Chapter 15

Ihadn't planned on following Bexley.

Hadn't planned on sneaking through the palace's once-sumptuous halls after the thin, furtive mage, questions boiling over inside my head, emotions bursting my heart.

"I know you're there, Anaria. Despite your name, you make a terrible thief, young lady."

My lips quirked. "Blame Solok. He's the one who named me."

"Oh, I do blame him. For a great many things." His thin shoulders sank. "What do you want that you couldn't ask me in front of the others?"

"I know you are a member of the Vanguard Conclave. What's left of it, anyway. I don't know how this witch blood thing works, but I wondered…" I twisted my hands together, nerves flaring. "I need to know…Is my magic a mix of Fae and witch magic, or is it one or the other?"

"There are some…tests I could conduct to determine how much witch magic you possess. This has to do with Corvus, I assume?"

"If witch magic works against him, then I would be wise to strengthen that aspect of my magic, no?"

I swore the hallway darkened around us, a chill creeping up my arms, and when I looked down, shadows danced around my fingertips.

"You wish for me to take you on as an apprentice?"

"Yes, that is what I'm asking. Could you train me to use my witch magic—assuming I have some—so I can leverage that when we face Corvus?"

My hands twisted together, palms slick with sweat. I needed Bexley to say yes. Needed to know I had an edge when it came to this fight. Something that would make me feel not quite so outmatched.

"Firstly, witchlings begin their training as soon as they can walk, and secondly, I am not a good teacher."

"Well, that's a relief because I can't promise to be a good student." My smile faded when he didn't laugh. "Please, Bexley. I've never had anyone teach me how to use my magic, so I'm more of a battle-axe than a rapier, if that makes sense. You need to teach me some basics, help me learn some control, is all."

"That is not all," Bexley snapped. "Control takes years. Centuries. You have had magic for all of…"

"Seven months, give or take." I winced at the horror on his face.

"An untrained, uninitiated half-blood possessing the strongest magic in a millennium. And you expect me to teach you the basics?" He looked me over, his gaze sharpening before he let loose a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, then, come along."

"Right now?" I squeaked in excitement. "We're starting now?"

"Would you prefer to wait another seven months?" Bexley sniffed. "Because from where I stand, we do not have that much time."

Training with Bexley was a bore.

I'd envisioned explosions and vicious hand-to-hand combat—well, given this was Bexley, maybe not vicious but still, I figured fighting would be part of tonight's lesson. It wasn't.

"Keep holding steady. I saw that flame flicker. You need to pay closer attention."

I licked my chapped lips, concentrating on the singular flame floating in the air before me, not the bead of sweat working its way down my spine.

It took an hour, but we'd managed to isolate a single thread of witch magic amongst my Fae power, colder and icier, barely enough to ignite a delicate flame.

Bexley was reclined on a rock in what used to be a garden, book balanced on one knee, a cup of steaming tea in one hand as he read by the light of the flame I'd conjured. Behind him, water roared over the edge of the cliff, crashing onto the rocks below with a fury that shook the ground around us.

A broken fountain stood in the center of the stone veranda, half swallowed by shadow.

A regal, rearing horse had once formed the central focal point, but both front legs were broken off, one of them lying in the stagnant pool in the bowl, a few dry leaves floating on the surface.

"Stop getting distracted." Bexley didn't so much as glance up. "Keep the flame steady, not so much as a waver, for five minutes, then you are done with your first lesson."

He kept his eyes on his book. "Witch magic has many different mutations. Potions and spells, of course, but it can be used to peer into people's memories, to divine the truth, even to stop time for those who practice."

"I can read people's memories? Like tell what they're thinking? And stop time?"

Now those skills would be fucking amazing. And useful.

"For someone who can't even hold her flame steady, I'd say you're getting ahead of yourself. Walk before you run, young lady."

I rolled my eyes and the top of the flame bent and wove like a drunkard.

Maybe he didn't notice. Maybe after this we'd move on to explosions and stopping fucking time and I could actually use my magic instead of acting like a glorified candle.

"Not that you asked, but I will offer you some advice. Mysthaven is too dangerous for you to visit. Even if the village has been abandoned and there isn't a single witch left. I don't advise it, Anaria."

"What if the weapon is there? The book mentions the village, and you practically admitted it's home to the Vanguard Conclave. If something that valuable still exists, it would make sense the leaders of a once-great coven would keep it close, right?"

"You said it's home to the Vanguard Conclave, Anaria, not me."

"Well, you didn't argue." The flame was waving like a flag in the wind now and Bexley's lips pursed in aggravation as I gave up altogether and the flame winked out. "When are we going to get to the exciting part of training? I have a lot of pent-up anger to expend, and this flame thing isn't doing it for me. How about you teach me to fight? Or read your mind?"

The mage set his tea aside and flipped the book closed. "All I wanted was five minutes to finish my chapter."

My mouth fell open. "You were using me like a glorified candle, weren't you?"

"What can I say?" He shrugged. "The life of an apprentice isn't meant to be glamorous, and I haven't had a moment of peace since you lot arrived. You disrupted a perfectly good exile."

"A bit of candlelight isn't going to beat Corvus." I climbed to my feet, knees popping. "We need that weapon. I need more magic." We need to figure out how not to die.

"You need to learn control," Bexley explained patiently. "This is how you learn. Practice. First with a flame, then a fire, then something larger. There are no shortcuts."

I slid him a sideways look. "There are always shortcuts, Bexley."

He sighed again, one of those long-suffering ones that made it sound like he'd been doing all the work. "Fine. Find that thread of magic. Got it? Now follow it all the way back to the source. This will feel like somewhere inside your ribcage, right here." He pointed to a spot below his heart. "Now give it a strong tug."

Now that I knew what I was looking for, I found the thread with no problems, like a vein of silvery mithirium gleaming in a bed of black granite.

The witch magic felt different, and even though it was as slender as a hair, there was strength there. I did what Bexley requested and I tugged.

Flames burst out of in a torrent, coating me, the ground, the stones. I grappled with that elusive thread of power, but like a rope slipping through my fingers, I couldn't grab ahold.

Flames grew, glowing against the walls of the palace, a beacon in the darkness, before Bexley, with the barest flick of a finger, doused them completely.

"There are no shortcuts. Learn to control the flame, practice on your own, then we'll graduate to something larger."