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“Your student file made for a fascinating read.”

Students weren’t allowed to read personal files, but someone like him was apparently above the rules.

“Fuck you, Dawson.”

He whistled between sharp teeth. “Look who finally learned my name.”

“I’m sure it was a dreadful experience having someone not know it. However did you survive?”

His hand, the one with the Shadowflame, went to his chest. “Barely. I blame a poor education system for the lapse. Or perhaps it was all that time spent in Yharvan? Regardless, I’m glad the error has been corrected.”

Magic and adrenaline beat through her, and she tried to slow her breathing. “Stop talking about my past. It doesn’t pertain to you. You’re supposed to train me.”

“Ah, but I am. You will learn that Dark Magic is different. It takes more to connect with it than your average white spells. Your reluctance to use magic at all is rather problematic. But let’s give it a go.” He stepped to the side and pointed at the dummy. “Shoot at it.”

The instruction was simple and yet impossible. All the magic she had ever used was defensive. White spells could redirect Dark Magic or create a shield around her, but they were never intended to harm someone else.

Even the wooden dummy in front of her seemed like an impossible opponent.

“What do I do?” She hated having to ask him.

“Find the Dark Magic in you. Harness it.” Dark mist traveled along his signifiers until it pooled in his palm. “And shoot.” Dawson’s magic rushed through the air with ferocity, cutting off the dummy’s head. It fell to the floor with a thud. “The first signifier is all about control. Without it, you can’t use Dark Magic at all.”

“I know.” She wanted to keep it that way.

Control was the first signifier but also the most important one. It allowed a Wielder to harness their powers. A rare few were even able to cool their dark flames to such an extent that they possessed ice magic.

Around the room, sophisticated spells zapped through the air. The Highmage yelled instructions at several students about form and speed.

“Any day now, Winters.”

“Can I pretend it’s you I’m shooting at?”

“I would be offended if you didn’t. In fact—” He moved in front of her and placed his hands behind his back. “Why use your imagination?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m letting you aim straight for me.”

Was he that confident she couldn’t do it?

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Shoot me,” he instructed. “You know you want to.”

She did. Spheres, she did. She wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face and watch him stumble backward in shock. He had said to connect with her Dark Magic. The school had given her the Shadowflame, so obviously, it must be there. Closing her eyes, she focused, feeling for the magic inside her.

In her mind, she saw the strands of her powers. Her White Magic shimmered in bright lights, easy for her to control.

So far, she hadn’t dared to look for her Wielder magic. Why had the school branded her with the Shadowflame? She was still convinced it was a mistake. A magic error that needed to be corrected because she couldn’t possibly be both Caster and Wielder. But…there it was. One large strand of black, glistening with flecks of silver. It sat alone, without any branches. Mira reached for it and tried to take hold of it, like a rein on a horse, but the strand of power evaded her, running through her fingers like mist.

When she first learned to control her Caster magic, it had never seemed this difficult. Mira tried to home in on her Dark Magic, and once she felt like she had it under control, she opened her eyes and lifted her palm. The magic in her surged. Her Shadowflame moved, and all her anger and frustration came to a boiling point.

But nothing happened. She shook her hand. Moved her fingers. Nothing.

Dawson walked toward her in measured steps until his hard chest collided with her hand.

“I told you, Winters.” She could feel his cold breath on her. He smelled like fresh spearmint. “It takes a lot more than the Shadowflame to make you a Wielder.”