“On the mat,” he said, not looking back, though I’d have bet every secret I’d ever kept that he knew I was watching him walk.
Gavelle had perched high on a beam, his ember-orange eyes locked on me with what felt suspiciously like judgment. His feathers caught the light in a smoldering shimmer, and every tilt of his head screamed predator.
I blew out a breath, stepping onto the mat and trying to summon the focus Trew seemed to expect of me. But the echo of that kiss still burned along my spine, stubborn and distracting.
I crossed my arms on my chest. “What’s this private training session about?”
“Your inability to light a candle on your best day.”
My spine went stiff. “Maybe I like darkness.”
“You like excuses,” he said, removing a small ball from the mounted cabinet and tossing it into the air, catching it with a lazy snatch, handing it to me. “We’re going to fix that.”
I arched a brow, tilting my chin toward Gavelle. “Easy to say when you’ve got a walking bonfire as backup.”
Gavelle made a sound in his throat, somewhere between a click and a soft cackle. I suspected he’d taken that as a compliment.
Trew’s smirk deepened. “He’s more than backup. He’s a partner. You’d know the differenceif?—”
“Don’t.” Flames licked across my cheeks. “If you’re about to say ‘if I’d bonded properly,’ I will throw that little ball of yours through a window.”
His gaze lingered on me for a moment too long. “I believe we’ll start with aim.”
The weighted ball was heavier than it looked, thick leather stretched tight over whatever they’d crammed inside. Trew took it back and set it on the mat between us.
“Your goal is simple,” he said. “Move it from here to the wall without touching it.”
“Simple, huh?” I narrowed my eyes at the ball. “Why not something reasonable, like turning it into a frog or making part of the ceiling collapse?”
“Because those things are much too complex for you,” he said pleasantly. “We start here.”
I wanted to howl.
Still, I focused on the ball, willing the spark of magic in me to stir. It was there. It had been since before I snapped in front of my mother in the garden. I could only describe it as an ember in my chest, too stubbornly dim. I pushed at it, coaxed it, imagined tendrils of will reaching for the ball.
It shivered and wobbled. And then slid back into stillness.
Trew crouched beside it, his expression maddeningly neutral. “Again.”
Three more tries, three more sad wobbles. Gavelle tilted his head, flapping his wings. I was boring a bird—and probably Trew.
I blew out a breath. “Your hawk is mocking me.”
“He’s a cinderhawk.” Trew straightened without looking at me. “Mockery’s part of the package.”
I glared up at the bird. Gavelle blinked slowly, his gaze steady, as if he was agreeing with Trew.
Trew stepped in close enough that his shadow fell over me. He nudged my feet apart with his boot. “Your stance is making you work harder than you need to.”
I frowned. “Why does my stance matter with magic?”
“It just does.”
“You’re not doing this to get near me again, are you? Maybe steal another kiss?”
“You kissed me back.”
“Keep dreaming, King Trewyn. That was me acting passive, letting you kiss me.”
