“Different approach.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Instead of trying to force your fire into shapes, we’llwork with how it naturally moves. Use my frost as a boundary. Something for your instincts to push against.”
She nods slowly. Doesn’t ask about what just happened. Doesn’t mention the heat still lingering on my palm.
We’re both very careful not to touch again.
The new approach works.
I spread frost across the training yard in patterns—circles, spirals, geometric shapes that give her fire something to respond to. She moves through the cold boundaries, white flame trailing behind her, and something remarkable happens. Her fire doesn’t fight the ice. It flows around it. Uses it as a guide, a framework, a structure that emerges from interaction rather than being imposed from above.
“Better.” I adjust one of the ice patterns, creating a narrower channel. “Now focus on the transition points. Where your fire meets my frost, you need to maintain awareness. Don’t let it slip.”
She nods, concentration evident in the set of her shoulders. Her movements become more precise as she works, instinct guided by the external boundaries rather than fighting imposed internal control. The white flame spirals through my frost patterns, not burning the ice but flowing around it, creating shapes that neither of us could have achieved alone.
I watch her work. Really watch with the analytical attention I usually reserve for battle strategy and threat assessment.
She’s not Morrigan.
The thought surfaces unbidden, and for once, I don’t push it away. I let myself examine it. Compare.
Morrigan was calculated in every gesture. Charming when it served her; cold when it didn’t. Every smile and word precisely calibrated for effect. She approached my sister the way a predator approaches prey—patient, methodical, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Tamsin is nothing like that.
She doesn’t perform. When she’s frustrated, it shows on her face. When she succeeds at something, there’s genuine satisfaction in her expression—not the practiced pleasure of someone who’s learned to mirror appropriate emotions. She argues with me instead of agreeing just to smooth things over. She pushes back when she thinks I’m wrong.
She’s direct in a way that should put me on edge but somehow doesn’t.
I stare at her—at the way sweat has darkened her hairline, at the flush of exertion on her cheeks, at the controlled steadiness of her breathing despite hours of intensive work. At the way she holds herself, proud and unyielding, refusing to bend no matter how hard I push.
I’ve been so focused on what she represents—Morrigan’s sister, Valdorian witch, potential threat—that I missed what she actually is.
Strong. Determined. Carrying grief that would break most people and refusing to let it define her.
Beautiful, some treacherous part of my mind adds before I can silence it.
“We’re done for today.” I turn away abruptly, letting the frost patterns dissolve into mist. “Same time tomorrow. Your reserves are holding better than I expected, but don’t push yourself tonight. Rest.”
“Auren.”
I stop. Don’t turn around.
“What was that? When our magic touched?”
A dozen responses cycle through my mind. Analytical explanations about magical resonance and power compatibility. Dismissive deflections about irrelevant phenomena. Clinical observations about the interaction between opposing elemental forces.
“I don’t know.” The truth escapes before I can form a suitable lie. “I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
I leave before she can respond.
My quarters are exactlyas I left them. The familiar order should comfort me. Instead, the silence feels oppressive.
I stand at the window, staring at the mountains without seeing them. My palm still tingles where her fire touched my frost. The sensation should have faded by now. It hasn’t.
The tactical assessment is straightforward. Tamsin is powerful—more powerful than any Fire-Bringer I’ve encountered. Her magic operates according to principles I don’t fully understand, but the new training approach shows promise. With time and proper guidance, she could become exactly the weapon we need against the Shadow Clan.
The tactical assessment doesn’t explain why I can’t stop thinking about the way she moved through my frost patterns. The way her fire didn’t burn, didn’t attack, just... reached toward me. Curious rather than hostile. Welcoming rather than threatening.
It doesn’t explain why I feel more alive after five hours of training than I have in decades.
