .” He throws his hand back and the azalea bush on the end withers.
“Oh, no.”
“And restore things.” He circles his hand slowly, and the azalea revives. “None of that is very exciting, but it can be vital.”
Interesting.
“But if someone were to attack me, I wouldn’t need a sword or an army,” he says quietly.
“What do you mean?”
He frowns. “Those are weeds.” He points at the thistle. “You’d agree that destroying them wouldn’t work a hardship.”
I shrug.
He stretches his hand and I watch intently, but nothing happens. Maybe the thistle swells a little? And then he closes his hand into a tight fist.
And it explodes into a million tiny pieces.
