For spellcraft, we met in the training room that the staff usually reserved for sparring.
“That’s not my case,” I answered solemnly.
Cerridwen had told me about Seraphyn. She had tutored Reagan and Gwin in their early studies, earning high praise from former advisors to Mountheim’s rulers long before Elinor and Thomas. She held a Tarkin, an award supposed to signify the highest academic honour, which, Cerridwen added, came with an unhealthy high ego. Still, the woman had trained more Mage Lords and Ladies than she could count.
“Good,” Seraphyn said, turning her gaze on me. “Have you yet managed to tap into your access?”
A restless heat surged beneath my skin in answer.
Laerune’s confirmation had stirred something like relief, as fleeting as seeing the eagle clearly in my mind.
“I tapped it very briefly today,” I said, “but Laerune helped me.”
I told her about Laerune’s siphoning and the unfortunate fainting.
“And you wore a relic for most of your life that blocked your wielding,” Evenwood said.
“Yes.”
“Other tutors believe the lack of contact dulled your sensitivity to access your power. I disagree.” She circled me slowly, eyes sweeping my form. “I believe you were never taught intention. You never learned to command, to practice until words became unnecessary, until will alone was enough. Without that, you are untrained.” She halted before me, letting her gaze linger. “But somehow, we will make a Lady out of you.”
I met her scrutiny steadily, some instinct telling me this was already a test, as if she were waiting for me to flinch.
With no small amount of pride, I didn’t.
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
One thing I appreciated about her was her honesty. There was none of the blind confidence Gwinifer and Reagan radiated, nor the way the other tutors, the captain, and Hildegard treated me.
I was used to being underestimated. It no longer stung. Perhaps I’d become so used to it that it spurred me more than the confidence the others had. I didn’t know what that said about me.
“Summoning charms are simple and require as much wielding as sleep,” Seraphyn said, setting a small hourglass with grey sand on the table. “You will read the charm’s description, then attempt to summon it to your hand. I will turn the hourglass each minute you fail. The goal of these lessons is to lessen the number of turns.” She pointed to an open book by the hourglass. “Read.”
I skimmed the text, noting the unnecessarily long explanation, until I found the command word my friends had used before.
“Do I just say the word?” I asked.
“Focus solely on intention. Command it. A spell is fuelled by the precision of will. If your mind wavers, mana will not heed your wish. Words, spoken aloud or within, only tether will to outcome. Are you ready?”
She gestured for me to step a few metres from the table. My pulse quickened as I obeyed.
Adveho. A simple word. Just say it. Simple enough.
I nodded once.
Seraphyn stepped aside, chin dipping. “Begin.”
Chapter 21
Jane
It was our thirteenth session when Seraphyn’s patience finally seemed to end.
“You must reach farther,” Seraphyn commanded. “Focus. Again.”
My hands stretched toward the hourglass, legs aching from hours of standing, but I forced my mind to silence everything else as I spoke the words.
Nothing.
