Fionn laughed as he flexed a wiry arm and patted his bicep. “We may have magic, but we still need to work out to look this good,” he said with a wink, his brogue much thicker than Ciaran’s.
Well, that explained all the muscles. My mind flickered to an image of Ciaran, the night I came here, dripping wet and half naked, muscles on muscles gleaming in the dim light of his apartment. I shook my head to clear the image.Get it together, Seraphina.Fionn was smirking at me, and I could feel colour rising in my cheeks.
“We like to train physically as well as magically,” Ciaran intercepted. “We all find it helps us, in various ways.”
I nodded. I understood. Dance had always been that for me; my mind would go quiet when I was dancing. The extensive training and rehearsals always made me feel better—clearer.
“And those?” I gestured to the table full of instruments and crystals.
“Magical instruments,” Rory said, low and deep. “Any and all of these can be used as a conduit for your magic. We’ll get more into it when we start your lesson.”
“And why are we so convinced that I’ll be able to do any of this?” I asked. It didn’t seem possible—to channel whatever power I had within me into objects or spells or anything. Andyet, I had seen Ciaran do spells. I had felt the power rise in me when I sang in the opera house that night. I had slid through the mirror like it had been made of butter.
“You’ll be able to do it.” Ciaran said, “but it may take time, and a lot of training, to be able to wield your power reliably in a controlled way. So far it has just come out in bursts when you were in danger. We’re here to help you use it in an intentional way.”
“And what if I don’t want to? What if I’m happy to just live in blissful ignorance and never use my magic until the day I die? What if I just want to go back home and pretend that nothing happened?” It was a long shot, but I threw the idea out there.
Rory exchanged a dark look with Ciaran. “You won’t be able to do that,” he said softly, “I’m sorry.” He grabbed a rolled-up newspaper that had been sitting on the table with the instruments and handed it to me. “This came down from Lutesse today.”
I unfurled the paper. TheLutesse Herald. The same paper I had seen Ciaran’s face in all those days ago. On the front page, staring back at me, was my own face this time. “Wanted: For Witchcraft and Murder.” It shouldn’t have been a surprise. I knew as much when they put me in handcuffs that night. But it was a shock to see it in print, right in front of my face.
Dallier has been declared a Heretic and Witch by the Church of Scion, accused of killing three people in the Saturday evening Chandelier Disaster at the Lutesse City Opera. She has no living relatives, and her friends were not available for comment. New owner of the Lutesse City Opera and prominent Scion Deacon, Viscount Erik de Barras, said that he always knew there was something strange about the woman, who is known to have been courting the viscount’s sonand heir, Seff de Barras. Dallier was last seen in Scion custody in the opera house before she disappeared. Scion authorities suspect she may have been aided by other heretics, possibly known terrorist Ciaran Fahy. If you see Dallier, please contact the authorities immediately and stay away. She is extremely dangerous.
I blinked away tears. There was no way to deny it now. I could not go back.
“Fuck,” I swore after several long moments of pointed silence. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, hoping no one had noticed.
Ciaran placed a warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I know it hurts. Believe me, I know better than anyone. But it is not the end of the world. You made it out alive. You are here now. Train with us—work with us, to take the city back from Scion.”
“What do you mean? Take the city back from Scion? Are you insane?” I hissed. “The last time anyone tried to challenge Scion’s power, it ended in a war across the entire continent.”
“True,” Ciaran agreed, “but no, we are not insane. We all fought Scion before, in the war.” His voice was grim; I was flabbergasted. I hadn’t known that Ciaran had fought for the resistance. In all our talks of Scion and the war—of my father’s death—he had never mentioned it. “And we have all since been exiled by their backwards and nonsensical laws. We do not intend to live out the rest of our days cowering underground. We will take Lutesse back. And Erinn after that.” His voice, still low and quiet, was stronger. Determined.
“You all fought for the resistance?” I don’t know why I was so shocked. Most men their age had fought for one side or the other. Seff was one of the few men I knew who hadn’t, citing a hereditary condition of the heart as a reason he was not fit toserve in Scion’s brutal military units. Perhaps his father’s money and influence had been the real reason he’d been able to dodge serving.
“Yes. We fought before, and we will fight again, for the freedom of our people—all people,” Rory chimed in. What kinds of horrors had these men seen already? I knew what had happened to Ciaran’s mother, but clearly he had seen many more horrors since. I couldn’t help but feel bolstered by their bravery. They had been through so much, but here they were, joking together, laughing, making plans for the future. If they could do it, then maybe so could I.
Rory wasthe scholar of the bunch, and he took my formal education in magic very seriously. He had me sitting at that table full of instruments with a notebook and pen while he began to lecture me about the history and technicalities of magic.
“There are four types of magic that can be wielded by those who come from a magical bloodline. The first two being the most common, and the second two being extremely rare,” he began once I was seated. Fionn and Ciaran scurried off to the back of the room and started to do some weight training while Rory spoke. I tried not to get distracted.
“The first is elemental magic. Magic is everywhere—on everything. It’s like wild yeast that can be alchemized to make sourdough.”
I snorted at Rory’s metaphor. He wasn’t native Lutessian, but he’d apparently picked up the local love of bread if he was using that as a form of explanation.
“Magic is in all of the elements. Earth, air, water, fire, shadow, blood—everything. Magic wielders have the ability tochannel that magic in a few ways: through a conduit object such as a crystal, through an art form, such as your singing, or, if it is a particularly powerful person, they themselves can act as the conduit.”
I scribbled notes down ferociously as he spoke in that low, even cadence.
“Elemental magic is like sourdough. Got it.” I smiled, looking up from my notes, ready for the next part of the lesson.
“The second is through spells which are depicted with runes. These particular words, represented in the runes or spoken in the sacred language, can channel one’s magic. For example, Elena’s sleeve of tattoos features runes that she can use to conjure, cast spells, and so forth.” Well, that answeredthatquestion. And once again, Seff had been correct, if extremely misguided, that day when we saw Elena walking through the streets of Lutesse. “The runes, written in our sacred language, help shape and guide the magic, to make it able to do things that it wouldn’t otherwise be able to using raw elemental magic. Think of it as a more finessed way of channelling. The difference between telling a story using pictures and telling a story with written words. The runes are easy to learn but difficult to control. It takes skill and training to use this form of magic,” Rory explained.
“Runic magic—is tougher,” I scrawled next to my notes. “Okay. What’s next?”
“The third type of magic is very rare. It is a magic of the mind. With this type of magic, the wielder has the ability to tap into the minds of those around them. They can make you do their bidding. They can even take control of another wielder’s magic. It is a morally repugnant thing to do, and it is strictly prohibited here, Beneath Lutesse. However, there are those in the wider world who practise a darker form of magic, and so it is prudentfor you to be aware that it exists.” Something in my gut twisted as he described this form of magic. I wrote it all down.
“Mind magic—is bad news,” I said as I scribbled.
