Page 42 of The Song of Sunrise (The Prentice Teller #1)
One is Deadly, Three Will Sting
“ B ending light rays to create an optical illusion is no small feat. Sun’chers, I want you all on this half of the room working on your myrage ,” Professor Gregorio instructs.
Every time I enter Elementation, something changes about the professor’s appearance.
This morning, he chose to braid his long beard that—to my everlasting delight—bounces as he speaks.
I glance to my side at Ramona, and with one look, we both spend the next few minutes suppressing giggles.
I missed sharing a room with Ramona. We always talk late into the night until one of us inevitably falls asleep, share a pot of bean brew, or just take turns sharing stories.
Our friendship is like the branches of a willow tree; it bends in heavy winds but never breaks.
“Yes! I’ve been wanting to attempt channeling a myrage !” Leo yells from the front of the classroom, snapping me back to focus. Only a few pink burns on his forehead remain from the fire monkey he faced in the first task.
“Let’s start with something small,” Professor Gregorio continues.
“Each of you will have a single flower. I want you to make it look like a bouquet. Moon’chers, you’ll be with Castor working on casting a moonglow charm on your eyes so you can see in pitch black spaces.
This is especially helpful when traveling with your battalions, night raids, and a myriad of other tactical reasons.
“Castor, take the students to the empty classroom conjoining mine. You will have twenty minutes to practice. I expect a ten page paper on the magical potential of myrage and moonglow as it relates to scouting enemy encampments along with a demonstration of your capabilities by next class.”
The class groans at the assignment, but then promptly splits in half to their respective sides to start practicing.
I stare at the flower before me and spin the practice ring on my pointer finger.
I close my eyes and focus. See the unseen.
Hear the notes of magic in the air. I let myself lean outward into the current surrounding me and attempt to grab hold of the golden threads of energy.
Carefully, I pluck one of the strings and pull it inward, harnessing the Source as my own.
The soft buzzing of magic flows against my consciousness, waiting to be directed.
Now I just have to channel the energy correctly.
Last week, we graduated from having to say the incantations aloud. Now we must internalize the spell, taking in the magic around us through our channeling stones and manipulate that power into our intended purpose.
Myrage is one of the most complicated ways to wield Sun’cher magic.
When done correctly, you can completely change your appearance, hide an army in plain sight, or even render yourself invisible.
Bending the light effectively can change almost everything we see, but it cannot erase the other senses.
The light purple petals of the lavender taper smaller at the top, the stem cool and soft to the touch.
I bring the sprig of lavender to my nose and smell the calming, earthy scent.
I close my eyes and picture a handful of lavender in my hands, how the weight would increase, the coloring vary, how the scent would intensify, the shadows and light multiply.
I exhale and think “ myrage ” while simultaneously picturing the full bouquet.
I let the magic from my channeling stone uncoil around the flower, shifting and swirling around the stem until the lightest of buzzing stops only a second later.
I open my eyes and look down.
“I did it!” I squeak, genuinely surprised by the large bouquet of lavender in my hands.
“Very good, Akemi!” Gregorio accolades, peering over my shoulder.
Other students giggle at my outburst, but I don’t care because I’m finally doing something right .
I haven’t been the first to master any of the channeling spells before now.
Maybe I am good at channeling a myrage because it’s essentially “pretending”?
As a Prentice Teller, pretending and storytelling is a necessary skill, lest I receive another lecture from Marrow for not being historically accurate enough or use the wrong timbre.
Or maybe it is because I have an easier time practicing a more mind-based approach?
Focusing on the intention of the spells inward rather than the physical incantation.
Leo’s twin sister, Lacerta, cranes her neck to get a better look at my bouquet, distracting my concentration. The myrage breaks as quickly as it was built, facade crumbling until I’m holding a single flower once more. Almost immediately, I feel my energy dissipate, like it’s swirling down a drain.
Damn. To think, third-stones syphon three times that amount of the source. I shudder.
Professor Gregorio notices and adds to the rest of the group, “This is why myrages are such an advanced spell to cast. You may succeed in casting the initial myrage , bending the light in ways that create the outcome you desire. However it takes almost double the energy to hold that spell in place. One distraction”—he snaps his hands for dramatic effect—“and your entire myrage falls.”
The corridors are pretty much empty as I work my way outside. I pull my leather corset tighter around my waist, the tightness alone keeping me together. I bite my lip and accidentally trip on a particularly uneven stone.
Goddess! Be aware of your surroundings, Akemi.
The air is frigid, sharp as glass against my skin, and I immediately regret not grabbing another layer.
My breath fogs in front of me as I tug my earmuffs down over my ears, trying to trap what little warmth I have left.
Frost crunches beneath my boots as I make my way across the clearing to where my team is waiting.
Selene stands with her arms wrapped around herself, her long, wavy black hair tousled by the wind.
Her battle leathers hug her slender frame, the dark material catching the pale winter light.
She’s stunning even half-frozen, her rich brown skin flushed slightly from the cold.
“Hey, Akemi,” she says through chattering teeth, rubbing her gloved hands together in a futile attempt to warm them.
Gryphon towers beside her, massive and unmoved, like the cold hasn’t even touched him.
His messy brown hair is already dusted with frost, and yet he stands relaxed, arms crossed over his broad chest, battle leathers straining across thick muscle.
If he’s cold, he doesn’t show it. His breath hangs in the air like steam from a furnace, steady and unbothered.
“I’m not sure we would have been prepared if it weren’t for you. ”
“Thanks,” I say, “but we still don’t know exactly what they are going to make us do.” My stomach sinks just thinking about how many more days other teams were practicing when we only had a couple nights.
Selene rolls her shoulders back, exuding confidence. “We can do this. If there is one thing I’m known for, it is not backing down from a challenge.”
We walk down the steps toward the amphitheater crater where the Presentation was hosted. Professor Novak is hastily instructing the champions to line up. Sure enough, all of the champions are clustered in teams.
Professor Novak hands us each a black strip of fabric.
Our team color, Terraguard black. Selene, Gryphon, and I knot them around our upper arms as other nearby groups do the same.
A red strap for the Jord, Forest Tribe team with green, River team with ivory, and the Human team with our traditional cobalt blue.
The crowd is eddied with excitement and bundled under blankets. Small fire orbs created by Sun’chers float at intervals, warming the onlookers. Sponsors once again are lined up at the end of the stadium, royal house colors matching that of their teams.
Even from this distance, I can sense him.
The Terraguard Underworld Lord.
Atlys.
From his height, to his posture, to his casual air of confidence, I know exactly where he is, like a set of magnets pulling together into a magnetic field.
Atlys is the tallest figure in a tailored black coat, not bothering to wear armor like the rest of the sponsors.
The tattoos on his neck swirl like smoke from above the collar of his shirt.
Even the way he bends to fill his goblet with a dark red wine somehow drips with decadence and lethal precision.
A gust of wind slices through the crater, and I shiver. At that exact moment, Atlys turns and looks directly at me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to how startling those silver eyes are.
Stay warm, my Sunrise.
Stop reading my thoughts , I chide, though I’m immensely grateful for the warmth laced in foreign source magic that washes over me.
Did he just use his magic to make me warmer? My shoulders roll back, loosening some of the tension.
Atlys looks to Damaris and Cadex, likely speaking directly into their minds.
After a second, I see Selene sigh with relief and Gryphon’s fingers unclench.
Damaris and Cadex are likely giving their champions a magical blanket of warmth.
Technically, no channeling stones are allowed to the champions during the Summit, but there aren’t any rules caging the sponsor magic.
However, it’s considered bad enough taste that they withhold—at least outwardly—from using their magic to benefit their champions.
“Let’s get this started already,” Sabra snaps, her voice slicing through the cold like a blade.
She doesn’t bother to hide her irritation as she barks at the rest of her Jord team, pitch-black eyes flashing with contempt.
Every inch of her lithe frame radiates impatience, her black-and-red hair whipping in the wind like a warning.
Sabra was chosen by the Jord Court, of course.
Like calls to like. Cold, ruthless, and quick to strike.