The bright white sphere pulses and dances between my palms, bigger than what I usually create. The light illuminates Professor Azula’s face, her crimson eyes widening slightly. My magic hums and crackles, vibrating in a way that feels content rather than chaotic.
The sphere holds.
Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
A sheen of sweat starts to dampen my brow, but still, I hold the sphere.
In the past, I would’ve lost my control of it already, and Professor Azula would be correcting me, a stern look on her face as she told me what I’d done wrong. But those lessons never stuck with me.
Severin’s teachings have. I remember the feel of a sword in my hand, the weight of it, the need to both soften my muscles and strengthen them at the same time in order to flow through the drills on the top of the spire. It’s all about balance.
Professor Azula steps toward me, one measured pace at a time. When she’s standing in front of me, she says, “Interesting.”
I swallow, still focusing my intention into the sphere. My arms are starting to tremble from the effort of holding so much magic and energy in place.
“Now collapse it cleanly,” Professor Azula instructs. “Don’t allow yourself to lose control.”
Nodding, I draw a breath, then widen my palms. Instead of trying to collapse the energy all at once, which wouldresult in an explosion of lightning, I allow it to slowly dissipate, threads of light unraveling like mist in the morning sunlight. The sphere thins, the threads of lightning flickering and fading until nothing remains in my hands but empty air.
My fingers are still trembling as my lips pull into a smile. I look up and meet Professor Azula’s gaze.
Silence fills the room as she looks down at me. Then a rare smile tugs at one corner of her mouth. “That is a marked improvement, Miss Vandermere.”
My shoulders loosen, and I let out a breath, softening my stance. “Thank you, Professor.”
“What changed?” she asks.
I hesitate, because the only answer that comes to mind is the one I can’t give her.
Severin’s fingertips on my heart, his voice wrapping around me, the moonlight reflecting in his dark eyes as he knocks my sword from my hand yet again.
He’s the reason I’ve learned this lesson, the reason these teachings are settling into my bones, as he put it. But I can’t say that. Especially with his fang marks still adorning one side of my neck.
“I stopped trying to force my magic into stillness,” I say, drawing myself up just a bit and meeting Professor Azula’s intense crimson eyes. “I’ve always known storms don’t like to be static, but... I finally learned how to put that concept into practice.”
She studies me for a long moment, and I don’t miss the way her gaze flicks to my scarf. I have the sudden desire to reach up and adjust it, to make sure it’s still covering the bitemarks on my neck, but I resist the urge. It would just make her suspicious.
Finally, she meets my eyes again and says, “Elemental magic resists rigidity. But it does not forgive recklessness. Especially elemental magic as powerful as yours.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “Remember that, Maeve.”
I nod. “I will.”
She opens her notebook and jots something down, then flicks it closed. “If you can reproduce this consistently, I’ll feel much more confident in your demonstration for the board.”
She means the fellowship board.
Her praise sends a little tingle of excitement down my spine. “I won’t disappoint you,” I say.
That smile flickers at the edges of her lips again. “I know you won’t, Miss Vandermere.” She moves past me, her hand finding my shoulder for a brief moment and squeezing. Her touch is warm, like Lyra’s is. Fire witches are always warm.
Then she’s gone, leaving me in the charmed chamber alone.
I let out a massive sigh of relief.
My body is exhausted, but excitement bubbles inside me.
I did it. Finally. Now Professor Azula can start taking me seriously for this fellowship position.
And it’s all because of Severin. Because he believed in me enough to push me and guide me in the way I needed most.
