“I mean with you.”
He smiled faintly at his own dark humor. “Nothing is wrong with me, Jaina. Merely—well, I have a concern that I’d like to share with you.”
She frowned, a small crease appearing between her brows, and put the glass down. “Me? Why me? I’m not one of the Council of Six. I’m not even a member of the Kirin Tor anymore.” Once, she had been, working closely with her master, Antonidas. But after the Third War, when the scattered members of the Kirin Tor had reformed, it hadn’t felt the same to her.
“And this is precisely why it’s you I must speak with,” he said. “Jaina, we’ve all endured so much. We’ve been so busy—well, fighting and planning and doing battle—that we’ve fallen behind on another, perhaps even more important, duty.”
Jaina gave him a bemused smile. “Defeating Malygos and recovering from a world shaken like a rat in a mastiff’s mouth seem pretty important to me.”
He nodded. “They are. But so is training the next generation.”
“What’s that got to do—oh.” She shook her golden head firmly. “Rhonin, I’d like to help, but I can’t come to Dalaran. I have my own challenges in Theramore, and even though Horde and Alliance have been equally harmed by the Cataclysm, we still have so much—”
He held up an interrupting hand. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “I’m not asking you to stay here in the Violet Citadel. There are enough of us here—but too few out there in the world.”
“Oh,” she said again. “You… want me to take an apprentice.”
“We do. If you’re amenable. There is one young woman in particular I’d like you to consider. She’s extremely promising, intelligent, and fiercely curious about the world outside her limited view of Ironforge and Dalaran. I think you’d be a very good match.”
And then Jaina understood. She reclined in the comfortable purple cushions and reached for the wine. She took a small sip and said, “And someone who’d do a fine job of reporting back to you too, I presume.”
“Come now, Lady Proudmoore. You can’t expect us to leave so powerful and influential a mage all alone out there in Theramore.”
“Honestly? I’m surprised you haven’t sent along an observer before,” she said.
He gave her a rueful look. “There’s so much in chaos now,” he said. “It’s not that we don’t trust you. It’s that we simply need to… well…”
“I promise not to open any Dark Portals,” Jaina said, lifting her hand and mockingly swearing.
That made him laugh; then he sobered. Placing a hand on hers, he leaned in for a moment. “You do understand, don’t you?”
“I do,” Jaina said. And she did. Before, there had been no time for anything other than simple survival. Any mage, anywhere, who had not actively allied with Malygos had been a threat to him. Now, with the world splintered, old alliances were splintered as well. And Jaina was both a powerful mage and a respected diplomat.
Thoughts of Antonidas, who had—after much badgering on her part—taken her on as an apprentice what seemed like ages ago, filled her mind. He had been a wise and good man, with a strong sense of right and wrong and the willingness to die to protect others. He had inspired and shaped her. Suddenly, Jaina very much wanted to give back to the world what it had given her. She was quite aware that she was a mage of no small ability, and now that the subject had been broached, she thought it might be a good thing to teach someone what she knew. She did not have to rejoin the Kirin Tor to help others understand and work well with magic, as she had learned how to do. Life was unpredictable, these days more so than ever. Additionally, she found she missed Anduin’s occasional presence. Perhaps a young person would liven up the damp old place.
“You know,” she said, “I recall a certain headstrong young woman who pestered Antonidas to take her as an apprentice.”
“And as I recall, she turned out rather well. Some say she’s the finest mage in Azeroth.”
“Some say many things.”
“Please tell me you’ll teach her,” Rhonin said, dropping any hint of anything other than complete sincerity.
“I think it’s a fine idea,” she said firmly.
“You’ll like her,” Rhonin said. His expression grew impish. “She’ll challenge you.”
Kinndy had challenged Pained, too, Jaina remembered. She smothered a smile as she thought about Pained’s reaction to the gnome girl. Pained was a night elf, a warrior who had stayed with Jaina ever since being assigned to the mage at the Battle of Mount Hyjal. She steadfastly served as Jaina’s bodyguard, whether or not the lady actually needed her, unless Jaina sent her off on a more covert mission. Jaina often told Pained that she was free to return to her people at any point. Pained usually shrugged and said, “Lady Tyrande never officially relieved me of my duty,” and would not reply further. Jaina didn’t quite understand the night elf’s stubbornness and inexplicable, devotion but she was grateful for it.
At one point, Kinndy had been studying while Jaina methodically went through her cabinet of reagents, writing up new labels for those that were almost illegible and putting aside items that had lost their potency for proper disposal. Chairs in Theramore were designed for humans, and Kinndy’s feet didn’t reach the floor. She had been swinging them absently, sipping tea as she perused a tome nearly as large as she was. Pained had been busying herself, cleaning her sword. Out of the corner of her eye, Jaina had noticed the elf glancing at Kinndy now and then, looking more annoyed each time.
Finally Pained burst out. “Kinndy? Do you enjoy being perky?”
Kinndy closed the book, marking her place with a small finger, and pondered the question. After a moment, she said, “People don’t take me seriously. This often denies me opportunities to be useful. I find it rather frustrating. So, no. I don’t enjoy being perky.”
Pained nodded. “Ah. That is all right, then,” she said, and returned to her work. Jaina had to excuse herself quickly in order to keep from laughing.
Unintentional perkiness aside, Kinndy had indeed challenged Jaina. The gnome had more energy than anyone Jaina had ever met. The questions were endless. At first they were amusing, then annoying, and then Jaina woke up one day and realized she was truly a mentor. A master with an apprentice who would grow up to do her proud. Rhonin hadn’t been exaggerating—he had probably given her the best the Kirin Tor had to offer.
Kinndy was curious about Jaina’s role as a leader as well as a mage. Jaina would have liked to have told the gnome about the secret meetings with Go’el—Kinndy seemed the type of person who might understand Jaina’s reasoning—but of course could not. Fond of the girl though Jaina might be, Kinndy was, in the end, honor-bound to report everything she knew to the Kirin Tor. Jaina’s slip with Anduin had taught her to take extra precautions, and thus far, she was certain that Kinndy was still ignorant of the meetings.
“How is Master Rhonin?” Jaina inquired.
“Oh, he is well. He sends his best,” Kinndy replied. “He seemed a bit distracted,” she mused, pausing to take another bite of cookie.
“We’re magi, Kinndy,” Jaina said wryly. “We’re always distracted by something or other.”
“This is true!” she said cheerily, brushing at some crumbs. “But even so, my visit seemed rather rushed.”
“Did you get to spend time with your parents?” Kinndy’s father, Windle, was entrusted with the important duty of lighting all of Dalaran’s streetlights with his wand in the evening. According to Kinndy, he so enjoyed the task that he sold wands that enabled others to experience it themselves a time or two. Her mother, Jaxi, often provided baked goods for the high elf Aimee to sell at her stall, and the gnome’s red velvet cupcakes were extremely popular. This heritage was part of the reason that Kinndy was so frustrated at her own—in her opinion—subpar pastries.