Marlak inhales a shaky breath as he stares at the brilliant river reflecting the sky and the mountains surrounding it.
When he turns to me, his jaw is set. “You want to see my magic.”
It’s not a question. Not an accusation either, and yet the unease in his tone shatters my hope that this would be easy.
I try to lighten up the mood and smile. “Not really. I’ll show youmymagic, and then you can show me yours—if you feel like it.” And I really hope he does.
A thin wall of ice emerges in front of me.
“Like this?” Marlak smirks.
Both he and I know this is not the magic he needs, but I tease him. “Show off! Why do you always have to outmagic me?”
“I’m trying to get even. After your display just now, I’m humbled. I aspire to one day reach your level.”
I frown. “You sound sarcastic, you know?”
He pulls me and kisses my lips. “Not at all. Just incredibly, unbelievably lucky.”
The fiery look in his eyes ignites something in my entire body, and if it were any other day, perhaps I would want to go back to the bedroom and stay there until we both turn to dust.
Fiery. If I look at him, it’s everywhere—fire. In his countenance, his power, his magic. Deep within, I feel fire coursing to me, a magnificent, beautiful magic.
And I need to let it flow, except that I have no idea how to do it. If I seek deep inside me, I can feel it, feel it as the source of Marlak’s magic, except that it’s like the roots of an ancient tree, buried so deep that they’re beyond my reach.
But if his water magic is a manifestation of fire, maybe that’s the answer. I imagine a ball of water in my hand, and don’t conjure it, just imagine it. It feels safe, easy, and yet I tell the magic:reveal yourself.
Like a scared, hurt animal, it steps from beneath the shadow, its pace uneasy.It’s safe,I tell it. And then I imagine it: a flame in my hand.
To my surprise, it becomes reality, flickering on my palm.
My hand has a flame, brilliant like real fire, warm, but not hot. I can’t believe my eyes. For some reason, I thought it wouldtickle, but the feeling is more like a hum. Beside me, Marlak tenses, his shoulders raised, his eyes wide.
“How does it work?” I ask, hoping that focusing on the description of the magic will keep him here, in this moment, and not open that door into his painful past. “It’s not hot.”
He stares at it as if it was a disgusting insect. “Your magic will never burn you, but if it sets something on fire, then that flame is real and could hurt you.”
The flickering flame dances in my hand as I mull his words. He should have known it wasn’t his own fire that killed his family, if it burned him, and yet it’s true that it started with his magic…
I look at him. “What about you and I? Technically, this isyourmagic.”
“I don’t know. I never heard of anyone who could borrow magic, in fact, so the rules are a mystery to me.”
His eyes are set on the flame, slowly changing from disgust to something akin to curiosity, his breathing slow and measured. He rests a hand on my shoulder and the other under my palm, as if to feel the magic, the flame.
I don’t know if I should say anything, perhaps some soothing words, or just let the shared silence between us speak for itself. Can the memory of us two together be enough to calm him, to make him see fire magic differently?
Even though he’s touching me, no feelings come to me. No terror, no memories. I don’t know if he’s blocking them or if I can only enter his mind when he’s overwhelmed, overcome with dread.
After a long while, he looks at me. “I used to love my magic, wife.” His voice is low, uneven. “Or howspecialit made me feel. Powerful, maybe. Unique, definitely. I found the fire fascinating, beautiful.”
“Itisbeautiful.”
“In your hand, it’s magnificent.”
I can feel the frantic pulse in his wrist, since it’s touching my skin.
When I think he’ll tell me to quit, that he’ll be fine tomorrow, he moves his hand away from mine, carrying a flame in his palm that grows and grows like a small bonfire, so that he has to stretch his arm or else it will engulf his head.
