“No, not like that,” he stopped her. “Without throwing it.”
“How do I...” she started.
“Move it, like you did the pages,” he instructed.
“I didn’t even know I was doing that,” Vhalla said, already annoyed.
“Somewhere in you, you did. I know this is going to be hard for you, but think less.” His words did not have a bite to them. “The execution of magic is not something that can be neatly summed up with words. I know you think, and wish, the whole world could be placed down on parchment in-between a strip of leather. But I regret it has fallen to me to inform you that such is simply not true.”
He gave her another one of his small smiles. It sparked warmth in her to see him being open toward her and not snarky. That spark quickly vanished when Vhalla looked doubtfully at the stone in her palm.
She held her hand out flat, the small stone in its center. Taking a breath, Vhalla tried to calm her mind and focus only on the afternoon air around her. Closing her eyes, the world materialized around her in the darkness. He was the first thing she saw with her magical sight.
Around the prince there was fire. It burned bright yellow—almost white—illuminating his features. In stark contrast was a dark spot in his abdomen, a black scar against the light. Vhalla opened her eyes and slowly turned to him.
“You’re not all right, are you?” she breathed. He frowned and she could almost feel him withdraw. “That magic, poison, whatever it is, it’s still in you.” She pointed at his side where she’d seen the spot. He considered her a long moment, unmoving.
“The stone, Vhalla,” Aldrik spoke softly and slowly.
He was shutting her out. Sighing, she closed her eyes. Some things wouldn’t change. It’d be foolish to expect them to. He was a prince, and she was an apprentice; some distances could never be crossed.
Her mind focused on the rock this time. Just like the bulb, she reminded herself.
The stone shuddered in her palm. Forward, Vhalla urged. Her brow furrowed, and she felt a drop of sweat roll down her neck, even though the temperature was nowhere near warm. Frustrated Vhalla opened her eyes to glare at the insubordinate pebble.
“That way!” she half pleaded, half snipped in annoyance.
The moment her opposite finger cut through the air in the desired direction, the stone shuddered to life. Vhalla jumped as it flew out of her palm, soared over the pond, through the shrubs on the other side, and buried itself into the stone wall behind.
Aldrik roared with laughter. She clenched her fists and scowled at him.
“That was amazing.” He slowly regained control of himself. “A little too much force, though.”
Frustrated, Vhalla picked up a second pebble and held it in her hand again. She connected with it faster this time, but it still refused to move despite her best mental commands. Lifting up her other hand, she flicked her wrist and it was sent soaring across the pond, though not as far.
Aldrik leaned forward, both elbows on his knees and his hands folded between. His raven eyes followed her every movement as Vhalla picked up the third stone. This time she did not even close her eyes to understand where the pebble was magically. Her fingers twitched, and it fell just to the other side of the water.
The fourth landed in the center of the pond with a dull plop and cry of victory from Vhalla.
Then there were the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh, each of which had a bad angle, moved too slowly, or landed wide again. Vhalla wiped her brow with the back of her hand, noticing her breathing had become labored.
The prince stood. “That is enough for today,” Aldrik said thoughtfully.
“But I’ve almost got it,” she protested.
“And are fully prepared to exhaust yourself in your attempt to get it.” He offered her his elbow. “Come.”
She clutched the eighth stone another second before giving in and replacing it with his arm. Vhalla took a deep breath, relaxing herself.
“We will need to work on your technique,” Aldrik explained as they walked. “You do not need to attach magical feats to physical movements.”
“It didn’t work the other way.” Vhalla shook her head.
“It will in time,” he encouraged her. “Do not become too reliant upon your magic requiring a physical motion.”
“Show me?” she asked timidly as they re-entered the greenhouse.
“What am I to show?” Aldrik asked, starting for the bench.
“Your magic, without motion,” Vhalla clarified.
“Very well.” The prince patted the bench next to him, and she assumed her prior position. Vhalla did not even realize that she had just made a demand of the prince.
Suddenly his outstretched palm was set ablaze. Tendrils of flame licked up from around his wrist. They circled his fingers and relished the air with their bright dance before fading. Vhalla stared, mesmerized. Aldrik did much the same.
With a timid hand she reached up. The moment her fingers crossed the point of heat the flame extinguished. His hand caught hers.
“Careful,” the prince said thoughtfully. “I would not want you to get burned.”
They hovered, the heat of his hand enveloping hers. Her throat felt gummy. Neither of them seemed to be able to fathom words over the ringing silence.
“Right,” Vhalla said, breaking the trance first, pulling her hand away and fussing with her cuticles as though they had become the most fascinating things in the world. It was hot enough in the greenhouse that her cheeks were flushed, and Vhalla quickly reached down to her bag underneath the bench, hiding her face.
Placing the leather satchel in her lap, Vhalla unwrapped the lemon cake after only a moment’s debate. She wasn’t even certain the prince liked sweets, but she still felt compelled to share her spoils with him. Ripping the hand-sized cake in two, Vhalla offered half—the smaller one—to him. Aldrik arched an eyebrow.
“It’s a lemon cake,” she explained.
“I know what it is.” He took it from her hand, sniffing it.
“It’s good, I promise.” She grinned. He took a bite. “They’re actually my favorite.”
“Not a bad batch,” he affirmed.
Vhalla’s chewing slowed. Of course the prince would have eaten the lemon cakes before.
“So, you simply carry a lemon cake with you each day?” he asked.
“No,” Vhalla shook her head. “I’m not supposed to have it as I’m an apprentice. It could get the kitchen staff in trouble if someone important knew they gave me one.” Aldrik smirked. Vhalla continued, hoping that did not come to pass, “But if I beg on my birthday to the right person, I normally get lucky.”
“Your birthday?” he asked. Vhalla nodded in affirmation. “Is today?” Vhalla nodded again, finishing off her first and proceeding to her second.
“It’s why Fritz gave me the book.” Vhalla nudged her bag with her toe. “Larel gave me this cuff.” Vhalla held out her wrist for him to see.
He inspected it thoughtfully a moment and Vhalla finished off the last of her lemon cake, using the opportunity to study his features again from the corners of her eyes. Vhalla was actually happy she could share something with the prince. But she wished that thing wasn’t a favorite food that she could only eat once every year.
Vhalla was halfway through her book when she noticed her pages had changed from a pale cream color to an orange glow. Sunset blazed above them and threatened to take her reading light away. Closing the book, she bent over and put it back in her bag.
“Finished?” he inquired. He’d been making notes in that black ledger all day.
“Not yet, about half,” she responded, standing.
“I was under the impression that you read faster than that,” he mumbled over a few quick notes of his own.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Vhalla teased. Smiling around the man who had previously been a source of fear and anger was surprisingly easy.