10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

We made a mistake staying here. It is a hard truth, but it's one we have accepted. We've never stayed anywhere long enough for the world to change around us. The five of us cannot hold enough power to maintain this world, but the ones that follow us are too close for any more of my kind to stay. We must find a way to anchor the power. We should not have rested as long as we did.

~Vyran the Black, A History of Magic and Dragons

Sticks. That's what Cole's decided to teach me to fight with. Not my spear. Not his sword. Sticks.

And he was not wrong. They hurt so much worse than I'd imagined. I'm holding a three foot long branch in each hand, and Cole is standing directly beside me. One hand moves to my wrist while the other moves to my hip. I don't let myself look at him as he slowly shows me the minute difference between a good swing and a bad one.

His body is hot against mine. Not like when we were flying. That was… functional. This is something almost erotic. His cloak and armor are on the ground, and he's wearing a thin tunic which is tight against his swollen muscles.

I'm glad that I've discarded my ripped and torn set of clothing in favor of my extra set. If I hadn't, his hands would touch far more of my bare skin, and I don't know how well I'd have handled that.

"Everything starts at the hips, Wyrdling. Everything." His nails dig into my hip, and a shiver rolls through me as he twists my body. "Then you swing. Your power comes from the hips. Your arms just direct it." His body presses against me as he moves my body, and his heat radiates through me, passing through our thin clothing. A throbbing, pounding sensation that has me struggling to think clearly. I have a hard time not focusing on those fingertips pressed against such a sensitive place.

I nod to him, and he goes back to his place in front of me, my personal sparring dummy. I'd asked if I could try swinging against a tree. Cole had said that was a waste. This way, if I do something wrong, he'll remind me. With his own wooden stick.

I twist my hips like he showed me, my right stick striking out toward his shoulder. Cole blocks it easily. "Again," he commands, and I swing. Again and again. Each time, my left hand drops just a little. "Your guard," he reminds me. I quickly lift it back into place, even though my left shoulder is getting tired.

I keep practicing the motion, and suddenly, Cole swings his own stick toward my left shoulder. It's the exact same movement I've been making, and my stick is too low. I try to bring it up to block, but I'm too slow, and his stick connects with my shoulder with a sharp crack.

A scream rips from my mouth, but Cole just says, "Again." Absolutely no empathy for my pain. No cause for concern. In fact, there's a smile on his lips like he enjoys hurting me, and everything inside me wants to lash out at him. I swing again, making sure I keep my guard up. I push my hips to twist harder, to put more power into my swing.

He blocks it easily. I swing again, the ache in my left shoulder throbbing where he hit me. My stick hits his, and it's like I'm hitting a brick wall, as if no amount of strength could ever break that defense.

That doesn't change the fact that I keep trying. I push my hips to turn harder, and I swing as hard as I can with my arm, directing every ounce of power into his block. "You know," he says without lowering his guard at all, "if you keep attacking with no control, you're going to get hurt."

That burning anger inside me wants to ignore everything he says and just hurt him. Just like when I tried to attack him in the inn. I know I should listen to him. That I should pay attention to his warning. If any other predator—even though they're nowhere near as dangerous—had given me a warning growl, I'd have taken them seriously. Somehow, that anger inside me feels so alive, and I can't stop it. Almost like I'm watching myself make the mistake, knowing it's a mistake the entire time.

When I swing with every ounce of strength this time, he steps back, moving just out of reach of my strike, and I miss. Hard. I can't stop the swing nearly fast enough. And Cole moves in, striking just as fast as ever. He swings at my shoulder hard enough that I drop my stick, my arm going nearly numb at the impact.

When he moves in to hit me with the other one, I block it. All that pent up anger moves inside me like a storm in a bottle that finally has an outlet. Just like I had missed and put myself off balance, his attack had been lazy since he hadn't expected me to block it.

Now he's too close and off balance, and I leap at him, getting through his defenses. My right hand goes to his throat, and that power inside me wants to lash out at him like it had at Hazel. Something stops it, though.

That tiny hesitation when nothing happens gives Cole the chance to drop his sticks and wrap his arms around me, putting me in a bear hug. My hand is on his neck, but it's not like I can do anything to him without the magic that my instincts had told me I had access to.

I was sure that if I put my fingers on his neck, he would stop hurting me, but nothing happened.

Now I'm pressed against his chest. He's breathing hard and staring down at me. His hands are hot. So hot that I'm sure that he has to stop himself from lighting me on fire. We're inches away from each other, his breath moving over my face as he looks down at me. The scent of spiced amber is everywhere.

That storm that was raging inside me is still raging, but now, instead of wanting to hurt him, it wants… something different. "What in Sidon's name was that?" he growls. "You made it through my defenses and dropped your sticks? What did you think you were going to do? Choke me? Really?"

I feel like I should say words. I don't know what those words would be, but I'm sure that there are words I should say. My body knows what it wants to do, though.

The hand that's still on his neck runs down his shoulder. The last time we were this close, he ran his nails over me. It's my turn. I don't know why I think that's true, but that storm inside me says that it is.

He stares at me as my fingertips brush over his skin, feel the heat that billows off the tanned skin. Those cold blue eyes never leave me as my fingertips drift lower. The anger that took control slowly changes. Instead of wanting to hurt him, all I want is to touch him. To feel him.

When my nails brush against the collar of his tunic, it shifts just enough that I see something surprising. Burn scars. Bright red and striated enough that they couldn't be anything else.

I stop immediately. The shock forces the storm that's raging inside me to quiet, and I pull away. The words come to me as I move to the sticks still on the ground. "I tried to use magic on you. It didn't work."

Cole's eyes are still hard, still hiding every bit of emotion, unlike when he's training me. He doesn't hold me still when I try to pull away. Burn scars. How badly must he have been hurt to end up with scars like that? I was hurt badly enough in the Tilted Mug that if I'd been human, I'd be dead. I don't have a single scar.

"Don't try that. Shadow magic is… tricky. Especially for Wyrdlings. Everyone's heard of the five-year-old that burns down their house with fire magic. No one hears about the child that uses shadow magic because they just disappear, never to be seen again. Until you have someone to teach you, don't just try to use shadow magic, or it could be the last thing you ever do."

"What other option is there? Even if I'm the greatest fighter with sticks," I say as I hold up the two pieces of wood I've been swinging, "the first time someone throws a fireball at me, I'm dead. It's as simple as that."

Cole smiles and says, "You could always cover yourself in steel. Then, there are very few things that can hurt you other than weapons. See, steel absorbs magic. I can't turn you to ash if you're wearing steel. Sure, you won't be able to use magic either, but you don't know how to use it, anyway. Be a human that can fight like an Immortal, and you might survive."

With a frown, I shake my head. I don't like it. I really, really don't like just ignoring something as important as me doing magic. Cole has used it constantly. It saved our lives when we dealt with the Nothing. No matter how much armor I wear or how good I am with a sword, there are things in this new world I'm in that require magic to deal with.

"Maybe when we're in Draenyth, we can find you a teacher." He says it so dismissively. Like it doesn't matter at all.

I drop the sticks in response and say, "I think I'm done for the night." Then, in a perfect imitation of Cole, I sit down on the log by the fire and stare into it. I already know how I'm going to deal with this, and it isn't to beg Cole to teach me.

No, he said that I needed a teacher, and I know one person who is guaranteed to say yes. You don't ask a blacksmith to make you a pair of shoes, and I certainly won't beg someone from the House of Flame to teach me shadow magic.

The fire is low when I finally decide to leave my bedroll. Making as little noise as possible, I walk away from the camp. Instinctually, I make mental notes of how to get back.

The moon is almost three-quarters full, and it's not hard to see tonight. Everything has a hint of silver to it, and I climb a tall tree to find the nearest clearing so that we'll have more light. As soon as I'm above the tree line and bathed in the moonlight, I glance back at the clearing that Cole is still sleeping in.

Part of me thinks this is a terrible decision, but I rub the mark on my wrist. I need to learn to use my shadow magic. It's not a want. It's a necessity. This entire new world that I'm living in is full of magic. Harpies that can knock my spear away. Mists that try to kill you. Then there's Cole, who can do just about anything. I don't even want to know what kind of magical chaos I'm going to walk into when I get to Draenyth.

There's no getting out of the fact that I need to be stronger. I need to train with Cole to fight, and I can practice magic with the Shade. If he'll let me.

But the debts I'll end up owing him… What does that matter, though? If I'm too weak to survive, what's the point of not collecting debts?

A very dark shiver runs through me at the thought of seeing the Shade again. Seeing him made me feel something different. I'd say that it was an attraction, but there's no way to be attracted to shadows under a cloak. I was drawn to him, just as I was drawn to Cole, but this felt almost familiar. Like I'd known the Shade for years and had simply forgotten him.

He's the only answer for this, though. Just like I didn't pull away when Cole's hands on my body made me feel things I wasn't used to while we were training, I can't pull away from the Shade when he makes me want to know him better. Like Vesta said so many times, my emotions can't get in the way of what I need to do.

I look around the forest and find the closest clearing. It's small, but I don't want to go too far from Cole and our camp. I hurry toward it, sprinting part of the way and jogging the rest.

When I get there, I look around and feel happy with the selection. I can see much better than under the trees and we'll be far enough away from Cole that he shouldn't hear us talking. The last thing I want is to wake him up and let him catch me putting myself in debt with the Shade.

I take a few deep breaths and close my eyes. The image of the real Shade fills my mind. The way he'd looked when he'd answered my call. Dark shadows under a black cloak that pulled my gaze toward him. They'd called out to me.

Then I think about his hands. I see the black nails that felt so dangerous, yet whose touch had been soothing. I know he'll mark me again

"Please come to me, Shade," I say. The words come out confidently. A plea and a prayer. "Please come to teach me, Shade."

Moments pass, my breath rising and falling as I wait. A hint of fear rolls through me as I question whether he'll come. If he doesn't, what will I do? I don't have any other options. I need the power that lies in my Fae bloodline, but I don't have a way to learn it. If Cole's right, making a mistake could have me killing myself. I need the Shade.

Like last time, right before I'm about to give up, it's like someone opens a window. A soft gust of wind blows by me, and I turn around to see the black cloak I've seen so often in my mind. "You came," I say softly.

"You called." His voice is like water over river rocks. Gravelly, but smooth at the same time. It's seductive and kind and commanding.

"Yes, I would like to learn to use shadow magic. I think I can, but I don't know how." I try to stay calm, to not be too excited or too expectant. He could say no. Or I could be too weak. Maybe Cole's right and my mother wasn't strong enough. Maybe she was a Wyrdling too.

He steps toward me, getting far closer to me than I expect. "You know this will indebt you to me?" he asks, every word dripping seduction.

I nod my head, my mouth becoming so dry that I struggle to speak. Anything he wants. A dangerous agreement, but it's one I've already accepted.

"I will pay the cost to have you teach me. I don't know anyone else with shadow magic."

The Shade stares down at me, and I look into that impenetrable darkness under the cloak hood. He nods to me, nearly imperceptibly, and takes my left hand in his. "Your mother has tried to keep you safe, Maeve Arden, but to learn to use your magic, you must allow yourself to access it."

His fingers move to my mother's ring, and I immediately tense, terrified at the thought of him removing it. Not so much of him stealing it since there's no reason that someone as powerful as the Shade would have any use for a cheap bit of silver. No, the thought of it leaving my hand is difficult for me to accept. I've worn it so long, and I never take it off.

The way he holds my hand so gently reassures me, though. I know I have no reason to trust the Shade. There are no stories of his kindness, only his cruelness. Yet, that touch feels like something I can trust. Unlike with Cole, everything in me wants to trust the Shade.

He gently removes my mother's ring, and though I feel nearly naked without it on, that storm that's been raging inside me feels like the stopper on the bottle has been opened. "Now, attempt to create shadows. Lift your hand and see the power flowing in your veins leave your body, just as you've imagined me. Your magic will flow like oil, clinging to any surface it touches."

I look down at my hand covered in silver moonlight, and as I focus on the throbbing inside me, there's a strange flickering on my palm, like the moonlight flashes in and out of existence. The darkness that appears and disappears doesn't hide me, and it doesn't last long at all, but something is happening. I have to strain, but it's working. I'm creating shadows.

I look up at the Shade and say, "Is it supposed to be this hard?"

The Shade steps back, bowing his head and speaking slowly. He looks almost reverent, a servant rather than the most feared and prayed to being in all of Nyth.

"It is different for everyone. Your situation is unique. Your mother effectively cut you off from your magic for your entire life while most Wyrdling children discover their magic by the time they're talking. There's no telling how that has affected you and your ability to tap into the streams of power that flow through that hidden bloodline."

I nod, accepting the possibility. It's still more than I had ever imagined. The Shade says, "This is the first lesson. Practice it. Nothing else can be done safely until you can call shadows into being at will. Do not attempt to use your powers in any other way."

"I won't," I say, pushing the power through my hand again and watching the flicker of shadows appear and disappear.

"Now, for my payment," he says.

Saying nothing, I take a deep breath and put my hand out, palm up, to show him the previous mark on my wrist.

He takes my hand and, ever so gently, presses his nail against my wrist. There's a sting of pain, and then it's gone. When he pulls his hand away, a second tally mark lies next to the first. "Thank you," I say to him as he lets my hand go. "Thank you for teaching me."

"You bought that lesson, Maeve. There is no reason to thank me."

He turns around to leave, but I catch his hand. The Shade recoils, immediately pulling away, and I let him go. I'd forgotten that in the world of the Fae, people aren't… kind.

"You didn't have to come the first time, and you didn't have to come this time. Thank you. I don't think there's another person who could have helped me with either of my requests."

The Shade pauses for a moment and bows his head slightly, every movement measured and purposeful. "You are… important, Maeve Arden. Your debts are valuable. Here's a piece of advice for free. Wear your mother's ring. There is a reason she left it with you. Until you are sure you are safe or very powerful, do not leave it off for long. That's how the sand harpies found you before."

I nod to him. He turns around, and as he takes a step, it's like he vanishes, pulled into the shadows at his feet. That's when it hits me. How did he know about the harpies? How did he know about my mother or my mother's ring?

More and more questions. I look down at the ring in my hand. A simple thing. Is this really what has kept me safe all these years? That's when I remember it had fallen off before I touched Hazel. Before everything went terribly wrong.

I feel that power flowing inside me, desperate for release, and when I push it out of my palm this time, the shadows last for just a moment longer before the silver moonlight reappears on my hand. I smile. Maybe my vision of the world is shattered, but I'm making shadows right now. They're nothing compared to what Cole or the harpies could do, but they're more than I ever expected when I thought I was human. And I can get better.

Just like with fighting, I'm going to get stronger. I'm going to fulfill my promise to Hazel. One step at a time. One insanely difficult task at a time, I'm going to step up and become something more than I was.