From what he could gather, Luster was a mysterious physical phenomenon—both a wave hovering the border of the visible spectrum as well as a scattered constellation of discrete energy pockets. It channeled into receptive beings, allowing them certain abilities according to their genetics, but it could also be tapped. Orcharged, as the natives called it. Here in this place, where the Light sparkled in the air, this crafty magic inside him could expand. It could give him unlimited access to a person’s free will.
Daunting, really, the possibilities.
Did any of these people understand how easy it would be to make them all kneel?
His concentration froze in the middle of a page when a tidal wave of feeling crashed through his senses, inundating them all—honeysuckle scent in the air, sugar on his tongue, a blue mist in his vision.
David wouldn’t consider the emotion component of his magicthe strongest, but it took no effort to sense Anna’s sea of feelings as it flooded the shallows of those near her. She lay waste to the emotional topography in her vicinity.
Once again, he wondered at that. The scope of her emotions floored him. Whyexactlydid she know so much about Morgan’s magic? The little pixie was hiding something. He’d tried to tease out the truth, but she’d perfected the art of playing dumb, blinking wide blue eyes at him, all false innocence and fake naivete.
Anna Ainslan might have been innocent, but she wasn’tnaive. Not in the least. She was a puzzle box, and his fingers itched to find the latch. If she shared this magic, it would ease this sense of isolation gnawing at his bones.
She appeared before him in green pants and one of those sleeveless black pixie shirts that laced up the abdomen and left little of her shape to the imagination. She was a storm of blue eyes, roiling emotions, and damp raven hair that glimmered indigo and emerald where the light hit it.
“You sucked at training today.” She slipped into the chair across from him, arms crossed.
He shrugged, resigned to her state of perpetual underwhelm when it came to his training foibles. But even the thought of hurting this woman felt like rubbing salt through his veins, so he refused to try. Bruised and battered by her fists, sliced into ribbons by her knives, it was all worth it for a clean conscience. Nothing a spae in the infirmary couldn’t—begrudgingly—fix.
Healing magic was weird, David thought, remembering the deep ache fading from his wrist with a simple touch of the healer’s hand. “I was really good at the falling-down part,” he said, shaking himself of the memory.
With a snort, she reached for a book from the pile. “Sylph,” she muttered under her breath.
“Do I detect a hint of judgment, pixie girl?”
Blue eyes flicked up, all sass, before returning to the book in her hand. “What are we learning today?”
He slid the volume he’d been reading toward her. “This is interesting.”
Anna opened it to somewhere in the middle. “An overview of Luster transfer.” Her brow notched, and she flipped the cover to read it. “What is this?”
“Just your basic magic book.”
She gave him a fake laugh, then read aloud, “Luster, like all energy can be neither created nor destroyed. When an individual’s reserves run low, they may be restored from one to another through touch. The process is such that…Did you know we could do that?”
“I do now.” He rested his head on his palm and offered her a hand. “Want to try?”
She pursed her lips. “Why? So you can pretend you don’t know what you’re doing and waste my time?”
A smirk wanted to pull itself to the surface, but he refrained. “Really bent out of shape about that, aren’t you?”
“It’s insulting.”
He almost laughed. “You’reinsultedbecause I refuse to hit you?”
She snapped the book closed. “Yes.”
“You know,” he said, clasping his hands atop the table, “I’m not really in a position to be judging, but I feel pretty confident in saying that your priorities are all sorts of fucked up.”
“This is how we learn, David,” she said. “This is how we get better so we aren’t possessed and murdered by Indies in Viterra.”
David raised his hands, palms out, submissive. “I apologize. Tomorrow I’ll try to give you a concussion.”
The little savage’s mouth stretched into a smile. “Thank you.”
“I’m choosing to look past your bizarre masochism to remind you that I don’t actually need to fight. In a real fight, no one could touch me.”
Her eyebrow rose. “I could. You’re terrible.”
