“Try again,” she says, her tone encouraging.
I summon every ounce of calm and concentrate. Suddenly, warmth blossoms in my palms. My eyes fly open to see a tiny, guttering flame dancing across my skin. It wavers, growing stronger by the second.
Rowena smiles. “Well done. That is but the first spark. Are you ready for more?”
I nod, and with newfound confidence, I focus once more, guiding the flame as it engulfs my hands entirely. The fire caresses my skin, radiant and strong.
“Excellent,” Rowena says. “Now, release it.”
Release it?
The thought unnerves me. This magic has only ever been destructive in my hands, even when summoned in self-defense. What if I cannot restrain it?
Sensing my hesitation, Rowena steps closer. “You wield the flames, My Lady. Not the reverse. Will them to fade.”
I bite my lip, then slowly curl my fingers. The flame hisses as it recedes.
Relief floods through me.
I can do this.
I can control it.
Rowena squeezes my shoulder. “You see? Magic answers to your command. With practice, it will become second nature.”
She’s right. And when I master this magic, it need not be a curse, but a blessing instead. Maybe I can even use it for good.
“When can I learn how to summon a Phoenix?” I ask, as I think about Lyra’s greatest gift, the one I have read about but have never seen in person.
Rowena fixes me with a stern look. “Once you’ve honed your skills. Otherwise, the Phoenix’s fierce power would destroy you.”
Even though I would like to know about this part of Lyra’s magic, I understand I’m still new at this.
“I understand,” I say. “Thank you for your help.”
Rowena nods and smiles as I turn to leave The Pyre Sanctum.
Excitement lances through me as I hurry into the corridor and lean against the wall. As a child growing up in House of Silver, I never imagined I would one day possess crimson magic. In truth, I was taught by my grandfather to fear and hate it, believing those with crimson magic to be monsters.
Now, the very power I was warned against flows through my veins.
I lift my palms to the light trickling through the arched window, noticing how the sunlight dances across my skin.
Did Lyra ever pause like this, marveling at the fire that lived within her? Did she revel in her magic? Or did she look upon these abilities with unease?
Would she hate me for taking her life? Her husband?
I push off from the wall and resume my walk through the torch-lit corridor. Armored guards pause their patrol to stare as I pass. Servants cease their work, brooms and cloths forgotten in their hands as they turn to gawk at me.
Mortification seizes me as I duck my head, allowing my hair to fall forward and curtain my scarred face.
Hurry!
I quicken my steps toward the bedchamber I share with Jasce, knowing I left another veil there.
Finally, I reach the door and fumble at the latch, slipping inside and closing the world away with a heavy thud.
I scan the room and spot the veil I’d left draped over the back of a chair. My hands shake as I pull it on.
