You’ve got this, Ly. Stay calm.
Her fire magic sends golden light flickering across her freckled face. And though Professor Azula stands close, posture rigid, eyes sharp, Lyra doesn’t allow herself to become distracted. And when the slate perfectly severs, the lines carved by fire smooth and curving, a small look of satisfaction crosses our professor’s face.
“Good, Miss Wilder.”
As Professor Azula moves on to the next student, Lyra looks up and meets my eyes. We grin at each other, and I give her a covert thumbs-up. I knew she could do it.
There are three more students to go. Two of them fracture their slate, like Percy, and one, an air witch, makes quick work of her slate, garnering rare praise from Professor Azula.
Then it’s my turn. And although it’s subtle, I note the way the other students—except for Lyra—step slightly back, giving me more space.
Storm magic is one of the rarest forms of elemental magic; no other fourth-years harness lightning. And it’s infamously dangerous, capable of enormous destruction. So really, I don’t blame them.
“Miss Vandermere,” Professor Azula says as she comes to stand beside me. Her eyes meet mine. “Prepare yourself.”
I draw a breath and close my eyes, grounding myself, reaching for the electrical currents running through my veins. My lightning is never far away, never difficult to grasp and manifest. It’s what happensafterI manifest it that I’ve had to work so hard on.
The elemental magic practice room is enchanted to contain elemental magic, so there’s no risk of my lightning escaping and wreaking havoc on the campus, but to those standing around me, it poses a very real threat.
Professor Azula knows this, but she doesn’t falter or step away. When I open my eyes, she squares her shoulders and gives me a firm nod.
I call on my storm magic.
It starts with tingling in my palms as the electricity grows. Then thin white strands of energy begin to crackle and arc around my fingers.
“Control,” Professor Azula says softly.
But I don’t look at her. Instead, I focus all my energy on the line etched into my slate. I hold up a hand, and the students immediately to my left and right step away in my periphery just as the first bolt of lightning strikes the stone. It finds the narrow line and crawls along it, as I intended for it to. White light glows from the crack, inching along, chewing through the slate one centimeter at a time.
I almost smile. My magic ismine, and I have absolute control over it.
Until a memory rushes into my head, unwelcome.
You play with fire, Severin whispers in my mind, his hands on my waist, my legs wrapped around him. When he kissedmy throat, I thought he was going to bite me. And I knew in that moment I wouldn’t push him away.
Thinking of it now, thinking ofhim, my heart beats harder, and my magic responds. Tendrils of lightning skitter across the slate, escaping the controlled line I’m supposed to be following. A crack of energy flashes off the edge of the stone, making the two students on that side flinch back. Professor Azula shifts slightly but doesn’t move away. Within the etched line, however, my lightning grows stronger, and I can feel more power wanting to burst from my fingertips, wanting to obliterate the slate until it’s nothing but fine powder on the floor.
But I don’t allow it to. I rein it in. I control it.
And when my lightning severs the slate, cutting clean through it in an arcing line, everyone in the room seems to let out a collective held breath.
I lower my hands and banish my magic, skin tingling with residual heat. But inside, my lightning feels irritable at having once again been forced into containment. And my thoughts of Severin are making it even more volatile, like it hungers for him in the same way I do.
Professor Azula steps forward, sharp red eyes assessing my slate. Finally, she says, “Impressive execution, Miss Vandermere. But note how perilously close to failure you came.” She reaches out to touch my slate, tracing her fingertips over the stone where my lightning momentarily escaped. “Magic under duress does not forgive emotional indulgence. You must learn to temper instinct with intent and intellect.”
I draw myself up. I understand what she’s saying and the lesson she’s trying to instill, but something inside of me wants to rage against it.
Control and containment have always been important elements of my magical practice; they have to be lest I allow my storms to escape and cause pain or destruction. But I’ve never experienced this tug toward emotion before, this feeling that a well of power lies just below the surface of passion, waiting for me to dive in.
And Severin is the one beckoning me to.
Professor Azula turns to meet my eyes, then lifts her voice to address the classroom. “Elemental mastery is a reflection of precision and patience. Donotmistake power for skill.”
The words have no sooner left her mouth than the academy’s clock chimes, signaling the end of the class period.
I start to step away, but Professor Azula says, “I’m still awaiting your revised application essay, Miss Vandermere.”
I’d hoped to slip away without her asking about it.
