“Well,” Juliette continued, “this girl adored painting. Proper painting—great swirling colors, impossible landscapes. Her father called her a prodigy, so he sent her to a rather pompous boarding school to develop her talents. One day she painted something magnificent—an image straight from her imagination. Her teacher, a rigid man with all the warmth of a rain-soaked sock, accused her of copying a famous masterpiece. When she told him she hadn’t—that it washers—he called her a liar. She, being nine and fierce, told himhewas the liar.”
Isla winced, already dreading what came next.
Juliette’s smile was small and brittle. “He didn’t take that well. He made her stand on a stool in the main hall with a sign around her neck that saidLIAR.Then he caned her hand in front of everyone.”
Isla gasped. The image struck deep. The cruelty of it. An adult hurting a child. The cane wasn’t unusual, but it seemed to her that it should be a crime.
Juliette’s eyes were far away now, her voice quiet. “The thing about pain is—it opens doors. The humiliation, the anger—it all built until it burst. One moment the beautiful little girl was crying, and the next ... her hands were on fire. Real fire, not just from the sting of the cane. It lashed out, wild and furious, and her teacher—” She swallowed. “He was burned. Badly.”
The streetlamps along the Minster threw soft pools of light around them, and Isla felt the weight of that memory settle heavily between them.
“Her parents paid him off,” Juliette said at last. “Hush money. Her father’s people covered it up, and Harold—dear Harold—took over her education after that. He wasn’t the vice chancellor at that point in his career. He helped the young girl learn to control it ... and to understand what really happened that day.”
She gave a humorless laugh, reverting back first person. “Because I wasn’t copying. That painting wasn’t only from my imagination—it was from my past. A memory from another life.”
Isla turned to her, wide-eyed. “You mean—?”
“I mean I painted itbefore,” Juliette said softly. “I was the original painter. I just didn’t remember until Harold helped me uncover it.”
“How did he do that?” Isla asked in a half whisper.
“There’s a technique,” Juliette said, her tone turning more serious. “Only Aqua Summoners can do it. They canread memories—not just their own, but another’s—if given permission. It’s illegal, of course, unless both parties consent. It’s invasive. You’re letting someone swim through your past. All they need is a liquid from you—a tear, a drop of blood, even the sweat on your skin—and they can summon memories from it.”
“That’s ... extraordinary,” Isla breathed.
Juliette nodded, watching her friend’s face. “Extraordinary, and terrifying. Because you can’t always control what they’ll see, though I’ve heard some powerful Aquas can focus on certain time periods. But because it is illegal to do without the rightauthority agreeing to it, it hasn’t been widely explored. But Harold found a way to help me—my past life, my art, my fire. He helped me understand that I wasn’t wicked or unstable. With regards to my painting, I was remembering a truth. The fact that my Aetheric Arts reacted like that was only because I was so young—too young to understand what I was doing, or to hold the power steady. Still ... I’ve always been haunted by it. Afraid of what might happen if I ever lost control again, of what I might destroy without meaning to.”
Isla felt tears in her eyes at her friend’s experience and subsequent fear.
They walked in silence for a moment. Then Juliette said, voice lighter again, “So yes, that little girl burned a horrid man who called a nine-year-old a liar. But in fairness, he should have thought twice before picking a fight with a reborn artist. And don’t worry, she fully intends to get her happily ever after.”
Isla’s laughter broke though, watery. She squeezed Juliette’s arm. “You’re remarkable, you know that?”
Juliette smiled, eyes glimmering in the lamplight. “Remarkably messed up, maybe. But I’ll take it.”
“I think we’re all remarkably messed up,” Isla said, “but I am sorry for your past hardships.”
The pair continued their walk over the Ouse Bridge, the river glinting beneath them.
Juliette smiled faintly. “It’s all right. What doesn’t break us makes us stronger, you know?”
Isla returned the smile. “At least we’re adults now. We get to choose our friends and escape awful tutors who clearly shouldn’t be anywhere near children.”
Juliette laughed, a genuine spark of amusement breaking through the somberness. “Indeed!”
Turning right, they approached the stone steps that led up to York’s ancient city walls. The stones were slick beneath their shoes, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps of pilgrims, soldiers, and now, two modern women trying to make sense of the strange powers life had thrust upon them. Isla may have been new to all of this, but it seemed Juliette was struggling despite being acquainted with her powers for years.
From the top, the view opened wide: the Minster’s great towers were now behind them, their outlines softened by mist, the rooftops of the old city glimmering faintly in the falling dusk.
As they strolled along the narrow path, the wind tugged at their coats and carried the scent of wet grass from the small patch that grew just below the wall filling her nostrils. She loved that smell.
“So,” Isla said after a pause, “if it’s not too painful to ask ... what canIgnisSummoners actually do? I mean, apart from the fire and smoke, with which I’ve already had firsthand experience.” She grinned, trying to ease Juliette’s discomfort—though she shuddered slightly at the memory of the smoke that had once stalked her.
Juliette scooped up her long flyaway hair, twisting it over her shoulder to get it under control. “Well, most people only see the obvious—the fire, the smoke, the light. But there’s one more thing that isn’t so obvious. We don’t only summon flame; weread through it. Fire can reveal what’s hidden—it burns away pretense and illusion. Some of us can sense lies or see truth flicker in another’s aura like heat on glass. It’s not always pleasant.”
Isla frowned thoughtfully. “So, you can tell when someone’s lying?”
“Sometimes,” Juliette admitted, “if I’m really focused.”
