Who better than my magic teacher to instantly see through the lie?
The door creaked. I twisted in the chair to give my teacher a nervous smile.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” Zoland said. “I was studying the inverse theory of Telekinetic manipulation and lost sight of the Spheres.”
His gray eyes didn’t settle on me but instead looked elsewhere, as if he was still studying… whatever it was. His sunshine hair was fading to white but his skin was still smooth. Maybe forties? Fifties? I couldn’t judge nobles’ ages well. Zoland’s clothing looked rumpled, as if he hadn’t paid attention as he dressed.
He reminds me of the miller. I relaxed, just a little. Bert could grind flour well enough, but life pretty much passed him by.
“Anyway, I am Zoland, and you are Adara? Forgive the stark surroundings.” Zoland took the seat across from me and lightly rapped its arm. “Stone is difficult to destroy, and thus ideal for the new mage. We’ll move to a more stimulating practice area later.”
I nodded.
“I’m honored to mentor a mage of your magnitude,” Zoland continued. “Orrik says your manifestation took the form of fire?”
I nodded again, since I didn’t know the noble version of mmm-hmmm.
“We will test to see if that is your Talent, then. First we will cast Light. It is a spell that nearly every mage can manage.”
Talent? Orrik hadn’t mentioned Talents. I guessed Zoland expected me to be good at fire, but Introduction to Fire Spells hadn’t listed Light. Yet we were starting with it?
“I happen to be a Generalist myself, thus I am able to assist you with a variety of spells.” His gray eyes focused. “You have a question?”
I went as still as a rabbit.
“An inquisitive student is a successful student. Please, ask anything.”
The distracted miller had vanished, betraying me. So much for my plan of silence. “I didn’t know Light was a fire spell. And if I am, well, Talented in fire, I can’t cast other things?”
Zoland chuckled.
I asked an obvious question.
“Poor Threepines. Your manifestation as a blue must have shocked them exceedingly. You haven’t seen much magic, have you?”
My cheeks burned.
Zoland gave me a soft smile. “No, child, never be ashamed of a family of yellows.”
A family of yellows? First One, bless Orrik. Yellows, he’d told me, could barely cast anything at all. Adara of Threepines hadn’t seen much magic.
“To answer your question,” Zoland continued, “it depends. Some Talented mages have difficulty casting anything outside their area of specialization. For example, one of my pupils is a prodigy with Illusion but cannot lift a feather with Telekinesis. Others with a Talent manage a broad spectrum of spells. Another question?”
I bit my lip. Orrik had mentioned two other colors of Gift: purple and white. Healing Gifts. “If I can cast spells other than fire, can I heal? A little?”
Mother had died of the Sickness. Nobles had not.
Zoland stroked his jawline and the vague, not-really-here expression returned. “That is a question. A black can sometimes manage minor healing. As a blue, I assume the answer is yes, but it is something we can only explore further once you reach advanced study. Are you ready to begin?”
I nodded, my chest tight with anticipation. My whole life had built to this moment; the moment I’d be someone.
I only prayed my peasant blood didn’t mess everything up.
“Step one. Locating the Gift.”
Zoland launched into a lengthy explanation of how to become aware of my body and Gift. I asked questions three times, because I only understood about half of the words he said. He asked me to try to find my Gift, but my eyes kept wandering over to the Time Spheres forming and forming…
Zoland suggested I close my eyes. That was worse. It left me alone with my fears.
“Deep breath, Adara,” came Zoland’s voice. He talked me through tensing one limb after another. Somehow it worked. It moved my mind from itself to my muscles. “And your toes. Tense. Hold. Release. Now. Travel back to your chest and sink into yourself.”
I gasped. How had I not noticed my magic before? There, deep in my chest—life. A ball of giddiness and anxiety and energy, it surged like happiness on a dewy spring morning. So much promise, so much power.
Too much power. Elation battled terror inside my own heart. I tried to pull away but I couldn’t; now that I had felt it, I couldn’t ignore it. First One, you made a mistake!
“Your breathing has increased. You found it?”
“Yes,” I responded, my eyes still tightly closed. The word came out a squeak.
“Remember, the Gift is part of you. You control it.”
I wanted to laugh. Control? What control? The hut had burned without my meaning it to, and so had the crate in the alley.
“Lesson Two. The success of a spell depends on visualization and focus. You cannot afford distraction. A fight with your mother, a cut on your arm, a nearby battle. While casting a spell, none of these matters. If you lose focus and fail to properly visualize the spell, you will at best cast nothing. At worst, the spell will lash out and hurt all in its proximity. Understood?”
What if it’s the magic itself that is scaring you? Instead of admitting my fear, I kept to the silent-nod plan. Orrik might hurl lightning bolts with ease now, but once he’d been sixteen, facing all that power inside himself. He’d conquered it.
Zoland told me to use my hands as a focal point; a strategy used by new mages. I slowed my breathing then nudged my Gift and imagined it flowing down my arms into my cupped hands.
“You should feel your Gift pooling in your palms,” Zoland said. He cupped his hands, a mirror image of me. “Visualize what you
