Focus, Ellowyn. Focus.
I sought that writhing ball of power within my chest—it glowed faintly, a myriad of colors mixing together, eliciting a complex array of emotions the longer I tried to tap into it. The harder I concentrated, my brow beading with sweat at the effort, the more my magic evaded my grasp.
I opened my eyes with a frustrated, close-lipped scream, and Destruction Magic suddenly burst from my palm, fizzling against the barriers created to keep our magic inside our own training areas.
Stomping my foot in petulant anger, I gripped the end of my long braid and tugged hard. I kept it away from my face and donned the same clothing as the rest of the cadets in both an effort to fit in and simply because they were much more practical for wielding magic.
Damn Alois and his ability to select appropriate garments.
It was a wayward thought that simply made me more agitated, which caused Destruction Magic to shoot across the space a second time.
“You’re trying too hard,” a soft voice like ocean waves called from just beyond the barrier at my back. I whipped around, my braid trailing behind me, and turned my frustrated gaze on the giant of a Pleasure Vessel.
Ilyas was in his mid-thirties and built even more like a brick house than Peytor was before his time in the mines. His dark-blond hair was cropped close to his head, exposing a square-shaped jaw and ears.
Everything about the man was intimidating, except for his eyes. They held tenderness and adoration, care and devotion, especially whenever he looked at Lex. The love between the two of them was so clear and apparent that any outward displays of affection between the Mage and his Vessel had feelings of pure joy and want stirring deep within my chest.
“What do you mean?” I snapped unintentionally and watched as Ilyas raised his eyebrows a fraction. I closed my eyes, blew out a breath, and tried again.
“Sorry. What do you mean I’m trying too hard?” I softened my voice and tried to open myself up for criticism and advice.
Ilyas nodded once before crossing his arms, the movement causing his biceps to bulge and shift.
“You’re practically shaking with the effort of trying to draw your power. It’s more of a natural connection, a feeling that’s deep inside you. Don’t you feel your soul calling to your magic?”
I frowned, thinking.
“Yes? In a way. I feel it right here”—I rubbed my sternum—“but it’s chaos. There’s no rhyme or reason to it and I cannot pick out the individual strands of power. It’s all just . . . lumped together.”
Ilyas nodded, one hand coming up to rub his jaw.
“Lex had a similar issue after he Bonded Sasori,” Ilyas admitted, and I cocked my head.
“Really?”
Ilyas nodded. “I think it has something to do with having access to more than one power.”
That seemed . . . oddly intuitive and simple.
“So how did he overcome it?”
A slow grin spread across Ilyas’ face. “Fucked us over and over until he knew our souls so intimately that it was impossible to get us confused.”
My ears reddened, and I rolled my eyes in deflection while I shifted from foot to foot.
“Well, considering I don’t have multiple Vessels, I think that theory is null and void.”
Ilyas chuckled at my snark before growing thoughtful again.
“The concept is the same, though, right? He found a way to separate the different pieces of his power within his soul. Identification and separation. Instead of focusing on trying to draw from your power source, maybe sit and try and parcel out each of your powers. Find one string of it and follow it to the very end. Put it in a box, then do the same for your other power,” he said, and I stood gaping at him open-mouthed. “Just a thought.”
“How do you know that? That’s . . . that’s brilliant, Ilyas,” I breathed and was pleased to see his cheeks pink at my praise.
“It’s nothing, Lady d’Refan, just advice based on experience,” he said with a shrug as I wrinkled my nose at the name.
“Just Ellowyn, please.”
Ilyas chuckled at my expression again before waving a hand in my direction.
