His laugh warmed the cavern, making her smile.
With a sigh, she scrunched her face. “Now I really need proper training to hold the storm’s eye in place.”
“Come. An hour of weapons training first, then we’ll focus on summoning and control. You need to be ready to defend yourself if need be.”
Hard to argue with that. Whatever waited for them out there, she refused to be anyone’s weakness.
Ash shrugged off her parka, tossed it onto the rock seat, and joined him outside. The towering trees hemmed in the clearing, their trunks so wide they looked like pillars holding up the sky.Chilly noon air wrapped around her, crisp and sharp enough to make her shiver, but she’d be sweaty again, soon enough.
She stepped into the thin spears of sunlight piercing through the canopy above and spilling across the moss and rubble underfoot.
“Let’s start.” Race’s voice shifted, all trainer now. “Summon your dagger. Choose a target. The trunks are hard, but with a little more give than granite.”
Ash glanced around, sizing up her options. The enormous, death-black trunks veined with bleeding white resin looked like they could shrug off cannon fire, but one of the slimmer ones might just pity her enough to take a hit.
Ash summoned her dagger, that familiar tingle blooming into solid weight in her palm. She focused on a narrower trunk, drew back her arm, and hurled it.
The black blade hissed through the air?—
And sailed clean past the blasted trunk.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she muttered, glaring. “No skinny trunk is going to get the better of me!”
“That’s the spirit.” Race leaned against a nearby tree, arms folded over his chest, his smirk pure sin.
She shot him the evil eye.
His low laugh rolled over her, warmer than the sun. “You can do this, Ash. C’mon.”
Recalling Echo’s instructions, Ash summoned the blade again. This time, she shut one eye, narrowing her focus to the exact spot on the trunk she wanted. Drawing her arm back, she flung the dagger hard.
It struck with a sharp crack, biting into the bark. The blade quivered, sagging slightly under its own weight, but it held, the black metal catching a glint of sunlight.
“Yes!” She whooped, fist-punching the air before she spun toward Race, grinning so hard her cheeks ached. “Did you see that?”
“Aye.” His eyes were bright with warmth. “Again. More strength behind the throw.”
Hours later, when her arm and shoulder muscles threatened to cramp, Ash groaned, dropping her hand. “I’m done.”
Race crossed the clearing, grasped her arm, and gently kneaded her sore biceps. “We’ll work on your storm calling abilities. Get your jacket.”
Back outside, parka on, he wrapped his arm around her, and the world shifted in a shimmer of heat and dispersing molecules. The forest vanished, replaced by a familiar small plateau, the same place where she’d checked the weather pressure earlier. The winds continued, and thin, icy air stung her lungs. The vast sweep of snow-dusted peaks stretched endlessly around them.
Her stomach gave a loud grumble.
Race’s lips twitched. “We should’ve stopped for lunch first…” He pulled her fur-trimmed hood lower over her face. “I’ll hunt us something, and we can start after.”
Her gaze returned to the pale, endless sky, and she shook her head. “I can wait a little longer. We’re already up here anyway. Let’s do this first.”
“You sure?”
She nodded, trepidation curling low in her belly.
“All right.” Race moved behind her, his hands settling on her hips, grounding her. “Show me how you call the storm, and we’ll work from there.”
Ash fixed her gaze on the sky. No cloud cover yet, just the wide, washed-out blue and the thin bite of wind. She reached inward for the familiar crackling pinpricks beneath her skin.
Lightning came easily—it always did—rushing up like an eager hound at her call. But the rain, the wind… those were wilder, harder to bend to her will.
