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“I’m impressed,” he says. “Glad to see you have a survival instinct after all.”
“Do you always have to be this unpleasant?”
“That’s hardly fair. I brought you a flower and everything.” He takes one step closer to me and pulls a moonflower from behind his back.
His eyes sparkle in the moonlight, the color of the waves that crash into the shore. My breath catches, and my hand reaches for the blossom independent of my command.
But he shakes his head. “Not to hold,” he says.
My long hair is blowing in the wind, and Wolfe gently brushes it back, tucking the flower behind my ear.
“There,” he says. “Queen of the dark.”
My hand drifts up and brushes the soft petals.Queen of the dark.
“Are you making fun of me?” I ask, the words quiet. He hasn’t moved back, and we watch each other, close enough to touch.
“It was meant as a joke, but it…it looks nice.” He clears his throat and takes a step back.
My cheeks burn and I hope he can’t see the heat that’s spreading across my skin. The petals feel like velvet against my fingertips, and the question I haven’t been able to let go of since last night tumbles around in my mind.Why doesn’t it hurt?
I bring my hand down to my side, ignoring the question for now. There are more pressing matters.
“Can we just get this over with?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay steady.
“Whatever my queen commands,” he says, bowing, his tone ensuring I know I’m being made fun of this time. I shake my head.
“What do I need to do?”
“I thought we’d play with the tides,” he says. It’s impossible to miss the way his eyes light up when he says it, the way his voice lifts in anticipation. He’s disagreeable, his face nothing but hard lines and sharp edges, his voice constantly laced with annoyance, and yet beneath it all is a boy who deeply loves his magic.
I suppose that’s one thing we have in common.
“Will that cause more damage to the sea?”
“No,” he says. “Why do you think you’ll die if you don’t use your magic?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s a gift, and it’s meant to be used. Spells and charms burn away the magic once they’re cast. The reason your rushes are so damaging is because the magic is just sitting in the sea, restless and edgy. That’s why the currents are getting so much worse.” He’s back to being angry, his words pointed and accusatory.
“I understand,” I say.
“Do you?”
His question hangs in the space between us, and I breathe it in, let it settle in my core. Then I level my gaze at him. “Yes.”
“Good. Let’s get started.” He takes off his shoes and walks toward the shore until the waves roll over his feet. I do the same.
“High magic is all about balance. It requires respect and patience from the one who wields it. It requires discipline. The only time you ever come close to using a significant amount of magic is during your rush, a ritual that fully takes over you. But you can’t lose yourself in high magic the way you do during a rush. You have to constantly assess how the world around you is responding to the energy you’re using. It’s rhythmic, just like the tides. If you learn only one thing tonight, let it be this: magic isn’t about you. It’s about the Earth.”
He lets his statement hang in the air, and I’m shocked when the words cause something in me to stir, as if that truth has always been inside me and I’m just now realizing it.
“Let’s start with something easy,” he says.
My heart slams against my rib cage, so loud and fast I wonder if Wolfe can hear it over the sound of the waves.
“Do you feel the breeze coming off the water?” he asks.
“Yes.” Fear has stolen my voice, making the word sound rough and quiet.
“It’s easier to work with things that already exist around us. Much easier than creating something from nothing. Now, close your eyes,” he says.
