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Her gaze grew thoughtful. “What does yours feel like?”

My mother’s warning to keep the particulars of my magic, of her magic from becoming overly public, rang through my mind. Vincent knew, of course, as his sometimes felt similarly. But most others thought I felt it the same as my father, as any Sylvorian.

“Most often like… like there are tendrils reaching from the earth. Sometimes they are little more than smoke, but sometimes they’re more substantial.”

“That’s why you brush at your knee sometimes?”

I nodded. “Not all of that is my own magic. The earth itself has magic, too. Often it is that that I am reacting to. It can be quite… forceful at times. But mostly, my magic feels like that smoke, those creeping tendrils.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she held her hand out in front of her, palm up.

“Envision the magic moving around you, around your hand and arm. What does it feel like as it does so?”

“Like el—” She cut off. “Crackling, maybe? But pulsing, too. Not fire or wind, though. More… I don’t know. Forceful, maybe? Like lightning.”

My stomach clenched as unease rose in me, swift as the tide along the shore of Embercrest. With a forceful shove, I pushed it down, crammed it into a box to worry about later. Nothing good would come of me being anxious about just how powerful she might be while I was attempting to teach her the basics of control. Fear that you might be ruined by your magic, and [control] became even more elusive.

“All right.” By some miracle, my voice was calm. “Now focus on that feeling when you twist your hand.”

This time, when she made the motion, her hair lifted off her shoulders.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, that’s why my hair would randomly whip in a breeze.”

I didn’t say anything, focusing instead on the way the magic seemed to move around her, interact with her. It wasn’t just her hair being lifted now. The sweater swelled like a great wind had started below her, and the nearest sconce full of fire wobbled in a sudden gust, too. She had more magic than many within the court to have it so responsive already.

“Feel how it surrounds you?” I kept my voice low and calm.

Her nod was slower this time, her eyebrows furrowing even as she kept her eyes closed. Her hand trembled like she held a great weight. I took a step closer, edging around the jar I’d brought with me.

“Now imagine each piece of it sliding back to the ground, that lightning fading away until it’s little more than a faint string connecting to you.”

Her breathing grew unsteady, rough pants like she was running rather than standing still. Her hair moved around her, the wind created by her magic growing rather than lessening. I took another step closer, twisting to avoid her outstretched hand. Now she was only a half-step away, less than that with every choppy rise of her chest.

“Easy,” I whispered.

Her magic crackled along my skin, and my breath caught. I carefully traced her jaw with my thumb, following the line of it to her ear and then the purple marking of the translation spells.

“Picture each tendril fading back into the earth, like roots of a plant.”

It fell away from her in one swift rush like a rip tide. It pulled me that half-step closer, her body pressing against mine while I tried to regain my footing and edge away from her to keep my promise of only ever touching her like one courting. Her magic pulled again, and my own responded, a warm heat in the center of my chest.

“Easy,” I whispered.

Her eyes flew open, shock slackening her features. The desire to kiss her, press my lips to hers and soak in her essence, was so consuming, it was a miracle I kept most of my rational mind. Even still, wisteria permeated the space around us, weaving around us like its own magic. Her nostrils flared as she breathed heavily, a long gasp that seemed to settle her a bit.

“Still feels like lightning?” I asked just to break the quiet and ease the growing tension between us. One more moment, and I was going to press myself against her again, wrap my arm around her waist and bury my nose in the crook of her shoulder so only my scent was left on her.

She nodded.

“Do you think you could siphon it down into something smaller? Something that feels manageable like a flame?”

I took two quick steps back and let my hand drop from her throat. I scooped up the jar and held it out to her in silent offering.

Her brow furrowed as she focused on the jar. With a shaking hand, she palmed the side of the jar.

“Siphon it how?” Her voice shook as much as her body.

“However you need to imagine it. Focus on what you want the magic to do and then will it into that creation.”