“Wake up,” came Kiera’s voice, cutting through the image of a snarling face that filled Claire’s mind. She sat up in a hurry, knocking Kiera’s hands from her shoulders, heart racing.

Kiera perched on the edge of the bed, furrow lines of concern across her forehead. “You were shouting in your sleep. Something about Marcus.”

Claire shuddered. The demon thing had haunted her dreams yet again, this time taunting her with the prospect of Dorran House finding out she was a fraud. She’d screamed at her grandfather in front of hundreds of Dorrans, reminding him that she’d warned them it was Marcus who they’d needed all along. He and the others had watched her, stony-faced, as she’d waited for her punishment.

“It was nothing,” she lied as Kiera peered at her.

“Should I have a word with Maen?” Kiera asked, patting Claire’s hands gently. “Perhaps he’s working you too hard?”

Claire had been to lessons with Maen for five days now and every day he kept her practising for hours on end. A servitor would stand by her, holding a tray of bread and cheese and she’d scoff mouthfuls between trying to put out multiple fires at once or create cold flame. And it didn’t end there. She’d finish practice with just enough time to wash and change into the more formal dress her grandfather insisted on for dinner. Then her meal came with a side of complicated politics, courtesy of Lord Dorran. She had to concentrate on what was being said to avoid his disapproval if even days later she hadn’t remembered the name of a battle, a priest, a noble or any other small detail. And it wasn’t over then. Kiera would review the day’s discussion one more time before Claire went to bed. It would be believable to claim her rigorous timetable was to blame for her fitful sleep, but Maen would see through the lie. He and Gwenivere were always going on about her magical stamina.

“It’s my brother,” she said instead. “I miss him.”

Kiera looked away. “What was he like? In your world, I mean?”

“We’re super close,” Claire said. “We loved mucking about on our farm and with the horses and in the bush.” She paused at the confusion in Kiera’s face. “Erm, sorry. The bush is another term for like, a forest. Anyway, Marcus was always there for me.” She couldn’t wait to see him again. She’d throw her arms around him and he’d be so proud she’d come to Kelnarium to help.

Kiera’s voice shook. “He didn’t like us very much. Me and Rael especially.”

Claire was baffled. “I don’t understand. You remember the time you told me Suranne was the life of the party? That’s Marcus back home. He’s the charmer.”

“He was a sulky thing when he arrived at the Manor, nattering on about something called football and his girlfriend and how we were barbarians. I suppose Rael could have been more circumspect in how he explained Kelnarium to Marcus, but how was he meant to know that … Anyway, once Maen tested him and told Marcus he was a weak magical user, he wouldn’t give us the time of day,” Kiera said sadly. “I don’t think he liked being bad at something.”

“There has to have been a misunderstanding,” Claire said firmly. “Like I said, Marcus gets along with everyone.”

Kiera looked doubtful. “He wouldn’t talk to Rael and me and the screaming matches he had with Lord Dorran had to be heard to be believed. He didn’t care about our heritage or history. He didn’t want anything more to do with us.” She put a hand to her heart. “We are his relations. We felt it keenly.”

Claire plumped up her pillow to occupy her hands. The picture Kiera painted didn’t tally with what she knew of her brother. If Marcus and Dorran House had started off on a bad footing, had Maen and the others tested him properly for magic or merely seen what they’d wanted to see – a failure? Was that what the strange beast was trying to tell her? And what kind of thing was it? She wished Gwenivere was easier to approach. After all, strange visions were her forte, but the Dream Mage spoke to Claire with an acerbity that led Claire to make mistakes. Still, perhaps Kiera would have some ideas.

She picked at the embroidery on the bed covers. “Mum had visions of Dad in the flame. Maen hasn’t mentioned visions being a Dorran power though.”

Kiera blinked at the sudden change in subject. “We can, with help from the Dream Mages,” she said. “It was Gwenivere and her bond mate, Rinn, who helped Suranne find James.”

“They can’t send you visions without your consent, can they?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Kiera drew back, her mouth a thin line. “What’s this all about?”

“Nothing,” Claire said quickly, getting out of bed. “I’d better get ready for training.”

***

This time Claire’s training took place in a plain hall on the lowest floor of the Manor, just above the basement. As she entered the room, she could see that candles lit every corner. Maen had explained during one of her lessons that the reason for the dark windows and poor lighting on the lower levels was because the salamanders liked such conditions. They were less likely to come out and interact with their human friends if the sun shone brightly. On the back wall hung a painting. Claire had to squint but even in the poor light she recognised the style as her mother’s. She didn’t recognise the woman in the painting, who had heavy lidded eyes, red lips in a perfect bow and chestnut hair pulled back in a bun.

Maen stood with two other people under the picture. One was Gwenivere, the other, whose back was turned towards the door, was a tall woman with black hair and a green dress in the same style as Gwenivere’s. Wicker baskets and wooden bowls peeped out from behind the stranger’s flowing dress. Before Claire could say something, the stranger turned and smiled.

Maen broke off mid-sentence and strolled over, the woman trailing behind him as Gwenivere looked on. “This is Rinn Taccala, Gwenivere’s second in command.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Claire managed, even as Gwenivere’s shrewd look threw her off.

Once the niceties were over, Maen commenced the lesson. “Today, we’re going to focus on cold fire again. Once you get the hang of that, Gwenivere will take over.” He nodded the Dream Mage’s, untroubled by her aloofness when it came to Claire.

At least she’s not openly hostile like the first time I met her, Claire thought. The veiled dislike was easier to ignore.

“Pay attention!” Maen clapped his hands close to Claire, making her flinch. “So, Lady Claire, what are the principles behind cold flame?”

This had been drilled into Claire the way maths equations were at school. “Correct breathing technique, hold the image of a fire the way one does for hot, but overlay it with ice or some other cold thing.” Cold fire was kind of like merging two images together.

“Good,” Maen said. “Begin.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw Gwenivere tilt her head, her eyes searching every inch of Claire. It was like she was looking for Claire to mess up. Taking a deep breath, Claire tried to ignore her.

She began the breathing exercises, thankful her mother was obsessed with impromptu yoga sessions back in Shale. Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall.

She remembered sitting on the corner bench of the kitchen as a young girl. She’d watched James use the lighter on the stovetop. Next, she thought of ice cubes in the freezer. Now, for the hard part. She tried overlaying the image of the stove’s flame with the ice, but the stupid demon from her dreams kept rising over the top of both. He grinned, dispersing both memories. Claire swore under her breath and opened her eyes.

“What happened?” Gwenivere interrogated Maen. “She’s not trying.”

Before Claire could react, Rinn put a hand on Gwenivere’s shoulder and the angry Dream Mage went silent.

“Sorry,” Claire muttered at the floor.

Maen passed her a glazed bowl full of candied nuts. “It’s fine.” After she’d crunched a few, he smiled encouragingly. “Let’s go again.”

Three more attempts went by before Claire managed to create a wall of cold flame from one end of the room to the next, separating her from the others.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Maen broke through the barrier she’d created with a brush of his hand. “You’re distracted today,” he said, but without judgement.

“I slept badly,” Claire admitted, the smell of something charring curling around the room and her skin running hot.

“The world is about to end. Sleep may need to be sacrificed,” Gwenivere retorted.

Rinn laughed, a sweet tinkling sound. “It sounds like you didn’t get much either, Gwen. Why so grumpy?”

Claire was grateful. She didn’t feel comfortable approaching Gwenivere about her dreams, but maybe she could find a spare moment with Rinn later.

“There’s something …” Gwenivere shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She smiled grudgingly at her bond mate.

“Let’s have some lunch,” Maen said, as if nothing had happened. He moved to the back of the room and sat cross-legged under the picture Claire was sure Suranne had painted. He pulled a wicker basket close, took out some bread and began to eat. When Claire sat beside him, he passed her another of the baskets. She peered inside at the pastes and dried meats and cheeses. This magic business really takes it out of you, she thought as she cut a large chunk of cheese from a round and crammed it into her mouth without thinking.

They ate in silence, Gwenivere looking across to Claire at odd moments, her brows raised like she was turning something over in her mind. Her stares made Claire feel like she’d been caught stealing loose change from her parent’s wallet. Rinn shot the occasional warning glance Gwenivere’s way.

At last, Claire felt full. She glanced at Maen, who scrubbed the remnants of his meal off his fingers with a napkin, seemingly untroubled by the tensions in the group. “Who’s that?” she asked him, pointing at the painting above them.

“It’s your grandmother,” Maen replied. “Can’t you see the likeness?”

Claire craned her neck. She guessed she could see the same lines of chin and cheek as her mother, and maybe herself. Her grandmother looked reserved, like one of those portraits of European royalty that she’d seen in one of her mum’s art books, but that could be a style thing. “What was she like?”

“Gentle and kind, and very intelligent,” Maen said. Claire heard the respect in his voice and felt a little proud. “She was the best healer we had. She tried teaching Suranne the skills, but your mother never had time for herbs and such.” He sighed, placing his and Claire’s baskets against the wall. “I’d love to sit and reminisce, but the day is getting on.” He glanced at Gwenivere, who daintily wiped at her fingers with a white lace napkin. “Are you ready to take over?”

“Yes, I am,” said Gwenivere. While Rinn placed their two baskets alongside the others, Gwenivere reached behind her for a plain wooden bowl, the same she’d been carrying the first time Claire had met her. Now that the bowl was on the ground, Claire could see it was full of liquid.

“We use this as a focus,” Rinn explained, noticing Claire’s questioning look. “We can use clouds and empty sky too, but inside, water is best.”

“For now,” Gwenivere said darkly.

“What do you mean?” Claire said, still confused.

“You’ve heard us say the Rift is unstable. None know it more than the Dream Mages. When we go into our trance state, we see the magical plane. Sometimes when we’re seeking visions, a silent creature shatters our control—”

“You see it too!” Claire gasped. Even though the creature Gwenivere described was silent, she guessed it must be the same as the thing that appeared in her own nightmares. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

“See what?” Gwenivere asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Claire mumbled. She hadn’t meant to say anything out loud in front of Gwenivere and Maen, who were intimidating enough individually let alone together. She’d corral Rinn in private later.

Gwenivere cleared her throat. “Right, let’s get on if there is nothing more to be discussed,” she said pointedly. “It is only when this creature appears that our people are injured or killed. Its appearances are unpredictable, but recently, we’ve seen it more and more often, regardless of what focus we use. Soon, we fear we’ll be unable to have visions at all.”

Claire looked from Gwenivere to Maen. “Does this thing attack Dorrans too?” she asked, daring another interruption. After all, she didn’t want to die trying to work a basic spell. Why hadn’t Maen said something earlier?

Maen gave her a look intended to soothe. “We didn’t want to scare you when you first started training, but yes, it is possible. That’s why Gwenivere’s been attending sessions.”

“We alone see the magical plane,” Gwenivere stated. “I’ve been keeping an eye on things while Maen teaches you, but I have seen no sign of the creature I’ve described. It was unlikely with basic spells, however, from today, it’s possible the creature will appear.”

“Don’t worry,” Maen said.

“Don’t worry? Are you crazy?” Claire’s rising anger escaped like steam from a kettle. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”

“There’s no need to get upset,” Maen said mildly.

She folded her arms. “What can I do to protect myself?”

“Not much for now. Be prepared to end the spell. Gwenivere and Rinn will watch for the creature and if it appears, we’ll help bring you back immediately.”

Claire looked wildly from one person to the next, but she knew she couldn’t do anything but continue with the lesson. “Can we get this over with, please?”

Gwenivere nodded curtly, then rearranged her dress. For a moment Claire wondered if the Dream Mage was as nervous as she was. She pushed the idea away. It didn’t seem possible for someone so regal and cold to be worried about what might happen.

“I’m going to teach you how to work with us, so that once you’ve closed the Rift, we can send you home.” She paused. “Now Claire, listen carefully. When I first true-dreamt of the need for someone of Dorran blood to have a child by someone not of Kelnarium, I knew I had to break our long silence on the existence of other worlds.”

Claire blinked. Just how old was Gwenivere? She looked younger than her mother and yet if she’d been the source of the original prophecy, she must be … well … old enough to be a grandparent.

“I rode to Lord Dorran and explained everything,” Gwenivere continued. “Your mother was selected as the one most likely to fit the words of the prophecy, but how to find someone from another world? Suranne made a fire and we used it as a conduit for the vision. She saw your father.” She drew in a quick breath. “That was the easy part. How to get him to Kelnarium was the problem. My people knew the Rift sucked people into the space between worlds and spat them into new ones. We saw it in our visions; their bewilderment and loneliness as they tried to make new lives.” She swallowed and briefly shut her eyes, clearly remembering painful visions. Rinn, Claire noticed, looked on the verge of tears.

Maen took over. “We knew the Rift was forged by one of us and that another would close it, so it made sense for Dorrans to be involved in any working trying to transport someone from your world to ours. Your mother, Lord Dorran, Rinn, Gwenivere and I experimented for weeks to find a way to work together. Eventually, we figured it out: the flame was needed to break through the eye of the Rift, and Dream Mages had to show us the road to your world and hold it open long enough for someone to enter and make the journey in safety.”

Claire mulled this over. “Does that mean you can bring people back from other worlds?”

Rinn shook her head. “At first, no one wanted us to. People were angry and afraid. They would have turned on us if we made even the smallest blunder, and what’s to say we wouldn’t have made one? It was a magical mistake that damaged Kelnarium. Then, with Eidan, Kelnarium’s current leader, we might have tried, but travel has become too unstable. Each time we transport someone it gets riskier.”

“You managed to bring me here safely.”

“Wrong,” Gwenivere said bitterly. “There’s a man in Lord Dorran’s infirmary, one of my Dream Mages, who was attacked by the creature in the Rift during our working to summon you. He’s been unconscious since you arrived.”

Claire didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t asked for Grandfather and his friends to summon her, but she didn’t like the idea of people getting hurt on her behalf either. She wished someone had told her. She would have tried to sneak away to sit by the man and comfort him.

“But he knew the price,” Gwenivere said. “So, let us begin, Lady Claire.” She tapped the floor with her fingers. “Remain cross-legged. Close your eyes. Use the breathing techniques Maen has taught you. Picture the flames escaping from your body in a steady stream.”

Claire did as she was told, excitement coursing through her. She felt different to when she used an ordinary spell; there was a rushing click click in her ears and a sudden mist enveloping her. She slowly opened her eyes and saw that the room had changed in a way that had never happened before with Maen. She saw different kinds of light flowing within the space obscuring the people around her. For a second, she even thought she could make out a small, pale salamander-like creature creeping across the floor towards her, but it vanished as soon as she tried to focus on its golden glow.

“That’s it,” Gwenivere whispered. “Reach for Rinn first.”

“How?” Claire said, her voice shaking.

“Picture her.”

As Claire obeyed, something painful twinged at her temples, like her mind hit against something firm. Rinn’s essence? She saw her own magic, a dull red tinge, mingle with Rinn’s gleaming gold. Before she could wonder what to do next, a knotted rope of silver wrapped around them both.

Good job, Gwenivere’s voice sounded in her mind. Get comfortable with this because you’ll need to connect with one of us to travel home safely.

Claire only half-listened. She felt refreshed, power singing through her veins. With Rinn’s strength to draw upon, she sensed she could try the most difficult of spells and succeed. She imagined a wall of cold flame and was vindicated when a stream of silver fire ran horizontally across the room, separating Claire and the others from the exit. This is awesome! If I could draw on lots of people, I’d be invincible! She laughed. Maybe she was who Grandfather needed after all. She could take on anything. She could—

A sudden blow broke her concentration. Someone slapped her again across the face hard enough that Claire knew there’d be white marks. She opened her eyes. The strange light had vanished.

“How dare you,” Gwenivere hissed.

“Wha-what did I do wrong?” she stammered, her hand touching her stinging cheek.

Rinn sat grave-faced. “You tried to take me over. We aren’t teaching you these skills for you to make the same mistake Kelt did. I know you didn’t mean to do it, but—”

“Use your own power, or work together with others of our House,” Maen interrupted, “but never ever let me catch you trying to draw on any magic but your own again.”

“She is her great-uncle’s child,” Gwenivere said sadly. “I warned you, Maen.”

“It was an accident,” Rinn said, rubbing Gwenivere’s back.

“She has the hungry look he did. Didn’t I say so after I first saw her?”

“I never even knew my great-uncle Kelt,” Claire protested, stung at the injustice of being blamed for something she didn’t understand. “You threw me in the deep end without an explanation. How was I to know what the purpose of your exercise was?”

“You should have waited for my next instruction,” Gwenivere said through gritted teeth.

“OK, fine.” It wasn’t worth the argument. “What next then, boss?”

“We’re finished,” Gwenivere said coldly, rising and sweeping out of the room before a surprised Maen could protest.