Page 36

Like much of the townhouse, the training hall was one of those rooms that used to be something else—re-purposed and quickly, as if someone had been trying to paper over their old life.

Once an opulent ballroom, the two-level atrium spanned nearly half the ground floor and first basement level.

A grand staircase curled through the center, spilling down to what had once been an expansive dance floor, polished smooth by gliding feet and twirling waltzes.

Now, it emptied into a sunken pit of sand, scarred by sparring matches and gouged by magic.

The tall arched windows, once dressed in velvet, were now shielded by blackout panels—functional, seamless, and cold against the gilded frames. Where rare pieces of art and lavish tapestries once hung, mirrored panels lined the walls, enchanted to project holographic adversaries.

In front of one of those mirrors, her brow furrowed in concentration, Aimee pulled and shaped the water whirling restlessly between her cupped palms. Behind her, chandeliers glittered, their light bouncing off the glass.

This place had been built for glamour, not sweat and bruises. Yet here they both were.

The water in her hands gurgled and hissed—a soothing sound, a sign that the magic was content with her handling and ready to be formed. She rotated her palms around the blue orb, feeling the weight of it, the pull, as she coaxed it outward into a swirling, shimmering arc.

A water whip—one of the most basic spells. After months of practice, she could form it effortlessly.

This was her ritual. This room, this space in her day, this practice. When everything else in her life wouldn’t stop sliding, this was her one steady breath.

She couldn’t go home. Probably never would again. It was only a matter of time before the shades found their way into the city. And even if, by some miracle, they didn’t, there was still her new cousin—the time mage. Her existence alone was enough to mark them all for ruin.

But she didn’t allow those thoughts here, not in these rare, stolen moments of peace. This was her time to settle, to find her footing before the day began.

Aimee checked her stance in the mirror. Barefoot, dressed in loose slacks, she waited for the holographic target to appear—a simple glowing ring projected against the mirrored surface.

She shifted her grip on the whip—and struck.

A wet slap . Water splattered against the glass. The target went from green to red, and Aimee watched crestfallen as the spell collapsed.

Weeks of practice and her water whips still just dissolved the moment they hit anything solid. She still wouldn’t be able to kill that harpy.

Water dripped down the mirror, pooling on the marble. Mocking her.

Aimee growled and stamped her foot. What was she doing wrong ?

“You’re holding your breath,” a voice said from above.

Along the mezzanine, Talya leaned against the carved wooden railing.

Still not Cori. Aimee had been looking for days, and maybe, sure , there were echoes—the braid of yellow hair, the clear gray eyes, the dimples when she smiled.

But that didn’t make her Cori. Just a paltry facsimile pretending to fit the shape she’d left behind.

Even the way she stood—hips tilted, tunic tucked just so, that easy grin—looked rehearsed. Like she’d studied Cori in still frames and decided to wear her like a costume.

It was rude, quite frankly, dredging up old ghosts. Aimee hated her. And smiled even more brightly because of it.

“Thank you, Talya, but I don’t need your commentary.”

But the bitch went on, “You’re holding your breath like you’re the one about to get hit. Breathe out as you throw. Might help with the… splash radius.”

Aimee flicked stray droplets of water from her jewel-blue tunic. “And here I thought you were off learning time magic. I didn’t realize you’d mastered water magic too. What’s next, earth and fire? Should I start taking notes?”

“It’s not about the element. It’s your stance. It’s throwing everything off.” Talya shrugged, maddeningly casual. “I could help you.”

For a blink, Aimee just stared.

Help. From Talya .

Why… Why would she offer that? What was her angle? A bit of gracious condescension? A performance of generosity now that she’d gotten the boy, the name, the welcome-back parade?

A little mercy prize, handed out from the high ground.

Aimee laughed, sharp-edged. “Let’s get one thing straight: there’s no world where I will ever need your help. Unless, of course, I suddenly develop a craving for unsolicited mediocrity.”

Aimee expected her to rise to the bait, but Talya only shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And just like that, she was gone, disappearing back onto the upper floor.

Aimee blinked, thrown when the familiar clash of words fizzled before it even began. Since when did Talya back down from a fight?

She shook herself and turned back to the mirror. Perhaps a year with the Queen had finally knocked her down a peg. Showed her that she wasn’t always the smartest person in the room. Wouldn’t that be a miracle…

She lifted her hands. Drew a breath, preparing to start again . A dot of water formed between her palms, shivering. It felt good. Full of restless potential. All she needed to do now was—

A deafening explosion of noise tore through the old audio system, speakers crackling from disuse.

“ AHHH! ” Aimee wailed, clutching her ears.

The sound swelled, reverberating off the marble and mirrored walls. The chandeliers tinkled.

“Talya!” Aimee screamed, but there was no answer.

With a frustrated growl, she abandoned the mirror and marched up the stairs.

The mezzanine level sprawled into a variety of different training areas. There was a forest climbing wall, cabinets packed with wands and other magical weapons, also a platform for dueling, all arranged beneath a vaulted glass canopy speckled with morning rain.

Talya was in the far corner, surrounded by weights and other strange metal contraptions. A low, thumping growl vibrated up through the floor.

“Talya!”

No answer.

Aimee stormed over and snarled, “ Hey !”

That got her attention. Talya clicked a remote, cutting the volume to a dull hum. She stood inside a kind of metal cage—four vertical steel posts framing a hanging metal bar, already half-loaded with weights.

Aimee had avoided this section of the training hall so far. She stopped outside the perimeter, not wanting to stub her toe on any of the array of unfamiliar machinery scattered about. Every surface flickered with crystals. She had no idea what any of it did.

“What?” Talya asked.

“What?” Aimee echoed, incredulous. “ What is that?! ” She waved at the speakers mounted to the ceiling. Even muted, the sound coming out of them was pure aggression.

Talya grinned. “It’s rock n roll. Human music.”

Well. That explained why the words were all gibberish. And the thumping, rabid bass line. Aimee had suffered through her mother’s records as a child. She wasn’t a fan.

“Can you turn it down?” she asked with the same sweetness she used on those old biddies at court.

Talya’s grin widened. “Say, please.”

Aimee stared, eyes simmering. “ Please ,” she said flatly.

“No.” Talya clicked the remote.

The music screeched—a wailing guitar riff so loud it rattled her molars. Aimee frantically motioned to turn it back down, shrieking over the din, “ What is wrong with your ears?! ”

Fey had sensitive hearing. Shadow mages were especially susceptible to high-pitched, unpleasant sounds. As were water mages whose sanity was barely holding on by a thread.

“ Turn it off, Talya! TALYA!”

With an irritated sigh, Talya clicked the remote again.

The silence rang .

Aimee pressed her fingers to her temples. “I thought you were supposed to have Earthlung. Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, resting?”

Talya raised the mouthpiece of the airbalm to her lips. A soft click. A flash of violet. She inhaled, slow and steady.

“It’s been two days,” she said, a thin wisp of medicine curling from her lips. “I’m rested.”

Aimee resisted the urge to throw a water whip at her stupid, smug face. “Well, can you take your miraculous recovery elsewhere? Please?”

Talya didn’t move. “Aimee, I don’t know how to explain this to you, but this is my time.”

No .

No, this nuisance didn’t understand.

Aimee folded her arms. “Listen here, you—” She was going to say spiteful bitch, but caught herself. “— you .”

Nice save.

“This is not your time,” she said carefully. “This is my time. I’ve been coming here every morning for weeks.”

And she needed it—this time, this quiet. She needed the routine.

The routine was her sanctuary, a methodical step-by-step guide through her day that provided structure and kept despair from taking hold.

“I’ve been coming here since I was ten,” Talya countered. “That gives me seniority.”

Anger flared, hot and sharp. That’s how it always was with Talya, wasn’t it? She didn’t ask. She never needed to. Everyone just… made way, like she was owed the space.

Aimee stepped forward, chin lifted. “You might want to check your birth order before throwing around words like seniority, cousin .”

The word landed heavy. Not an olive branch—ammunition.

“But that’s okay,” Aimee went on. “You’re new to the family. No one told you how the hierarchy works. The music stays off . Don’t make me say it again.”

She smiled—sweet, polished, and full of poison—then turned on her heel to go.

She’d barely made it halfway to the stairs when the music clicked back on.

A growl ripped out of her. She’d warned her.

Aimee raised her hand. Focused. Her magic surged, gathering at her fingertips like the pull before a wave breaks.

With a flick of her wrist, water stretched upward in a whisper-thin line, fast and surgical. It struck the speaker dead center.

The result was instant.

The speaker shrieked. Sparks jumped from the grille. A burst of static cracked the air.

Aimee watched the damage bloom, then turned to find Talya’s gaze.

“ Oops .”

Talya only lifted a brow.