Chapter Thirty-Four Rosemary

I hesitated on the threshold of the library, wondering if I really wanted to do this. Sinclair had invited me to train my magic, but he couldn't order me around, right? They were all still trying to pretend that we were on equal footing. The alphas were pretending to be nice. So if I decided I didn't want to learn magic, and went and hid in my room, nothing would happen.

I glanced at Bastian, who had escorted me all the way here and was patiently waiting for me to walk through the open double doors that led to my appointment. Like everything else in Fort Madder, the doors were sturdy and built to last, but unlike most of the architecture here, they were also beautiful. Intricately carved with little figures of people and animals and magical creatures. I pretended I was examining them as my mind raced, trying to decide whether or not to take this lesson with the spider-like alpha. I couldn't see him, but the much plainer door to the study room was standing open in invitation, and I knew he was in there.

I was afraid of him, but in truth it wasn't that which was making me hesitate.

My magic has never been a match for Ivan's raw power. As a child I'd been severely disappointed by my lack of ability, but the reason for my weakness had all been made clear once I was revealed. By that point, it had become the least of my worries. It was common knowledge in Lutin that omegas were the least magical people. I suspected that my countryfolk only knew that particular fact because it painted betas in such a good light. Betas were the strongest magic users, followed by alphas, and omegas were considered lucky if they could light a candle with their power.

However, I'd always wanted more than that. I wanted to know more than how to dust the shelves and extract stains from fabric. Maybe if I'd had real power, I could have removed my own shackle. I'd tried a few times, but only managed to burn myself. The final time I tried I'd been distraught and wasn't careful enough. I'd seared my flesh horribly. Luckily I'd left a jug of water nearby to cool the metal, but it still took weeks before the burn stopped weeping.

Wanting was not the same as having, and Ivan had told me more than once that there was no way to increase magical power. So what was the point? This was just another way for Sir Petrichor to try and coax me into bonding with them of my own free will.

No one since my mother, not even Ivan, had ever offered to teach me how to use my magic, so it was obvious that Sinclair was doing it with ulterior motives. He seemed so different from my sweet, open Cantor, or from the charming, gregarious Bastian. Even Lynter was stern, but not cold, and Carlile could be cutting but seemed to have no genuine malice. While Davos was… Well, actually Davos was the only other alpha in the pack I distrusted even more than Sinclair, but at least he seemed … Solvable. Knowable. Sinclair, on the other hand, was dark. His personality seemed to be made up of twisted shadows, of tricks upon tricks, and I was tired of being tricked.

So I hesitated and studied the doors with unseeing eyes.

"Do you like them?"

I jumped, even though Bastian had spoken quietly, in his ever-smooth, deep tone. I cleared my throat and whispered my answer, telling myself it was because this was a library, and people might be reading, and not because I didn't want Sinclair to know I had arrived.

"They're beautiful," I said and then my breath caught as I really looked at the little carved figures and realized what they were. Characters from fairy tales, and from some of my favorite adventure stories. Books read to me by my mother and by me to Ivan when I was a child, and then read over and over again as an adult chained to a wall. I spotted Kaley the Mushroom Fairy, and Brendon the Axe, as well as Sarah Goldsmith and her hawk friend. Zyle Rogue was also there, depicted at least twice as far as I could tell, as if he were the carver's favorite, as well as mine. Zyle had been the inspiration for my lockpicking, and although he was, at most, an anti-hero and trickster, he had felt like a friend when I had read Ivan's books over and over.

I turned to point him out to Bastian. "That's Zyle R-"

"Zyle Rogue, from Zyle and Den of Mischief," Sinclair said and I jumped out of my skin for the second time in as many wicks. How were these alphas so quiet and sneaky?

Sinclair's eyes crinkled, but he didn't smile. Instead he moved even closer and pointed out the other carving of Zyle I'd spotted, as well as one more on the other door.

"Zyle and Sapphire Port, and Zyle and the Mushroom Fairy," he said. Unable to help myself I peered closely at each carving. Zyle was easy to recognize, dressed exactly as he was in the book illustrations, but each scene was from a part of the novels that hadn't been illustrated. It was like discovering a whole new version of the story, and I drank it in.

"Who carved these?" I asked in a voice that was low and breathy from wonder. This time I didn't pretend to myself that it was because I was being respectful of readers. Perhaps I was being respectful of writers and artists.

No one answered me, and I glanced up, realizing that Bastian had left while I was still absorbed by the carvings. Sinclair looked almost… embarrassed?

He cleared his throat. "I did. Not… Not directly. I carved them with magic."

"Oh," I said. I knew my eyes were wide with surprise, and I was being rude, but I had no idea what to say. It wasn't that he had carved such beautiful, lifelike images. That was easy enough to imagine, since he seemed sharper and more capable than anyone else I had ever met.

It was that he had chosen to carve images from these stories. Stories that I had first heard as a child.

I had never seen Sinclair reading books. I had seen him propping up tomes . Massive histories and treatises on what I imagined to be solemn and stuffy subjects. Not fairytales. Not stories of clever, filthy-mouthed scoundrels.

"Zyle was always my favorite," he said, when I didn't comment further. "We have the full collection of his stories if you'd like to read it sometime."

I couldn't help it. Joy filled me so suddenly I knew my eyes lit up. To my shock, the alpha mage smiled at me, making his own face almost handsome. Alright, it was very handsome all the time, but a genuine smile burned away the icy demeanor that usually outweighed his good looks.

"You have the fourth book, really?" I gushed, unable to stop myself. "I've never read it. Ivan could never find it in our market town and…" I snapped my mouth shut. I was supposed to be seducing these men or, at the very least, controlling myself around them, not giving them more things to exploit.

Not that I would sell my freedom to read Zyle and the Kraken but… well, maybe I would, actually.

I really wanted to read it.

Sinclair's eyes were crinkling again, which seemed to be something that happened when he was suppressing a smile. I wished he wouldn't. I wanted to see it again.

"I won't point out that particular carving then, until you read it. I wouldn't want to spoil anything for you." He took a step back and suddenly his face had smoothed and all that cold calculation had returned to his gaze.

"Are you ready for your lesson?"

I hesitated, but really I had no choice. I was already at the end of day three. I needed to get as many of these alphas on my side as possible before the end of the ten days.

Lynter had trained with me earlier that afternoon and had presented me with my own sword and dagger, his cheeks flushing pink when I crowed over them. Cantor had been following me around like a puppy. He was always somewhere in the area when I searched for him. At one point, when Bastian whisked me into a tiny rose garden to share in a basket of snacks, I had looked around, wondering if Cantor had finally gotten bored, only to discover he was sitting in a nearby tree, just like the starling he named me, his chin cupped in his hand, contentedly watching us.

However, it wasn't enough. None of them had intervened when Davos tried to force me into a bond. None of them had lifted a finger to stop it. Maybe they couldn't, even if they wanted to. I didn't quite understand how their pack bond worked, but I was starting to suspect it was similar to the way they wanted to control me.

The only person I knew for sure would be able to stop Davos was Sinclair, because he already had. If I wanted him to stop it a second time, I needed to figure out what made him tick. Maybe he was only doing these lessons to trick me somehow, but two could play at that game.

So I squared my shoulders and walked into the library.

Or limped, anyway. Lynter seemed to like me a lot, but he certainly didn't show it on the training field.

Sinclair had retreated to the study and had already begun reading again- or, at least, pretending to- in the few moments I had spent out of his sight. His eyes were scouring the pages of a huge book quicker than I thought possible. They snapped to me as I approached and he sighed, a noise so weary I wanted to tell him it was OK, he could just go to bed.

I restrained the impulse and sat down instead, neither of us offering a word of greeting. He studied my face and I did my best not to break eye contact.

"What spells do you know so far, Sunberry?" he said after a moment.

"I can blow air and uh… suck it back. I can light candles. I can…" I flushed realizing how stupid my tiny list of spells must seem to him. But he just nodded, encouraging me to continue.

"I can remove liquids and stains from fabric, but that's a variation of the sucking spell."

"Were you taught that variation, or did you discover it on your own?" he interrupted.

"Um…" I frowned at him. ‘Discovered' made it sound much more impressive than it actually was to suck the vomit out of my father's shirt after he fell into a drunken sleep because I didn't want to wash the damn thing again. "I guess I discovered it. Oh, I also use the little fire spell to heat things, but it can take a long time because the flame is so small. Like… like the kettle. It's usually not worth it." I stutter a bit over that, not quite willing to talk about trying to melt my shackles with this cold, calculating alpha.

"That's very good," he said, surprising me. A small curl of warmth unfurled in my belly and I tried to ignore it. I hadn't expected him to offer any praise, especially considering how unimpressive I knew my spellcraft had to be to a mage of his caliber. He was obviously being effusive to get me to let my guard down.

"Innovation is essential in spellcraft," he continued. "There are only a few basic spells in the end, and what matters is the use and combination of those spells. The spells used are often more important than the power available to the mage. Especially now that we have so many spellstones available."

"I'm not very powerful," I said quietly. "I know it's because I'm an omega. I'm lucky I have any magic at all. Ivan has always been much more powerful than me. Really, you should be teaching him."

Sinclair shrugged. "Power is useful, but pointless without skill. A skilled, clever omega with less power than you seem to have could defeat Ivan if she wanted. I certainly could, and I imagine he has much more raw magic than I do."

I sucked in a breath. Of course, he was an alpha, so on average he should have less power than a beta, but I'd assumed he was a freak of nature, gifted beyond expectation. Was his reputation truly because of skill rather than the amount of magic he possessed?

I looked at my hands and wondered if he was right.

"So you seem to know a variation of ‘force', or ‘push/pull' as some call it. And ‘ignition'." His eyes crinkled at my look of confusion. "That's your ‘little fire' spell."

I nod slowly. My mother had been the one to teach me the only spells I knew, when I was still a child. She'd told me the spell for dusting was like blowing a tiny wind, but that never sounded right to me. To me it felt more like a finger shoving something away, just as the stain remover spell felt like I was using that same finger to draw something closer.

"The reason your flame is always small," Sinclair continued, "is likely because you don't use enough fuel. Fire must have something to feed it, like you would feed it wood in the fireplace. It must also have air to breathe, the same as a person."

He held up one of his hands, palm toward the ceiling, and a small, blue flame danced there. He used his other hand to cast the spell he had called ‘force' and directed a gentle stream of air onto the blue flame. It flickered, then flared brighter as the air hit it.

"What fuel is it using?" I asked, trying not to look impressed, but I knew my eyes were wide with wonder. It was a very pretty little flame and besides, I knew enough about magic to know that Sinclair had just revealed something incredible about himself. Hardly anyone could cast two simultaneous spells as he just did. Magic would usually only emerge from a single point on the body at a time. One reason spellstones were so popular was that they could combine spells, and only needed the user to push raw magic in to fuel both in combination.

"Oils on my skin, dust in the air… you can keep a tiny flame satisfied for quite a while with these and without needing to think of it at all. It's a very instinctual spell for anyone with magic."

He let the flame go out. "I would ask you to try it, Sunberry, but since we're in a library it's not the best spell for you to practice right now."

I glanced around and could see his point. Even in the small study room, we were surrounded by old, dry paper. It would be a tragedy if even a single one of these books went up in flames, and if I somehow managed to burn Zyle and the Kraken before I even got to read it I wouldn't ever forgive myself.

Even knowing it was a sensible decision, I felt a twinge of disappointment.

"I will teach you a third spell, however."

His large hand stretched over the table and gently grasped mine. It was much smoother than Cantor or Bastian's hands, although it still felt strong and just the touch of it seemed to spark something in the core of my being. His scent washed over me, almost overwhelming and… and good . I had liked it fine before, when it had reminded me of mushrooms, and hints of a forest floor, but it was suddenly the rich and lively smell that rose when it rained after a long, hot day. The smell of life. I breathed it in greedily, trying to hide my sudden deep gulps of air by ducking my head, as if I were shy. I didn't withdraw my arm, though.

For some reason, I just couldn't.

My skin there raised itself into goosebumps. I wasn't sure if it was fear, or something else entirely.

Luckily, Sinclair didn't seem to notice my revelation about his scent. He just kept on talking.

"Three basic spells will be enough for us to extend your abilities considerably," he said. "Red and yellow might only make orange, but add blue to the mix and you can suddenly access any color in the spectrum."

A small sound nearby brought me back to myself and I suddenly realized I was holding Sinclair's hand and staring into his eyes as if we were lovers. Blushing, I finally yanked my hand back and glanced at the other side of the room to figure out what had made the noise.

Carlile had dropped a book. He grinned at me, as he bent down to pick it up, and winked.

I blushed harder. I was a mess. I was not going to get out of this without being bonded to this pack and I was going to deserve it, if I didn't start making better decisions.

"The base spell I will teach you," Sinclair continued smoothly, as if nothing had happened, "is known as ‘transform'. It can be very powerful, but it is extremely tricky to use, so please," and here he shot a glare at Carlile, "pay attention."