Page 41

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“ C oncentrate!” Jocasta snaps.

“I am concentrating,” I growl back.

Across the sand, the others are sparring.

Isera and Alistair against Draven, Galen, and Lyra.

The three dragon shifters are a sight to behold.

They fight together so effortlessly that it almost looks as if it was scripted beforehand.

Light from the tall windows glint against their swords as they move in perfect synchronization, always anticipating each other’s moves and backing each other up without the need to speak.

Draven’s storm magic crackles around him, the lightning illuminating the already bright stone room as it cleaves the air.

On the other side of the rectangular room, Isera and Alistair are trying to push them back. While not nearly as synchronized as their opponents, they have figured out how to work together enough to not hinder each other at least.

It would be an incredibly interesting battle to watch, if I wasn’t already busy failing my own training quite spectacularly.

“If you were concentrating, you would be creating emotions right now,” Jocasta snipes back at me.

Letting my magic fade out again, I shoot her a frustrated look. “It has nothing to do with concentration. I just can’t do it!”

She forces out a breath and rakes her fingers through her long white hair in exasperation. Letting her arms drop back down again, she straightens her spine and pins me with a hard stare. “Yes, you can. We have the same magic, and I can do it.”

“Well, apparently I’m different.”

“That’s just an excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse!”

“You’re just not trying hard enough!”

“I am trying!”

“Listen to me,” she snaps, her own frustration boiling over. Throwing out her arm, she stabs a hand towards where our three dragon shifters are fighting. “Apart from Galen and Lyra, who have no magic at all, you are the weak link in this team.”

Her words hit something deep inside me. So deep that I stagger a step back.

My anger and frustration evaporate as a rolling nausea takes their place.

I hate failing. All my life, just the thought of not being able to live up to people’s expectations of me has made me almost physically ill.

And I can barely breathe through the disappointment that I can feel radiating from Jocasta.

But it’s more than that.

That twisting pit in my stomach isn’t just because of my constant need to be liked and accepted. It’s also because I know that she’s right.

“Draven has storm magic and wings,” Jocasta continues, her voice still hard.

“Even without his full dragon form, he is still the literal embodiment of his nickname. The Shadow of Death.” She flicks her wrist in Alistair and Isera’s direction.

“Alistair has fire magic. Incredibly powerful fire magic, at that. He has the most destructive power out of all of you. And Isera has ice magic. Perfect for both attacking and defending. The ultimate battle magic.” She blows out a harsh breath as she turns back to me. “And then there is you .”

My chest tightens uncomfortably, and I try to swallow down that sickening feeling in my stomach.

“If I had your raw power, I would be one of the most dangerous people in this city.” She shakes her head at me, but the hard edge to her voice is gone.

Replaced instead by bewildered frustration.

“But despite all the power you possess, you are severely limited by the fact that you can’t create emotions from nothing.

” A hint of desperation bleeds into her voice.

“So you need to figure this out. You need to try harder.”

I am trying , I want to snap at her again.

But I swallow down the petulant outburst. We’ve been at this for four days now.

After the first game, she sat us all down at the kitchen table in her faction house and went through our performance.

Overall, she was satisfied. Especially with Isera and the show she put on.

She even commended the show I put on when I made the Yellow Faction’s team leader crawl to me and hand over the key.

But she also identified our weaknesses, which were Lyra and Galen’s lack of magic. And me.

I already knew that, of course, since I was thinking the same thing during my battles with the other factions.

So I threw myself into the training. Jocasta has been working one-on-one with me every day this week, and while I’ve made progress with my ability to share emotions, I still haven’t figured out how to create them.

Swallowing down the hurt inside me, I give Jocasta a nod in acknowledgement of her statement.

She blows out a short sigh and nods back. “Alright, then let’s try again.”

Straightening my spine, I draw in a steadying breath and then summon my magic once more. For these training sessions, I usually use joy as the emotion I’m trying to create, since I know that Jocasta doesn’t already feel it due to all the frustration she harbors instead.

“Now, visualize the emotion like we talked about,” she says. “Then just move it towards me and put the emotion in my chest.” Lifting a hand, she taps it against her chest. “Right here.”

In my mind, I can see that warm yellow spark of joy right in front of me.

It’s a different shade than the yellow spark of panic.

That one is cold and bright in a harsh way while the flame of joy is a warm yellow tone, like summer flowers, with a slight sparkle to it.

It’s one of the more beautiful emotions to visualize.

I keep it there in my mind’s eye, the small flame burning steadily, while I brace myself. Then I start moving it towards Jocasta’s chest.

My magic immediately balks.

That warm and sparkly yellow flame is snuffed out in a flash, as if someone slapped a gigantic hand down over it.

A snarl of frustration comes from deep within my throat.

Forcing out a calming breath, I try again.

I visualize a burning flame of warm yellow joy. Every muscle in my body tenses as I start moving it towards Jocasta again. It recoils violently, as if hitting an invisible wall, and then disappears in a flash again.

“It doesn’t work!” I snap, frustration crackling through me like lightning. “As soon as I try to move it, it disappears. Every. Fucking. Time.”

Jocasta opens her mouth to no doubt scold me again but then stops. A considering look blows across her face.

Outside the windows, the golden afternoon sunlight hits the rooftops.

It makes the red tiles look like they have been dipped in gold.

People stroll up and down the rows of stalls down there in the market square, their voices a soft murmur that drifts in through the open window.

A warm breeze slips in, washing over my heated cheeks. I wipe a bead of sweat from my neck.

“Maybe we’re going about this wrong,” Jocasta finally says.

Her pink and gold eyes have turned pensive as she studies me.

“I see my magic as a shifting ball of water, so I just place it in people’s chests.

But you see it as a flame.” She taps her chin in consideration for a few seconds and then cocks her head.

“What if, instead of moving the flame to my chest, you tried to simply light that flame in my chest straight away. So you don’t have to move it. ”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, and a burst of hope flickers in my soul. Maybe I’m not a useless failure after all. Maybe we have just been using the wrong method.

Blowing out a breath, I straighten my spine and call up my magic again. Then I try to make a flame of joy spark to life straight in Jocasta’s chest.

It doesn’t work.

I grind my teeth.

Concentrating hard, I try to force that warm yellow flame into existence.

My magic doesn’t stir. Doesn’t move at all.

It just sits there inside me, waiting for me to do something with it.

I flex my hand and try to light a flame in Jocasta’s chest again, but I can’t even see it in my mind’s eye when I try that.

And my magic just keeps flowing inside me, waiting for me to use it.

“Mabona’s fucking tits,” I growl under my breath, and release the grip on my magic.

Jocasta sighs and arches an eyebrow. “Doesn’t work?”

“No. It’s even worse than when I try to move it. Nothing happens at all when I try it this way.”

She nods, looking more resigned than angry at the news. “Then I was right from the beginning. You need to do it the proper way and move it from the magic inside you to someone else. I’m not surprised. It’s how our magic always works. It always starts inside ourselves.”

“Then I really am a useless failure after all.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Embarrassed, I run a hand over my face and turn away. Walking over to the windowsill, I sit down and try to get my head back on straight.

Across the room, my friends are still sparring. Fire and ice rush through the air, met by storm winds and lightning across the sand. Weapons wielded with perfect precision gleam in the golden afternoon light. Perfect magic. Perfect sword skills. And then there is me.

Raking both hands through my hair, I tilt my head back and stare up at the pale stone ceiling above to hide the tears that suddenly press against my eyes.

I hate feeling like this. I hate failing. I don’t want to be the weak link. I don’t want to be a burden. I want to show the whole world that they were wrong about me. That they should have trusted me. That I can be an asset.

“Look, kid,” Jocasta says, her voice now much softer than before. A thin trail of stone dust trickles down from the windowsill as she sits down next to me. “In all honesty, you’re actually pretty good.”

I scoff in disbelief.

She gives me a mock glare. “Hey, don’t scoff at your elders.”

“ Elders ,” I echo with a chuckle while shaking my head. Turning my head slightly, I peer at her. “How old are you even?”

“Six hundred and forty-three.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously?”

She dramatically sweeps her perfect hair off her shoulder in a theatrical move. “I know.”

A surprised laugh escapes my chest.

She smiles as well. Then her eyes turn serious once more. “What I’m trying to say is, I not only have centuries more practice than you, I also had something even more important.”

“Natural skill?” I quip, only half joking.

Rolling her eyes, she gives me a flat look. “A teacher .”

“Oh.”

“When I first manifested my magic, my parents sent me straight to a guy who also had emotion magic and who could teach me how to use it.”

“When I first manifested my magic, my parents started resenting me and then kicked me out of the house the moment they could.”

She turns fully to look at me, probably searching for signs that it was a joke. When she finds none, she lets out a low whistle under her breath. “Damn. Shitty parents.”

“Yeah.”

“My point is, I had someone to teach me how to use this magic properly and to its full extent from the very beginning. You have just been figuring it out on your own through trial and error.” She holds my gaze, as if she truly wants me to understand what she’s saying.

“You’re incredibly skilled at the things you can do.

It’s not your fault that you didn’t know about all the other things we’re able to do with this magic. Like create emotions from nothing.”

I swallow through the sudden thickness in my throat. Breaking eye contact, I stare down at the sand beneath my boots while I once again fight against the tears pressing against my eyes. But for a completely different reason, this time.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“You’re welcome, kid.”

We sit there in comfortable silence for another minute while I get my emotions back under control.

She’s right. There is so much I didn’t know about my magic, because I have been forced to figure it out on my own all this time.

And learning new skills takes time. Just like training with a sword for three weeks wouldn’t make me an expert warrior, I can’t expect to perfect new skills with my magic in just a few weeks either.

The only problem is that I have hit a wall with this particular skill.

With all the other techniques that Jocasta has been teaching me, like how to share emotions, I keep improving all the time.

But with this, creating emotions from nothing, I can never get past the stage where I’m supposed to move it from me to her.

It’s as if some invisible force is blocking it. And I don’t know what to do about it.

Jocasta draws in a breath and slaps her thighs. “But, I did also bet my entire fortune on this team winning the final game, so let’s get back to it.”

A small laugh escapes me, easing some of the tension that had started to build again. Pushing off from the windowsill, I stand up as well. “Yes, let’s get back to it.”

But as I once more start trying to move that warm yellow flame of joy from my chest to Jocasta’s, only for my magic to balk and be snuffed out every time, I can’t help but feel that this is never going to work.