But she also isolated herself. I shudder when I read that she accidentally killed three witches and two shaders, then turned to extreme isolation to keep others safe. She chose magic over all else, and an intense loneliness settles inside me, knowing I don’t have the same love for magic that Alice did. I feel broken in some critical way.
I have loved magic more deeply, more wholly than I could ever hope to love another person, and magic has loved me back. The sacrifice is great, but the bounty is greater.
Reading those words makes me angry, but more than that, it makes me feel alone. How could she love something that took so much from her? I want to understand, but maybe I never will.
I’m so lost in my reading that I don’t realize how late it is until Nox runs out through his door and I check my phone. I pull myself away from Alice’s book and quickly get dressed before rushing outside. I sprint the entire way to the control field, and Sang is there waiting when I arrive. I’ve only seen him in passing since the meeting where I learned I’d be training with him. His eyebrows rise when he sees me.
“I almost thought you weren’t going to show up.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, out of breath. “I got caught up in some reading and didn’t notice the time.”
“No worries,” he says. “It looks like you’re all healed up.” He sounds hesitant and unsure.
I’m about to say the same to him, but then I remember that he’s reporting to Ms. Suntile and Mr. Burrows, and I no longer want to respond. It’s hard to remember the witch who rescued Nox and ran from a tornado with me when all I can see is the witch whose job it is to take notes and talk about me behind my back.
I feel an invisible barrier rise between us, tall and strong and impassable.
Sang kneels next to his bag and pulls out a piece of paper with the Eastern School of Solar Magic letterhead on top.
“Is that the lesson plan?”
“Yeah.” He stands, and his tone is short. Distracted.
“Don’t sound so excited.”
Sang puts the paper back in his bag and sighs. “I’m sorry, it’s just—” He pauses and meets my gaze. “I moved twenty-five hundred miles across the country, away from my family, to study botany. I was supposed to go to Korea with my parents and spend an entire month there visiting family, and I gave that up because Mr. Burrows insisted this was such a great opportunity. But instead of doing my research, I’m helping you train. He didn’t tell me this would be part of the deal.” He motions around the control field.
It makes me feel better, in a way, knowing he doesn’t want to be here any more than I do. He pushes his hand through his hair and gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“I didn’t realize they’d pulled you away from your research. I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t ask to get involved. I didn’t even know about it until Mr. Burrows and Ms. Suntile called me into the office twenty minutes before you showed up.”
“That makes two of us. You’d think Mr. Burrows would have mentioned something to you before you gave up your trip and moved all the way out here.”
“He didn’t know Mr. Hart was going to die,” Sang says.
But he did know he’d be taking over my education. He knew his focus would be on me instead of Sang.
I think back to how Mr. Burrows was at my last session with Mr. Hart, and it’s so clear that Ms. Suntile brought him out here to take over my training. She always meant for Mr. Burrows to replace Mr. Hart—his death just made it easier.
The ache in my chest returns.
Sang looks at the paper peeking out of his bag. “I know he seems a little rough around the edges, but he’s brilliant. And even though my time here isn’t going exactly as I thought, I’m glad I get to keep learning from him. You’ll get to know him, and you’ll see it too.”
“He seems like a total jerk,” I say.
Sang’s jaw clenches, tiny muscles pulsing beneath his skin. He’s angry. “Maybe we should just get started.”
I drop my bag to the ground. “Sure.” The word comes out sour, and I catch Sang shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. I silently scold myself, then soften my tone and ask, “What’s on the agenda?”
“A drill that’s repeatable in every season. It’s going to become our home base while we’re training together—by the end of the year, you will have done it so many times, you’ll never want to do it again. Today, we’ll use it to establish your baseline. Mr. Burrows needs to know your starting point so he can properly gauge the progress you make.”
Even the mention of his name puts me on edge; it’ll be impossible for me to get stronger if I’m constantly worried about Mr. Burrows looming over me, about having to train with him full-time if I don’t improve.
“Let’s make a deal: you try not to mention your mentor’s name unless it’s totally necessary, and I’ll try not to respond with unwelcome comments about what a jackass he is. Fair?” I’m trying to make a joke, but it comes out harsh. Too far, Clara, I reprimand myself, but Sang doesn’t shake his head or tighten his jaw. Instead, the corner of his mouth tugs up just slightly, and he swallows—he’s trying not to laugh.
“Fair,” he agrees.
“So, how are we going to establish my baseline?”
“We’re going to work with the wind, since that’s something every season is comfortable with. See that tree line?” He points to the end of the field, where acres of evergreens and towering pines stretch out toward the mountains beyond. “It’s a
