Auden frowned. “He was a ghost. That’s not natural.”
Obel raised his eyes toward the mural. “Radia’s light, you’re dull,” he muttered, then raised his voice as though speaking to a child. “What I mean, Highlord, is: Did the ghost resemble a living human rather than a deteriorating corpse?”
Vayden pressed his lips together as though suppressing a laugh while Auden ground his teeth. “Yes,” the Mage said. “He looked exactly like he did in the moments before he died.”
“Ah,” Obel said, something like excitement injecting itself into his tone. “Then you knew this fellow?”
“He was a member of our party.”
“Excellent.” Obel turned back to Deckard. “I will admit your ability to summon a ghost unintentionallyandmake it visible to others is surprising. There’s strength in you, even if your technique is lacking. Though I question if that might of yours hasmore to do with that thing around your neck rather than innate power.”
Both Calder men shifted in their seats warily.
Deckard frowned, the Night Relic’s chain suddenly heavy. “How did you—?”
“I sensed it the second I walked into the room,” Obel said. “That’s another issue we’ll discuss in a moment. Are there any other reasons you believe you’re a Night Mage?”
Deckard faltered, turning to Auden for support.
Auden took over readily. “I’ve seen his magic, Your Grace,” he said decisively. “It’s colored by Night. What’s more, he shrouded the Night Relic, disguising it from Renaul’s hired men.”
Lord Obel tipped his head to the side curiously. “Is that so?” he said, then faced Deckard. “You disguised the Relic?”
“I did,” Deckard replied, then added, “Your Grace.”
“Interesting.”
As Obel didn’t expound on his statement, Deckard sat forward. “Your Grace, I would appreciate whatever training you could give me, even if it’s just for the afternoon,” he said. “But more specifically, I’d like you to teach me how to release the ghost.”
“I can do that,” Obel said with a singular nod. “But first, we need some answers.”
“Answers to what?” Deckard asked.
Obel smiled. “Let’s have a look at your magic, Colonel.”
Deckard’s brow pinched together. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, I’m not sure how to...show it off.”
Lifting a palm, Obel summoned a dark amethyst shadow to hover over it. The small cloud twisted in a merry dance, gloomy and charming all at once. “You do it the way you do any magic,” he said, then closed his hand, snuffing the shadow. “By focus and thought.”
Drawing in a breath, Deckard adjusted in his seat. He set his gaze on the beige and brown carpet beneath his feet, working to find his center. Focus was rarely a problem for him. Deckard had managed to hold fast to his ideals and goals due to his unwavering dedication to them throughout his life. Ever since he’d begun training with the Calders, he’d managed to tap into his magic more quickly than they’d expected. And with his strong grip on the ability to focus, that magic always came roaring in with nearly unbridled force.
The Night Relic’s setting felt like ice against Deckard’s chest as the heat of his magic rippled through his veins. His heartbeat rose, pulse quickening, and the room was tinged in darkness as the edges of his vision blackened. He’d not yet harnessed his magic, but he could feel it roiling inside as though in anticipation.
Holding his hands in front of him, Deckard stared at his palms, willing the crystalline shadows to appear. Black shards erupted around his hands, twisting and shimmering in the late morning light. Comparing his magic to Obel’s, he wondered if it could rightly be called shadows. The tiny, glass-like shards that coalesced together to form the larger mass looked very little like the cloud of Obel’s power.
A scoff came from Deckard’s left, and he released the magic, looking up to find Obel sneering at Auden. “You thought he was a Night Mage?” the duke asked.
Auden looked hesitant despite his evident offense at Obel’s tone. “I—yes,” he said. “Yes, his magic is shadows and darkness and—”
“What color are his shadows, Highlord Calder?” Obel interrupted.
Auden scratched his head as though trying to come to grips with an impossibility. “They’re black,” he murmured, studying Deckard for a moment, then meeting Obel’s gaze again. “Theylooked purple, but...I was always distracted, fighting in the Keeps, or it was dark, and I couldn’t see plainly. But... They’reblack.”
Obel nodded knowingly. “And they’re not shadows,” he said. “They’re silhouettes—the outline of darkness against a bright world.”
Auden began muttering under his breath as Vayden watched with something like growing awe.
Deckard didn’t understand. “Pardon me,” he said, “but are you saying that I’mnota Night Mage?”
