I nearly choke. Not impressed? Is he kidding? If anything, that’s the problem. I’m very impressed with what I see, and that’s exactly why I’m so damn irritated. Because I’m thinking of the latter part of what he said. But there’s no way I’m admitting that.
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Just seems like a lot of effort for someone who’s supposed to be teaching, not—” I flick my hand over his outfit—“whatever this is.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I immediately want to slap myself. Because despite how much I want to focus on training, on becoming stronger, on not getting distracted by a ridiculously attractive man in an impossibly well-tailored outfit, my thoughts keep circling back to one undeniable truth.
Rylan looks fucking divine in that outfit.
And I really, really wish he didn’t.
He clears his throat, and I snap my gaze back up to his face, hoping he didn’t notice. But the small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells me he did.
“Once you’re done ogling your crown prince and mentor, perhaps we can get started.” His face sobers. “First Keeper trial is in just over ten weeks.”
My stomach drops. “Ten weeks? I can’t win a trial in that time! I can’t even conjure enough liquid to throw a glass of water in your face!” The words come out in a rush, panic bubbling up inside me.
Rylan holds up a hand to quiet my words, his expression calm and steady. “Not yet,” he agrees, his voice steadying me, even though I don’t want to be steadied right now. “But don’t forget, you don’t have to win the first trial—you just have to not come last.”
“Not come last?” I echo, still reeling from the announcement.That doesn’t sound any better. The thought of being thrown into a trial with Selene and even Doran is enough to make my head spin.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Rylan says, taking a step closer. His voice is softer now, more reassuring. “We’re going to take it one day at a time. And I’m going to get you there. Trust me.”
I blink, still feeling that uneasy flutter in my chest. “Let’s just… let’s just go to the training grounds. And see these miracles you think you can perform.”
“After you, disciple.”
Rylan stopsa few paces ahead of me when we reach the training grounds, his eyes locked on mine with a calm intensity that makes my heart race. There’s something about the way he looks at me—like he believes in me more than I believe in myself. It’s comforting and terrifying all at once. And I’ve missed it.
He watches me for a moment longer, then tilts his head slightly, his expression softening. “I want you to think back to the few times you’ve used your Strength recently. It’s always been born out of desperation, hasn’t it? Moments where you had no other choice, where pure fear and panic took over. You didn’t have any control over it, really.”
I swallow hard, memories flashing through my mind—the fire in the village, the look of pain on Rylan’s face in the woods. “I guess,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. “Every time I’ve used it, it’s been when I was scared. Like in the village, or when you were…” My voice trails off, not needing to finish the sentence. He knows.
Rylan nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “I think that’s taught you to fear your magic. You’ve started to associate it withthose moments of terror, as if it’s something that only comes out when things are at their worst.”
I blink, the truth of his words hitting me hard. He’s right. Every time I’ve touched my magic, it’s felt like a wild, uncontrollable force, something that responds to fear, not to me. Not to mention, all the times that fear… pushed the magic even deeper. Even before Rylan had even come into my life.
“But here’s the thing,” Rylan continues, stepping closer. “Your magic doesn’t control you. You control your magic. I want you to remember that, if nothing else, that’s what you’re going to remember today, okay? You control your magic. So today isn’t just about learning to use your magic, it’s about reclaiming it.”
I feel a flicker of hope at the way he’s sounding so confident, a small but undeniable whisper of hope. “I… think I can do that.”
He smiles, a small, encouraging curve of his lips. “We’re going to find where the magic exists inside you. We’re going to teach your magic that it doesn’t need fear to come out. And we’re going to teach you that you can call on it whenever you want, not just when you’re desperate.”
The words settle into me like a warm, steadying weight. I nod, more determined now than I’ve ever been. “I’m ready.”
“Good,” Rylan says, the challenge returning to his eyes. “Let’s start simple.” He motions for me to close my eyes, and I do, letting the world around me fade into the background. “Breathe,” he instructs, his tone low and calming. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice and slow. Focus on nothing but your breath and my voice.”
I follow his lead, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. My heartbeat begins to steady, the anxiety ebbing away with each breath. The sounds of the forest, the chill of the early morningair, all of it slips away until there’s nothing but the steady rhythm of my breath and Rylan’s voice guiding me.
“Now, I want you to imagine your magic inside you,” Rylan directs. “Think back to those moments when it appeared.” My eyes spring open as I’m immediately taken back to the village in flames. He shakes his head and gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Close your eyes, breathe through the panic. And try to push through the instinct to put yourself in the terror of that moment, and try to remember what was happening in your body at the time. What happened, what moved, what came alive?”
My brow furrows as I try to remember how it had felt, standing there, watching Rylan thrashing as the fire burned him, as I tried to conjure a stream of water to cool his blistering skin. There’s a stirring in the middle of my chest, a ripple, and in my mind’s eye, I can see something start to coalesce. Shallow and small, almost like a rain puddle, but it’s there. “I think I see it. It’s like… it’s like a puddle. Is that silly?”
He lets out a gentle laugh. It almost makes me want to open my eyes so I can see the expression on his face, but I’m scared to lose sight of my magic. “No, it’s not silly. My magic sometimes looks like a tiny little barely burning ember. It has to start somewhere. Now hold onto that image, play with it, make it bigger or smaller. Whenever you want to start conjuring your magic, imagine it there inside you. How it feels, how it looks. Got it?”
I nod. I start by making the puddle bigger until it’s like a little fish pond. Then, for fun, I reach out and touch it in my mind’s eye, and it ripples, making me giggle.
“Good. Now, reach into that pond, and gently, pull out a little thread. As if you’re threading a needle. Don’t grab it. Don’t force it. Just touch it, like you’d touch the surface of a calm lake. Feel it respond to you.”
I reach out in my mind, hesitant but determined. I try totouch the pond, to feel it as he described, but instead of responding to my touch, this time it slips away, elusive as smoke. My heart pounds with frustration, and I clench my fists, willing myself to calm down. I try again, but this time, the puddle doesn’t even appear. The harder I try, the more elusive the magic becomes.
“It’s not working,” I mutter through gritted teeth, my voice tight with irritation. “I can’t… It just slips away.”
