Some things are easier left unspoken.
By midday, she’s made progress. Not much—her control is still shaky, her fire still prone to flaring when emotion gets the better of her. But the wild, uncontrolled surges have smoothedinto something more manageable. She can call the shadow-flame and dismiss it without setting anything ablaze.
It’s a start.
“We’ll break for lunch,” I say. “Resume in an hour.”
“I didn’t agree to an entire day of this.”
“You agreed to training. Training takes time.” I meet her glare without flinching. “Unless you’d prefer to burn down another bedroom tonight.”
Her jaw tightens. But she doesn’t argue.
Rurik findsus in the afternoon.
I should have expected it. My brother has never been able to resist inserting himself into situations where he’s explicitly not wanted. It’s practically a talent.
“Well, well.” He leans against the training yard fence, arms crossed, grin firmly in place. “Isn’t this cozy?”
“Go away, Rurik.”
“Can’t. Aisling sent me to check on the progress.” The grin widens. “Also, I was bored. This seemed more entertaining than reorganizing my weapons collection.”
Nasyra’s shadow-flame flickers. She’s been holding a small construct—a simple sphere, nothing complicated—but Rurik’s presence has thrown off her concentration.
“You’re disrupting her focus,” I say.
“Am I?” Rurik pushes off from the fence, wandering closer. “Seems like good practice to me. Real threats don’t wait for you to be ready. If she can’t maintain control with a little distraction?—“
“You’re not a threat. You’re an annoyance.”
“I can be both.” He stops a few feet away, studying Nasyra with open curiosity. “That’s interesting. The way your fire moves. It’s almost like it’s reaching for him.”
Nasyra’s construct wavers. “It’s not?—“
“It definitely is. Watch.” Rurik gestures between us. “Every time you lose focus, the fire drifts toward Zyphon. It’s like it wants to be near him. Very romantic, in a creepy, magical way.”
The construct explodes.
Shadow-flame bursts outward in a wave of purple-black fire. My shadows surge forward instinctively, catching the blast before it can reach Rurik, smothering it against my darkness. The air crackles with discharged energy.
Nasyra stands in the center of the yard, breathing hard, her hands clenched at her sides. Her face has gone red—anger or embarrassment, I can’t tell which.
“Interesting,” Rurik says, completely unruffled. “So emotions are definitely a trigger. Good to know.”
“Get. Out.”
“I’m providing valuable data!”
“You’re providing a target.” She stalks toward him, shadow-flame crawling up her arms. “And I’m very motivated to practice my aim right now.”
Rurik retreats, hands raised in mock surrender, but his grin hasn’t dimmed. “Fine, fine. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”
“Can you? That would be a first.”
He pauses at the fence, looking back over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth—you’re doing well. Most Fire-Bringers can’t form constructs at all, and you’re already shaping them. Even if they do explode when someone mentions the obvious sexual tension.”
The shadow-flame on her arms flares bright enough to make me wince.
