“That’s how you found a way to wield magic without verbalizing the spell,” I said. “You treat it like a living entity and tried a different language.” Everything clicked into place, and a part deep within me intrinsically understood this truth.
He smiled at me, pleased. “Clever. Yes, that’s exactly it. My family owned many ancient tomes on spellcraft—some in the old tongue and foreign dialects, while others were modernized. If all these languages could wield spells, then why not create a new language that doesn’t require the spoken word at all? If words are just intention verbalized, then could intention alone work? It took almost a century, but together, we created our own language.”
“We?”
“Magic and I.”
I smiled, feeling a comfort in the relationship he’d fostered with magic—it was such a strange and wondrous thing.
Craving more than ever to build a relationship with my own powers, I asked, “So, where do we begin?”
The king assessed me for a moment, then said, “When you were in the forest the other day, I found you with your feet and hands digging into the moss. Why were you doing that?”
“I can sense the Mother’s energy,” I said, taking myself back to that moment. “It flows beneath me, all around me. When I connect to her in that way…it’s as if she absorbs my pent-up emotions and infuses me with renewed energy. Like a cleansing of sorts. New energy pours in through my right hand, while my burdens flow out through my left. The other day, when you found me, I’d connected to let her cycle my fear and panic.” Feeling self-conscious, I added, “I know it sounds ridiculous, but?—”
“Stop,” he said gently. “It doesn’t sound ridiculous at all. In fact, your ability to feel those things—tocommuneas you put it—is exactly how I tap into source power for spellcraft. It can take many years to learn what you understand innately, Nyleeria.”
In a world where harsh judgment had been passed upon me, his kindness offered me a respite I yearned for, and my emotions stirred as I held onto that feeling.
“Thank you,” I said, my eyes misting with tears.
He gave me a disarming smile and said, “Want to give it a try?”
“Like, right now?”
The king chuckled. “Unless you have another pressing engagement.”
I couldn’t help but smile, nodding in response as a swirl of excitement and apprehension filled my chest.
“Good. Let’s go to the middle of the room, and once you’re ready, I want you to close your eyes.”
I did as he asked.
“Now, center yourself like you did in the forest. Let me know when you feel that sense of calm.”
Readying myself, I took a deep breath and released it slowly. With my eyes closed, my mind wandered to the sounds beyond the windows, the soft footsteps of servants walking in the halls, the king’s soft breathing, my steady heartbeat. Then, after a time, I was fully in myself, breaths steady, thoughts at bay.
I gave him a nod.
“Feel around the room for an energy,” he said, his voice now filling the space, as if the walls themselves were speaking, and I could no longer tell where he was.
Shaking off the strangeness of his voice, I focused on the room, searching to see if I could feel anything.
“Let me know when you find it.”
There was nothing.
Staying centered, I trusted myself and settled in deeper. Then my fingers began to tingle. I raised my right hand, giving in to the compulsion, and reached toward where it was beaconed—like gravity himself tugged at me.
My palm splayed as if I were telling someone to stop, I homed in on its origin, moving my hand back and forth until I could sense it clearly.
“Here,” I finally said.
“Describe it to me,” the king coaxed.
“It’s strongest from here to here,” I said, moving my hand only a few inches back and forth. “I can feel it in my fingertips the most…like the tingling sensation of a limb that’s fallen asleep; only, it’s charged, pleasant, even.”
“Good. Now continue to scan the rest of the room.”
