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“What’s that?”
“Small talk.”
“Oh, I…yes…I’ve always been terrible at that, but I think after the war it got much worse. I just can’t ask someone about the weather or their favorite sports team because too much has happened. Too much death.”
He was quiet for a moment, observing her closely in his arms.
She shook her head. “I guess I just proved your point again. I talk too much about the war. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who still does.”
What was she doing? Was she opening up to Dawson about her trauma? Get it together.
“Sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you any of that. I can’t even blame it on the Goldwine since I had none.”
She chuckled awkwardly but he didn’t join in, holding her gaze with determination. “There is more to you than the war. You’re not defined by it. Whoever you were before might be gone, but that doesn’t mean the new version of you is any less valuable.”
Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought she’d have a deep conversation with Aidric Dawson. Worse yet, he was right. She had been so focused on who she was before the war, she had never bothered to ask herself who she was now.
“Do you play sports?” she asked.
The question startled him and then he laughed. A real laugh that reached his eyes.
“What? That was small talk,” she protested.
“Yes, it certainly was.” He was still laughing, trying to compose himself. “I played polo before the war, but I don’t anymore.”
Sports at Ivercrest didn’t allow magic because they were meant as a way to exercise your body and not rely on powers.
“Now you’re boxing?” she asked awkwardly, remembering when she had spotted him pummeling the punching bag.
“On occasion. Helps me clear my mind.”
The song ended yet he continued to hold her in his arms. She let go of his hand and he released her. As if a magic bubble had burst, she found herself back in reality. They weren’t here to dance and talk, after all.
They left the ballroom and Dawson led her down a hallway, then up a staircase, and through several magic doors where he had to use a magic fingerprint. He was quiet, watching over his shoulder every so often. Then they got to a large steel door.
He formed dark shadows in his palm, closed his eyes, and when he went back to the lock, it was Obryn’s voice that spoke a spell and unlocked it.
“What just happened?” she whispered.
“It’s based on voice recognition, and only Obryn has that level of clearance. I just borrowed his voice.”
Which was no easy task. She had read it only worked with the person agreeing to it in advance and giving up one specific sentence.
Another time, she would ask what Obryn’s role at the council was—all she knew was that he was part of the Dark Magic delegation as an adviser.
“We don’t have much time,” Dawson said as they made their way inside.
The council’s ingredient library was massive, stretching several stories tall. There were no windows because many ingredients were sensitive to sunlight. The door behind them shut with a loud thud, and the lock reset.
Mira’s eyes adjusted to the bright ceiling lights and she stared up at the old shelves stacked with various glass jars and vials. Every ingredient known to mankind was right here at her fingertips. Or it would be, were it not for the locking spells humming in the air. She could taste the magic on her tongue.
“This is not a sightseeing tour,” Dawson snapped at her as he marched across the stone floor, straight to a filing cabinet. “This includes every ingredient the council has access to.”
“That’s it?” She stared at the gray metal cabinet, which was bent in several sections. It looked too small to even hold all her school notes.
He smiled. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a magic cabinet before.”
With a flick of his wrist, the cabinet sprang open and filled the entire length of the room. Mira’s eyes danced over the folders of different ingredients, some of which she desperately needed for her own potion.
