Maeve’s eyes lifted to him at the comment.
“That wasn’t an insult. She’s—”
“A Pureblood,” finished Maeve. “I know.”
“Your Magic is very different than hers, though. Your ability to manipulate it, bend it to your will, is far greater.”
Her eyes returned to her scarred palm. “Is understanding why I can produce it critical for learning to control it?”
Reeve made a pleased sound deep in his throat. “Now you’re thinking like a clever girl with little time.”
She let her hand fall back to her side and lifted her chin.
His hand slid into his pocket, and he retrieved a smooth, round ball, made of solid crystal, barely larger than a marble. He extended his arm to her and dropped it into Maeve’s outstretched open palm. She anticipated the pulse of warm Aterna Magic, but it never came.
“What is it?”
“For our purposes, it’s a siphon. One for you to channel your lightning through. It’s small, so it can’t handle much. Which isperfect because the last time you pumped out a bunch of uncontrolled lightning, I had to replace thousand-year-old glass.”
Maeve chewed the inside of her lip.
“This will help you understand the energy. It’s how our swords and arrows are imbued with Magic. Crystals like these.”
Maeve looked back at the wall of swords, each one with a glowing amethyst stone set inside the hilt. She looked back down at the dull crystal in her palm.
“But this one looks dead.”
“They would all look dead,” corrected Reeve as he placed a single finger on the small marble, “if my Magic wasn’t in them.”
The crystal marble shot to life, spreading warmth through her hand and up her wrist as it illuminated just like the rest. Reeve’s finger withdrew, taking his Magic and warmth with him, and the crystal turned flat and dull once more.
“Care to try?” he asked.
“With the lightning?”
Reeve nodded. Maeve curled her fingers around the marble.
“Maybe you should step back,” she said.
Reeve’s head lowered in pity as he fought that cocky grin. “Kitten.”
Maeve’s fist tightened around the crystal marble. “Don’t,” she hissed, “call me that.”
“Or what?” he said smoothly, flashing his teeth. “You don’t stand a chance against me. I could will it, and you’d be a pile of ash.”
Heat burned in her stomach, the meal she’d enjoyed turning over in acid. Her brows pulled together as a flicker of electric energy pulsed beneath her skin, coiling down the white knuckles that curled into a tight fist.
Reeve’s grin only widened. “There’s that pretty hatred.”
Maeve inhaled slowly and with agonizing control, tightening every muscle in her core as Magic from her hand back flowed up her arm.
“Into the crystal,” he reminded her, his eyes tracking her fist.
Fine. If he wanted her to force her Magic into that stupid little ball, she’d do it. But the swell inside her wasn’t electric as she released the energy running through her. No, it was a feeling she was quite familiar with. The sensation of being submerged in water crashed over her. All the weight, distortion, and pressure in her head, with the wetness against her skin.
Suddenly, Maeve kneeled before the occupied throne at Castle Morana. Crimson red caught her vision. Her front was stained with red blood, dripping from a sizeable wound at the base of her neck. Her head hung low as her breathing tried to maintain a steady pace.
She looked up.
