“I had a good tutor,” he says with a shrug.
“That’s one thing we have in common.” Without Simon, my magic might still be locked. Without his dutiful tutoring in the days leading up to finals, camped out with me in St. Aldric’s Hall, I might never have done as well as I managed to do on my midterms.
St. Aldric’s Hall rises through the morning mist, foreboding and impenetrable, a veritable fortress turned into classrooms and practice spaces for the more volatile and dangerous magic students might learn at Fairhaven Academy. The combat magic classes meet inside the hall—classes that, as an omega, I’ll never be allowed to take.
Which is a shame, seeing as we’re the ones that seem to need those skills the most.
Cassian gets a room across the small stone hall from me and Marcus, and I watch him move through a few warm-up exercises before he starts firing off spell after spell into the warded walls of the practice room. I wonder, as I watch him move, fluid and powerful, a true alpha predator, what an affluent mage like Cassian would ever need with combat magic.
I stretch my arms out in front of me and roll my neck before grabbing my scribe and turning to my honor guard. “All right, do your worst, I guess.”
“Sweet-tart,” he says dryly, “I’ve seen how you cast shields. I saw Professor Reinhardt covered in black ink when your shield rebounded his spell back onto him. I wouldn’t do my worst unless I had a death wish.”
He settles on casting a stream of wind and I cast shield spell after shield spell, creating a protective dome around myself. I grit my teeth, pouring more and more magic into my spell as Marcus funnels more into his. I break before he does, his gust of wind knocking me to my ass. I bite out a curse, and suddenly Marcus is at my side, ready to help me to my feet.
“Fuck, Juniper, I amsosorry,” he says with a grimace.
I let him help me stand and then brush off my leggings. “You had the stronger spell. I need to get better at my shields. No harm done. Except to my pride.”
“If I may provide some constructive criticism?”
I roll my scribe between my fingers. “Please, anything that’ll help me do better.”
“You’re casting a full shield, but I’m only attacking you from one angle. You’re wasting your magic and focus. This time, direct your intention to where my spell is coming from.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” I admit. “Is the spell any different?”
My honor guard shakes his head. “Just the intention behind it. Ready to try again?”
I nod and stand at the ready in the center of the training room, already envisioning my shield spell. When Marcus’ gust of wind comes, it knocks me back a step before I can snap my shielding spell into place. I imagine it like a knight’s shield, letting my intention flow into it, letting my magic protect me.
“Good. Very good,” Marcus calls over the rushing sound of the wind. He circles me and I follow him, turning and drawing my scribe through the air so my shield is always in front of me.
He says something over the wind, but I can’t hear him. I cup my hand around my ear, and he drops his spell in an instant.
His phone rings from his pocket and he reaches to silence it, but I shake my head. “Take it. What if it’s your mom’s doctors?”
He looks down at the screen, face drawn. “I’ll only be a few minutes. All right? We’ll be back at it shortly.”
“Marcus,” I say, exasperation sharpening my voice, “just go take the call.”
He answers the phone just as he leaves the practice room and I take the opportunity to grab a bottle of water.
“He was saying that your control is improving,” Cassian says. He rubs a hand through his sweat-damp hair and leans up against the glass wall. “He’s right. And you’re probably casting well ahead of your peers. Want a hand?”
I glow from the compliment, finally hearing the praise I’ve always wanted to hear from him, and I nod.
He twirls his scribe in his fingers so it catches the light, and then casts three quick sigils I immediately recognize as the first three parts of the butterfly lights spell he used to cast to impress me when we were younger. It’s the fourth sigil I recognize too late.
A spark careens toward me and cracks against the back of my hand. “Ow, fuck!” I snap, shaking my hand.
Cassian doesn’t look sorry in the least. He arches a brow in challenge and his smirk, oh saints, hissmirk.I want to prove him wrong. I want to show him what I’m made of. I want to tackle him to the ground and kiss that smirk off his smug face.
I have my shield in place by the time the next spark darts my way. It sizzles against the shell of my magic, bursting like fireworks. I block spell after spell, following him as he circles me just as Marcus did. He casts faster and faster, pelting my shields with sparks, until I’m breathing hard, sweat sticking the back of my shirt to my skin.
He fires a barrage of sparks at me, and I meet them with my own magic, pouring more power into it as he presses his attack. Sparks fly, sizzle, fall around me like… like shooting stars.
My heart seizes just for a second at the memory. At the thought of nestling against Luca as we watched the stars fall. A spark strikes me and singes a hole in my tank top.
