Page 2 of A Wayward Movement

“What are you up to, anyway, other than trying to boost my vanity?” she asked Benji, moving toward the table.

He lifted a fan he’d made from a lotus leaf.

“Just practicing.”

His eyes narrowed as they rested on a large pebble sitting on the table in front of him. He’d laid a series of sticks along the wooden surface in front of it, forming a miniature maze.

Alina watched with a critical eye as Benji manipulated the makeshift fan skillfully to create a steady breeze. All movement created magic, and the fan’s steady twirling was no exception. Alina could feel the stream of magic, or Dust as it was usually known, which was stirred up by the movement. Her sense of magic, well developed from many years of practice, detected the magic easily. But her awareness didn’t clamor to latch on to it, the way it would have if the Dust had been stirred by the movement of wind in tree branches, or even a bird swooping past. The fan was held in Benji’s hand, which meant the Dust was stirred up by his movement, and it was automatically in his reach if he had the inclination to take hold of it.

If she’d wanted to try to wrest it from him, she would have had to engage in the internal magical equivalent of an arm-wrestle. A struggle like that would take more out of her than she would receive from the magic she’d gain control of, even if she won.

The magic was Benji’s, uncontested. Of course, doing anything with it still required significant skill, which most people never acquired. Benji, however, had both the aptitude to learn the craft, and the determination to pursue it.

He sat rigid in the chair, his focus absolute as he shaped the magic produced by the fan’s movement. Neatly and swiftly, the pebble rolled forward. It wasn’t a complex enchantment. The magic was already formed by simple movement, so using it to just move something else didn’t require reworking it much. But Alina was still impressed by the exactness of the movements as Benji guided the pebble through the maze with perfect precision, never moving from his position in the chair.

“That was excellent,” she said, giving a firm nod when the pebble rolled cleanly between the last two sticks. “It never touched the sides once! Well done, Benji. I wish I had your finesse.”

“Thanks.” He gave a boyish grin, and glancing down at him, Alina realized that he was slumped back in the chair.

“Benji,” she said, a warning note in her voice. “Did you do it properly, like I taught you? Did you take in half the magic as energy to fuel your use of the other half for the enchantment?”

“Well…” His smirk wasn’t repentant. “Maybe not as much as half.”

“Benji!” she scolded. “This is serious! It’s a standard regulation across every kingdom on the Peninsula. You have to use half the magic as energy for yourself. Manipulating magic drains energy—”

“Like no other activity under the sun,” Benji finished. “I know, I know.”

“Overextending yourself isn’t impressive,” Alina told him curtly. “It’s foolish. If you use more magic than your natural energy can sustain, without refueling it as you go, you can cause permanent damage to yourself. You could even die, Benji.”

“I’m not going to die from moving a pebble along the table,” he said impatiently.

“If you won’t follow the principle in a calm moment when there’s absolutely no pressure to take shortcuts, why in all of Ryki would you trust yourself to follow it when the stakes are high?” Alina protested.

“She’s right,” Lilah said. “Don’t be pigheaded, Benji. There’s nothing to gain from overdoing it.”

“I’m just trying to grow in my craft,” Benji said. There was a challenge in his eyes as he locked gazes with Alina. “Do you use half the Dust for your energy?”

Discomfort washed over Alina. She should have set a better example. Benji knew from an unguarded conversation once that over her years of honing her craft, she’d reached a point where she could manage with a considerably smaller amount of magic-fueled energy. Of course he would try to match her. She should have guessed as much.

“I’m fortunate to have an unusually high energy capacity,” she said curtly. “But that’s not standard, Benji, and it doesn’t give you a free pass to be irresponsible. We all have our aptitudes. I don’t have the finesse to do what you just did with the pebble. The skills you’ll learn at the training program in Sindon will outstrip what I can do in no time, so there’s no need for you to feel like you have to chase me.”

“That’s if I can actually win one of the scholarships to go there,” Benji said heavily.

“You will.” Lilah’s voice was firm. “I have faith in you.”

He sent his sister a wan smile, but Alina just bit her lip. She wanted to encourage the teenager, but the truth was she had misgivings. A scholarship would be amazing, and Benji’s skills merited it. But in her experience, miraculous solutions to life’s problems shouldn’t be relied on. You shouldn’t count on anything more than what you had in your hands, and even that could be stripped away more easily than most people imagined. As the twins already knew.

“Just remember to be careful when you’re in public,” she told Benji. “Don’t practice where strangers could see you.”

“I know, I know.” Benji pushed the sticks to one side of the table, the movement impatient. “It’s ridiculous, though. We’re all acting like magic is outlawed or something. What’s the use of having this skill if we can’t use it?”

“It’s not forever,” Alina reminded him. “When it’s safe again—”

“And when will that be?” Benji cut her off.

“When the crown takes all the disappearances seriously and figures out what’s causing them,” Alina said. There wasn’t much conviction in her words, though. Relying on the crown for anything was another approach her experience didn’t encourage.

“I need to get going.” Alina cast another glance at Lilah’s glorious curls, then held out her hand toward Benji. “Can I borrow the fan?”