Even so, surely Jayan, being older and from good bloodlines, would be chosen over her. The possibility that she could inherit a ley was so strange and ridiculous, she almost laughed aloud. That can’t be it, she thought. It must be something else.
She would have to think about it later. For now all she could do was ignore him. Though not if he was openly obnoxious, she decided. Then she would stand up to him. After all, she had faced a Sachakan magician. She had dealt with grown men made difficult by pain and sickness. No mere Kyralian apprentice was going to cow her.
That decided, she was able to clear her thoughts and concentrate on Dakon’s control lesson. As always, she visualised a box and nervously opened it. Inside lay her power, a swirling, bright ball of light. She touched it, held it in her hand, even gave it a squeeze, then put it back and closed the lid.
When she opened her eyes, Dakon sat back and smiled at her. Then he stood up, walked to a shelf and took down a heavy stone bowl that had been wedged between two rows of books. He put it on the floor in front of her, then tore up a scrap of paper and dropped it into the bowl.
“Look at the paper,” he told her. “I want you to remember what it felt like to hold your power. Then I want you to take a tiny bit of it – just a pinch – and direct it at the paper. At the same time, think about heat. Think about fire.”
This was nothing like the lessons she’d had before. She looked at him questioningly, but he just nodded at the bowl.
Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and stared at the paper. She recalled how it had felt to hold and squeeze her magic. The sensation was still there, even though she had her eyes open.
It was not unlike the feeling she had experienced when her magic loosed itself without her meaning it but... not as slippery.
She dared not blink.
Still staring at the stone vessel, she plucked at the magic she sensed and felt it respond. Scared that if she waited too long the bit of magic she had taken would slip from her grasp, she directed it towards the torn paper.
Her forehead burned as the air before her suddenly grew hot.
The vessel slid away from her a few strides, then flames began to flicker from within.
“You did it!” Dakon exclaimed. His tone was half surprised, half pleased. “I thought you might be ready.”
“So she has.”
Tessia jumped as she realised Jayan was standing beside her chair, peering over her shoulder at the burning paper. The smell of smoke stung her nose. Jayan grimaced and made a small gesture with one finger.
Looking back at the bowl, she saw that the smoke was now contained within it by an invisible shield. After a few moments the flames shrank and disappeared. She felt a vague disappointment as the result of her first controlled use of magic was extinguished.
Dakon, she noted, was looking at Jayan with a thoughtful expression. The young apprentice shrugged and walked back to his seat, picking up the book he had been reading. Dakon said nothing and turned back to Tessia.
“So, I think I can officially say you have gained control of your power, Tessia,” he said. “We need not fear any further destruction, though I must say the room we had to refurnish is looking a lot better than it did before.”
She felt her face warm and looked away. “What happens now?”
“We celebrate,” he told her. Across the room a small gong set within an alcove in the wall rang. “After all, I’ve never heard of any magician gaining control in just two weeks. I took three. Jayan took four.”
“Three and a half,” Jayan corrected, not looking up from his book. “And we lost three days when Lord Gempel dropped in for a chat and decided to hang around and deplete your wine store.”
Dakon chuckled. “He was old. How could I deny him a rest and a little company now and then?”
Jayan didn’t answer. At a tap on the door, Dakon turned to look at it. Tessia noted the way his gaze intensified as he used magic. The door swung open. Cannia stepped into the room.
“Bring us a bottle of wine, Cannia. A good one, too. Now that Tessia’s control lessons are over she had best start learning something all respectable Kyralians must know: which of our wines are better than others.”
As the servant smiled and left, Tessia drew her attention back to her own magic. This new awareness she had of something within her, discovered during her first lessons and reinforced by numerous exercises, reminded her of something. Then she remembered how she had become acutely conscious of the position and rhythms of her heart and lungs after her father had shown her sketches of those organs within a body and started teaching her about them.
But her magic was different. She did not need to be in control of her heart and lungs. She could forget about them and trust that they kept working. Though Dakon had assured her she would eventually stop noticing that she was exerting control over her power, that control must always remain.
Now, for the first time, the prospect no longer scared her.
Jayan yawned as he crossed the yard to the stables. The grass in the surrounding fields was white with frost, and his breath misted in the air. As the cold penetrated his clothes he created a shield about himself and warmed the air within it.
Magic could do something about the cold, but it couldn’t fix the early hour. Why had Dakon sent for him? Malia hadn’t been able or willing to tell him anything except that he’d find Dakon in the stables.
A man leading a roan horse emerged from the blackness behind the open stable door and Jayan felt his mood darken further. Dakon had given Hanara a job in the stables, which Jayan had to admit was a wise move. It kept the former slave out of the house but not out of sight. But it did mean Jayan had to deal with the man whenever he wanted or needed to go for a ride.
Hanara kept his eyes to the ground, his shoulders hunched. The apparent meekness only made Jayan more uneasy.
“For you, master,” the man said.
Jayan bit back a reminder that the title was not appropriate. He should not be called “master” until he was a magician, and then only by his own apprentice. The one time he had tried to explain this Hanara had stared at the ground, saying nothing, and later resumed using the term.
Hanara turned the mare to the side ready for mounting, then positioned himself at her head. Jayan paused, then took the reins from the man and held them as he swung up onto the horse’s back. Hoofbeats to his right heralded the emergence of Dakon from the stable, leading his favourite gelding, Sleet.
“A good morning to you, Apprentice Jayan,” Dakon said. “Care for a ride?”
“Do I have a choice? Can I get down and go back inside to study?” Jayan asked, a touch snappier than he intended.
Dakon’s mouth twitched into a smile. “That would be a pity, when Hanara spent so much time readying Ember for you.”
“Wouldn’t it just,” Jayan replied sarcastically. “So where are we heading so early in the morning?”
“The usual circuit of the village,” Dakon said, placing a foot in Sleet’s stirrup. He swung up and settled into the grey’s saddle, then nudged the horse into motion. Jayan sighed and urged his mount after them.
As they emerged from the Residence’s gates Jayan saw that a few villagers were already out and about. The baker, of course, was doing his usual early deliveries. A few young boys carried bundles of firewood from a cart to the doors of the houses, leaving them beside the doorstep.
It did not take Dakon and Jayan long to reach the edge of the village. Crossing the bridge, they headed southward.
“You don’t trust Hanara, do you?” Dakon asked.