Page 73 of Keldori By Daybreak

“Until I get out of the water.”

“I’ll close my eyes.”

“Promise?”

“If I don’t look when I’m in your head, what makes you think I’d look here and now?”

I finally turned to meet his eye, expecting to catch him smirking. His neat frown caught me off guard. He sat with his arms extended on the stones behind him, keeping his upper chest out of the water. Steam turned to droplets that clung to the ridges of the scars on his skin, and I wondered what his more recent injuries looked like under the water.

“How’s your side?” I asked.

“Oh, you’re worried about my wellbeing?” Ciarán blew a loose strand of dark hair out of his face, but it fell back in his eyes, heavy with steam. “You almost killed me with that javelin.”

“Not really.” I sank in the water up to my chin, letting the heat relax the tension in my neck. “I missed.”

“Then you were trying to kill me?”

“I was trying to shut you up.”

“Job well done, then.” Ciarán winced as he forced his muscles to relax in the hot water.

I rubbed at my eyes again, hoping they might be back to normal. However, two glowing blue eyes continued to leer at me from my murky reflection in the water.

“How’d you know?” I asked, still staring at my reflection.

“How’d I know what?”

“That I’d be able to make anything other than a flail.”

Ciarán’s ensuing laughter was cold, and I wished I could dissolve into the bath water.

“Do you think I meant to goad you into throwing a spear at me?” he asked.

“It’s the sort of thing you would do.”

“True.” He leaned his head back, and the loose hair beneath his bun fell into the water as he closed his eyes. “But I was being honest. I was sure you couldn’t do it. Creation magick is finicky. Sure, innate ability is necessary to make it work, but even then it’s only as good as you believe it will be. Many Magicians lack the imagination to ever properly wield Skal beyond cheap gimmicks.”

Indignation rose in my stomach, so thick and hot that I almost stood up in contempt before remembering our current clothing situation. Instead, I threw back my shoulders and stuck out my chin, careful to keep everything below my collar bones beneath the cloudy water.

“I don’t lack imagination,” I asserted.

“While I’m not entirely sure what exactly you are, Blue, I’m certain you are not unimaginative.” Ciarán's laugh did little to quell my anger. “You’re quick on your feet, and clever too. All good things to have in a Magician. Not to mention, as a Saergrim, you’re sure to have more innate ability and potential than anyone else in Skalterra. More than anything, though, you’re stubborn. All the best Magicians are. Creation Magick is nothing more than exerting your will over Skal, forcing it to take whatever shape you wish. But your lack of confidence is just as stubborn as you are. You couldn’t make more than a flail because you told yourself you couldn’t, and you believed it.”

“And you believed it too, apparently,” I reminded him, but his words were strangely encouraging. I’d been called difficult many times. This was the first time someone had pointed it out as an attribute rather than a flaw.

“I believed you. I’m in your head. I know all the lies you tell yourself.”

“Lies? What lies?” Water sloshed as I straightened up.

“Lies like you can only make flails.”

“Yeah, but what other lies?”

“Leave it alone, Blue.” He winced again and put a hand against his injured side.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll live.”