Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Remember,” she says, voice carrying even as she begins to move through the room. “Essence. Emotion. Intention. Pick one thread. Draw on one emotion, not five. And be specific in what you mean to create. A general spell is a sloppy spell. Sloppy spells misfire.”
She glances my way again as she says it.
Around me, students close their eyes, faces smoothing as they reach for whatever feelings live in their heads. Some glow faintly, magic answering like a well-trained pet. Others frown, their threads flickering.
I stare at the thread in my hand.
Intention. I huff. I can internally snap someone’s neck but it’s not something I plan beforehand. It’s impulse.
Every move I make is pure impulse. I’m not so sure I know how to think differently. My brain was wired this way—and unless there’s some kind of witchery shit for that—then it’s probably going to stay that way.
Be careful when calling on fire, Professor Astra had warned.
I release the thread and sit back in my chair, arms crossed. Yeah, not about to go full fucking pyro in here and get accused of escalating to mass murderer. Prickly fucks.
Professor Astra strolls toward me, hands carefully laced behind her back. “Sulking, are we?”
“Nah. Practicing self-control,” I tease. “It’s a terrible feeling.”
Her lips twitch but she shows no other sign of amusement. I think it’s safe to say she likes me, but what’s not to like? I’m fucking fantastic.
“You think you won’t be able to control the essence.”
“I bit one of your Kings, while he sat on his throne, in a room full of royal guards because I fucking felt like it.”
“That was foolish.”
“It was.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wanted to make him bleed.”
She nods, coming to stand in front of me and lowering herself so we’re at eye level, and whispers, “Intent.”
My eyes narrow, following her as she stands.
“If you were listening, truly listening, then you heard the word I wove into my instruction.” Her fingers glide across my codex and it sparks angrily at her touch. “Look around the room, Haide,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away.
I study the gifted in the farthest corner, slowly moving from one student to the next, and with each I pass, my frown deepens.
Everyone’s frustrated and annoyed. Some even slumped in their seats like they’re just waiting for this to end.
I replay Astra’s words.
I straighten in my seat. Attempt. That’s the word I missed.
Attempt.
My feet fall from the tabletop. A slow smile curves across my lips as I sit up. She doesn’t expect anyone to actually succeed. It’s an assignment beyond the capabilities of anyone in this room.
Finally, I understand school. Today, the gifted in this room are my fucking equals.
I laugh quietly and reach out for one of Professor Astra’s threads. This time, it’s light that settles in my palm.
I draw a slow breath through my nose and let my shoulders loosen. I picture the light in my palm, not as a bright full moon over the island, but as something waiting for direction. I feed it a sliver of irritation—at this school, these rumors, the way they attacked me in a group like cowards—and it brightens, intimately pleased.
Intention.
Fuck.
What do I want it to do?
Killing them all is probably not what Astra meant by harmless.
I picture a small blade of light narrowed to a single point. Pale and blinding at its core so it’s sharp enough to sting, but not enough to break skin. It appears in my mind as clearly as a knife in my hand. I wrap the intention around the thread, let my anger thread through it like wire.
Heat rolls up my arm, settling in my chest. It pushes against bone as if it wants out, and my heart beats like a wild animal beneath my ribs.
“Come on, Professor Astra,” a student begs, “give us something we can actually accomplish. Creative Magic is for fourth years. We haven’t even studied ancient symbols. How are we supposed to create our own without learning those first?”
My focus falls and the thread in my palms with it.
Professor Astra smirks at the boy. “Glad someone caught on to the missing piece.” She makes her way back to the front of the class. “That was just an example to show you the amount of work needed here at Rathe U. That is, if you wish to get to the point in your journey where magic will answer to your call.” She snaps her fingers and the room grows brighter. “Open your codex. Today is day one of ancient symbols.”
The sounds of bending leather and turning paper fill the space as the class obeys. A slow grin curls across my face.
So, none of us should be able to create new magic.
Pretty fucking sure I almost did.
“Professor?” I ask.
Her eyes lift to mine, hand freezing mid-write. “Yes?”