trickles over rooftops and down windows. That’s all I knew of the sound of rain.”
Daron said nothing. He didn’t want to frighten this rare piece of her away by releasing so much as a breath. He wanted to know more, as much as she would give him. As much as she would trust him with.
“What does it sound like now?” he whispered. Her face was still slick with water, and the clench in his throat returned, pressing harder when she met his stare.
“Here, with you,” she said, showing a small hint of teeth. “Sounds like applause.”
* * *
Ruin and all, Kallia adored the Ranza Estate. There was something undeniably warm and open about its shape and air, even as they sat huddled inside away from the rain. Even better, their cursory check for any wild strays that managed to crawl their way in, had also turned up with no mirrors. Demarco relaxed at the observation, a happy coincidence for them both.
For once, the silence was as it should be. The stillness, unbroken and true.
Kallia shivered. Her clothes clung, still wet. Hardly drying, even as Demarco fed more wood into the fireplace. It felt too warm in Glorian for a fire anymore, as if the city had somehow begun to thaw around them. A changing of seasons. Even so, as they ducked inside to escape the rain, there was no hiding Kallia’s shivering.
“We’re here to practice magic, and you tell me not to use it on myself?” she demanded against the chattering of teeth. She could be dry in a matter of moments. “What sort of mentor are you?”
“Just because you can use it doesn’t mean you need it for everything.”
“So says the monk magician.”
He stopped pacing by the fireplace. “What?”
“It’s what your fellow judges called you once. You refrain from using your magic whenever you can, like how a holy man resists all vices.” Kallia wrapped her arms around herself. “Seems I know who they poke fun at when I’m not around.”
She was also freely ridiculed right to her face, but it didn’t bother her. Those words were not daggers. They were boorish tosses with sloppy aims, hardly ever sticking.
Yet when thrown at Demarco, somehow that annoyed Kallia. Even Jack had gotten his jabs in. Weak magician. She was sure Demarco had heard worse. His cool shrug was probably a tool of survival.
“They think there’s only power in power,” he stated, more a fact than a defense. “The moment I grew too reliant on magic simply to keep me here, present, the more I always felt like a performer wherever I went. Like I never got off the stage.”
“You make it sound so serious.” Kallia shook out her hair. “There’s no harm in dividing magic between performances and how you go about your day.”
“Clearly.” Amused, he looked her up and down. “Did you do that to spite me?”
She raised a hand to her face, her hair … realizing both were dry and warm. Her clothes were still a bit damp, but the chill must’ve triggered the reflex. “Oh come on, it was cold. You expect me to freeze to death?”
He chuckled, turning back to the fireplace. No magic had gone into the fire he’d built, and already it was ablaze. One of the first tricks Kallia had learned was raising fires—with the snap of her fingers, in the heart of her palm, the element came to her naturally. But as she sat on the dusty floor in front of the hearth, she didn’t know if she’d ever seen a fire brighter or felt such heat. A fire born of true labor.
“Your method is easy to follow when you’re retired.” She tried to resist drying the last damp patches of clothing that chafed against her skin. “I was taught to exercise well, and often. Treat magic like a muscle, not a time capsule.”
“Not all magic is the same. But I think we can agree that nothing thrives under excess and waste.”
Days wallowing in bed, exhausted to the bone, flashed across her mind. “If not all magic is the same, why are you trying to force your ways onto mine?”
Pensive, Demarco picked at a stray piece of wood he’d ripped from a block, shredding it splinter by splinter. “I’m not forcing anything. Not trying to, at least. I’m only hoping to show you another way, something different.” He threw the long splinters into the fire, holding one between them. “Don’t be like this wood.”