Chapter 40

Rain pattersagainst the walls of the palace as I sit by the window, attempting to lose myself in the pages of the book Aleksander gifted me yesterday, but my mind refuses to focus. Instead, my thoughts keep circling back to Jasce and the letter from Asha.

How can I pretend that everything is all right, knowing her intentions? Knowing more people will die because I came here?

The door creaks open, and my heart leaps as Jasce steps into the library. He wears a marked surcoat, and a sword hangs from his hips, but it's his eyes that draw all my attention. They soften as they meet mine.

"Hello," he says as he takes a chair opposite of me. "I know you're not happy with me right now, but I made you a promise when I took you from Bakva."

"What promise?"

"I told you I would take you to Rowena, and she would help you learn about your crimson magic." He shifts in his seat. "Would you still like that?"

"Yes." No matter what is going on, it's important that I understand how to wield Lyra's crimson magic.

He stands and turns toward the door. "Follow me."

Nerves settle in my stomach as I stand and follow Jasce from the room. We pass by arched windows overlooking tranquil gardens.

"Are we going outside to meet with Rowena?" I ask as he continues walking down the corridor.

"No. She will teach you inside The Pyre Sanctum."

I turn the name over in my mind, wondering if The Pyre Sanctum is like the Argent Chamber in Bakva, where those with silver magic train.

We round a corner and approach an ornate tapestry. Jasce sweeps the heavy fabric aside, revealing a door carved with ancient runes that flicker, as if alive.

He presses his palm to an indentation, and the door swings open with a groan. I hesitate, peering into the darkness beyond.

Sensing my apprehension, Jasce squeezes my hand. I inhale, then step over the threshold into The Pyre Sanctum. Runes shimmer along the walls, their glow steady and eternal, like stars caught in an unending night. Enormous braziers at each corner bathe us in their glimmering light and cast a warm radiance across the floor.

"Is this where you learned to wield your magic?" I ask.

Jasce nods.

I trail my fingers along the smooth marble walls, wondering how many centuries of knowledge lie just below the surface.

"You won't need your veil in here," he says.

I lift my hand to the veil, feeling the soft fabric against my fingertips. It's my only barrier between myself and the world's scrutiny.

Slowly, I peel it away and give it to Jasce.

As we near the central dais, a woman emerges from the shadows. An older woman with long gray hair and eyes the color of autumn leaves.

"Rowena," Jasce says, "this is Annora, my wife."

Rowena inclines her head toward me. "Welcome, My Lady."

"Annora possesses a most rare gift," Jasce explains. "She is from House of Silver, but she has crimson magic."

The woman's gaze sharpens as she tilts her head to the side, scrutinizing me. "I see. Come, let me look at you."

I glance at Jasce, and when he nods at me, I gulp in a quick breath and approach the woman.

She takes my hands in her weathered ones, turning them this way and that as she examines me. "I sense there is more inside you. You have silver and crimson magic. But I can only teach you to wield your crimson gift."

My chest aches at that truth, the reality that she cannot help me with my silver magic. It's as dormant as ever. Yet, a thrill races through me at the thought of learning to control Lyra's crimson magic.

"Now…." Rowena gestures to the central dais, "…let us begin."

I reach for my hematite stone and squeeze it between my fingers as Jasce offers me an encouraging smile and leaves The Pyre Sanctum.

I'm Hematite.

Lyra was Hematite.

So, this magic can be mine and hers.

I can learn to control it!

Rowena circles the dais. "Magic is life itself. It flows through you always, whether a raging current or a babbling brook." She stops before me. "Let us begin with something small. Cup your hands before you."

I mirror her gesture, palms upturned, as if cradling water.

"Good," she says. "Now, focus not on anger or fear but on your breathing. Feel it move through you."

I close my eyes, inhaling slowly, the rhythm soothing me.

"Concentrate on your hands," she says. "Imagine a flame there, small but strong."

At first, nothing happens. The minutes tick by as I struggle to conjure even a wisp of smoke. Frustration simmers beneath my skin. I'm no stranger to failure, yet this inability grates through me.

"Try again," she says, her tone encouraging.

I summon every ounce of calm and concentrate. Suddenly, warmth blossoms in my palms. My eyes fly open to see a tiny, guttering flame dancing across my skin. It wavers, growing stronger by the second.

Rowena smiles. "Well done. That is but the first spark. Are you ready for more?"

I nod, and with newfound confidence, I focus once more, guiding the flame as it engulfs my hands entirely. The fire caresses my skin, radiant and strong.

"Excellent," Rowena says. "Now, release it."

Release it?

The thought unnerves me. This magic has only ever been destructive in my hands, even when summoned in self-defense. What if I cannot restrain it?

Sensing my hesitation, Rowena steps closer. "You wield the flames, My Lady. Not the reverse. Will them to fade."

I bite my lip, then slowly curl my fingers. The flame hisses as it recedes.

Relief floods through me.

I can do this.

I can control it.

Rowena squeezes my shoulder. "You see? Magic answers to your command. With practice, it will become second nature."

She's right. And when I master this magic, it need not be a curse, but a blessing instead. Maybe I can even use it for good.

"When can I learn how to summon a Phoenix?" I ask, as I think about Lyra's greatest gift, the one I have read about but have never seen in person.

Rowena fixes me with a stern look. "Once you've honed your skills. Otherwise, the Phoenix's fierce power would destroy you."

Even though I would like to know about this part of Lyra's magic, I understand I'm still new at this.

"I understand," I say. "Thank you for your help."

Rowena nods and smiles as I turn to leave The Pyre Sanctum.

Excitement lances through me as I hurry into the corridor and lean against the wall. As a child growing up in House of Silver, I never imagined I would one day possess crimson magic. In truth, I was taught by my grandfather to fear and hate it, believing those with crimson magic to be monsters.

Now, the very power I was warned against flows through my veins.

I lift my palms to the light trickling through the arched window, noticing how the sunlight dances across my skin.

Did Lyra ever pause like this, marveling at the fire that lived within her? Did she revel in her magic? Or did she look upon these abilities with unease?

Would she hate me for taking her life? Her husband?

I push off from the wall and resume my walk through the torch-lit corridor. Armored guards pause their patrol to stare as I pass. Servants cease their work, brooms and cloths forgotten in their hands as they turn to gawk at me.

Mortification seizes me as I duck my head, allowing my hair to fall forward and curtain my scarred face.

Hurry!

I quicken my steps toward the bedchamber I share with Jasce, knowing I left another veil there.

Finally, I reach the door and fumble at the latch, slipping inside and closing the world away with a heavy thud.

I scan the room and spot the veil I'd left draped over the back of a chair. My hands shake as I pull it on.

Never again.

The thought follows me as I head for the courtyard. Hopefully, it will offer me a reprieve these corridors cannot.