Chapter six
The Dance of the Incantrix
Adriana
Magic took its toll on its wielders, exercising the mind and body all at once. Using too much could cause a Daemon to collapse in exhaustion. Not releasing it enough could cause the power to build and build until it became too much and drove them mad.
As Adriana stood by the lake, sweat dripping from her brow and her muscles aching from the long hours of practising controlling her powers, she could feel the weariness trickle in. Striga had been ruthless in her lessons, making Adriana train every day for the past couple of weeks from the crack of dawn until the sun had set. And then during the night she spent hours reading through Striga’s books about the origins of Daemons and how to control one’s powers.
She needed to gain strength in her control. She knew that without her help, the Courts would not be able to fight off Caligo’s creations. But the heavy weight of pressure that fell upon her shoulders was only causing her stress rather than boosting her confidence in herself, leaving her feeling defeated before she’d even begun each lesson.
She was an emotional person, she knew that, and whilst Striga continuously told her that would be her greatest asset, Adriana felt it only dragged her away from succeeding control over her powers. Her self-doubt clouded her ability to truly connect with her feelings and the magic that flowed within her. And Xander’s prying, judging stare was not helping.
He always came by to watch her. He didn’t stay for long, and he arrived at different times each day, but he always made a point to watch her progress, or lack of it.
Adriana frowned at the thought of him, the man seemed to have a skill in turning up at the worst moments of training, always appearing when she was lacking control even more so than usual. Or perhaps it was Xander himself that diminished any sense of control. Either way, she hated him being around, and she hated that he had such an effect on her.
“Again, Adriana!” Striga shouted from the bench where she sat, a few feet from where Adriana stood.
They had been working on her ability to control the water in the lake, something Adriana thought she had mastered long ago. Apparently not well enough, according to Striga.
She sighed as she held her hands over the edge of the lake again, concentrating on the natural waves in the water, the ripples that appeared from the small creatures that inhabited it. She tried to feel connected to it, tried to be at one with the water, the way that Striga had taught her.
As she lifted her arms, two streams of water rose from the lake, stretching up and curving inwards to create an archway of sorts.Adriana smiled as she watched them twist and entangle with one another, the way vines wrap around a fence.
She tried to hold it, to continue adding strength to it, but she was so tired. Her arms dropped. The water fell back to the lake, splashing the front of her dress. She’d failed. Again.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, head hung low in shame of her weakness. “I can try again, but I cannot hold it. I cannot concentrate for long enough, it is too tiring.”
Striga hummed, her face blank as she stared at the lake. Adriana knew shecouldbe powerful, she’d shown great strength in her magic over the years, but only in moments of need when all else failed her. Control was not as easy to obtain as the use of magic for defence.
“My Adria, come here.” Striga patted the space next to her on the bench. Adriana wandered over, sitting down heavily with exhaustion, avoiding her great-grandmother’s gaze. “It is not an easy thing to learn to cope with your emotions. It is an even more challenging task to use those feelings to fuel magic. You will get there, I promise.”
“But how? You speak of this as if it is simple, and perhaps it is, but I am searching for a way to control it and failing. I am always failing.” Adriana peered over at Striga, tears rimming her eyes as she tried to force the sadness down inside of her.
She had always felt lost as a child, but nowadays she felt like she was losing herself entirely. The emptiness inside of her had crept in over the years, ever since Thomas had left for that damned meeting and never returned home. With another member of her family gone, it seemed more and more of her identity, her confidence, had been slowly chipped away. And she blamed herself.
She didn’t know why, and she knew that logically she had nothing to do with Thomas’ death, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she had been stronger, could she have attended themeeting? Could she have used her powers to stop Caligo and Malefica? Could she have saved her great-grandfather?
She blamed herself for her mother’s death, too. As a child, she’d been too young and naive to realise that it was her birth that killed her dear mother. A mother she had never even met.
She never told anyone how she felt, not really. Striga and her father often told her she wore her emotions too plainly on her face, as if she was an open book, but no one truly knew how awful she felt. She did not want them to know just how little confidence she had in herself; that was her burden to carry.
Adriana looked out over the lake again. Across the distance, she could see several figures labouring under the late summer sun around Davina’s old home, now titled Duran Manor. She found it odd that a lord such as Xander would assist his staff in working the gardens or help with any other manual tasks around the grounds. But then again, he was not a lord, not really. Just a young man who’d learnt how to steal titles and live countless lives.
It made her wonder if he was lonely, too. If there was anything left of the man he had once been after pretending to be someone else in order to survive. Though she couldn’t stand him, she’d never wish for anyone to feel alone.
She watched one of the figures rise from their knees where they had been working on mending part of the decking that stood on the edge of the lake. Adriana didn’t know how, for she couldn’t even make out a clear outline of the person, but she knew it was Xander. And she knew he was staring back at her.
Tearing her gaze away and looking to Striga again, she raised a brow as her great-grandmother simply watched her with a smile. As if she knew something that Adriana didn’t.
“It is never simple, darling,” Striga said, taking one of Adriana’s hands into her small, frail ones. “Things like this never are. It is rare for a person to find strength in themselves. It is aneven rarer thing to find someone to believe in you, someone who has courage in your strength before you even realised you were strong.”
Adriana pondered for a moment, understanding she was talking about Thomas, but unsure of who could be her ‘someone’ that believed in her. She knew Striga adored her, her father cherished her, even the staff all appreciated her, but she didn’t know anyone who had pure courage in her. And how could they, when she had none herself?
“You never did tell me, you know. How you and great-grandfather met, how you fell in love.”
Striga bowed her head with a smile, squeezing Adriana’s hand in a comforting gesture. It had been so long since Adriana had heard her speak of Thomas, she had forgotten how warm her shared memories of him made her feel. Just from the thought of him, she could still feel the embrace of his strong arms, still smell the bread he would bake in the kitchens, still hear his beautiful voice that would sing her to sleep whenever she would awaken from a terrible nightmare. And she knew that even though Thomas was gone, his love had never left them.
