The curtain to the room flew open. Alandris stood before us, winded and bristling with anger. “Get out.”
My glass clattered against the table as I clamored to my feet. “I, um—”
“We had a lesson. You’re late.” He looked at Kaz and shook his head. “We’ll talk about this later.”
Shit.
Alandris’s study was more whimsical than I’d imagined it being. I’d pictured structure, rigid lines, arrogant decor, not a speck of dust, not an item out of place. Instead, I was met with colorful plants and flowers, a mix of textures and patterns, and shelves full to the brim with not only books, but tiny treasures that drew my eyes in every direction. It was still luxurious in the way the rest of the Consortium was, but it had a surprising dash of character. Based on his curious design choices alone, I had half a mind to consider that I may have judged him too soon, but then I looked at the grimace painted on his face and decided my initial assessment had been correct after all.
“Drink this,” he commanded, handing me a glass of water.
I huffed a laugh. “I’m not drunk. All I did was forget about our training appointment. We’d barely gotten started when you stormed in.” I left out the bit where I’d blatantly blown off our training in an attempt to gain information about him and the Consortium from one of his close friends.
He continued to hold the glass out in front of himself until I conceded and grabbed it from him. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt… once,” he warned. “Don’t be late again.”
“You don’t trust me.”
He paused, staring at me in confusion.
“You shouldn’t. The feeling is mutual.” I set the glass down on his desk. “You’re forcing me to train this magic that—honestly—I want nothing to do with. You’re not doing so out of the goodness of your heart. I am a stranger to you. You want something from me.”
“It doesn’t matter if you want nothing to do with your magic.” He snapped his fingers and let a flicker of flame dance between them. “It is a part of you. Either you master it or it masters you.”
“And you want to help me, why?”
He raised a brow. “Have you considered that I’m not a horrible person?”
“No. It is never that simple.”
“That is one thing you are correct about. I do have my reasons, Nairu, and they are indeed complicated, but I have no ill intent in training you.”
Alandris didn’t have an obvious tell, something that would condemn him as a liar. He never broke eye contact, never twitched, wet his lips, or busied his hands elsewhere. He stared straight into my eyes as he spoke with unwavering confidence. Believing him would be easy—dangerous. But I’d promised myself, after everything, that I would never place my trust in someone who hadn’t earned it. If Alandris wanted me to believe he had good intentions, he would have to show me.
I picked the glass back up and finished off the water. “Let’s start.”
I wasn’t drunk in the slightest, but there was something dizzying about having Alandris standing so close behind me, his hand pressed onto my shoulder. Close enough to feel thewhisper of his breath against my neck as he instructed me. Close enough to breathe him in and be able to tell you the exact bath oil he’d used—lavender. And close enough that my nerves were shattered, causing me to make the same foolish mistakes over and over.
“Do you have to touch me?” It came out softer and far more exasperated than I’d intended.
“I’ve explained this already,” he hummed, more amused than irritated by having to repeat himself. “Those dark tendrils that appear on your skin result from your body’s inability to sustain the sheer amount of magic you are releasing. It is quite literally eating you alive. You can pass some of that magic through me to lessen its effect on you.”
“Doesn’t it hurt you?”
I could tell he was smirking without even seeing it. “Are you worried about me?”
“Don’t be stupid.” I summoned my magic to my palm as if that would prove it.
According to my infuriating teacher, my issue during the lesson on magical shields was that I was trying too hard to be precise in how I blocked. I focused my efforts on covering the exact area of impact with overlap, instead of gauging the general area of the hit. This left me with little to no time to focus on hardening the shadows into something solid. Apparently, if I’d opted to shield a larger area, forgoing precision, I would’ve expended less energy and time. Alandris had explained that was how he’d blocked Quinn’s attack against me in almost no time at all.
I forced as much magical energy out at once as I could and solidified it before us. Where Alandris’ flames had exploded in front of me like a brick wall, my shadows were more like a disc—smaller than a standard shield, but larger than my forearm. It was better, but nowhere near perfect. No longer flimsy, butnot sturdy enough to deflect a legitimate sword. And despite Alandris’ assistance, it hurt to draw upon my magic.
I turned in frustration, ready to complain about how his ideas weren’t working, and watched as he quickly yanked his hand back, tucking it into the front pocket of his pants.
“Let me see.”
His eyes narrowed, considering, and then a smile lit his face. “Is something the matter?”
Such a fake smile. I grabbed for his wrist and brought his hand between us. Black, inky tendrils covered nearly every visible part of his skin. They traveled up past the cuff of his shirt, beyond what I could see. I knew the pain—the stinging burn of them—and couldn’t understand why he hadn’t stopped our session.
