Norae sat on a stool near the fire of the wing she shared with Jordan, whittling at a log with her hunting knife, watching. Almost oblivious to her presence, Jordan stood with her feet firmly planted, a long stick held out before her with both hands. A heavy frown constricted her face. She had stolen these few moments before dawn to practice, hoping to show her grandmother that she could do it unassisted. But she was struggling to focus her thoughts, to wade through the hazy, clashing colours in her head. She took a conscious breath, closed her eyes, and imagined the glow of energy as Esadora had instructed. She frowned more deeply still, until the stick vibrated in her fingers, and she opened her eyes in dismay as it curled in upon itself, blackening, crumbling to dust.

“Penchant for the darkness, I see.”

Jordan jerked her head up to see Nerys leaning against the doorway, arms folded in quiet nonchalance. As Jordan’s cheeks flamed pink with embarrassment, the Lat’Nemele entered the room uninvited, looking about with interest. She focused her predatory gaze on Jordan as she came to a halt before her.

“Hello, Jordenna.”

“It’s Jordan.”

“Why call a thing what it isn’t?”

“What do you want?” Jordan snapped, “Grandma said I should stay away from you.”

“Smart woman, your grandmother,” Nerys mused.

She conjured a small stick, twirled it through her fingers and then held it out to Jordan, but the Heir tucked her hands mutinously under her armpits. With a shrug, Nerys tossed it up, made it hover in the air.

“Magic is a fickle thing, dear. You must know exactly what you intend.” She took Jordan’s measure with a thoughtful gaze. “Do you like to read?”

“Read?” Jordan repeated in suspicious surprise.

Nerys studied her, unblinking. “Yes, read.”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

Nerys made the stick whirl lazily in place, six feet off the ground. “Answer the question, dear.”

Norae bristled at the veiled threat in the Sorceress’ tone, and crossed the room smartly to put herself between them. She opened her mouth to voice a warning of her own, but the Lat’Nemele merely raised her eyebrows and flicked her wrist. Suddenly, Norae was sitting back on her stool, rooted in place, her mouth open in a silent ‘O’ of surprise. Jordan felt the first true flicker of fear lick the base of her spine, and returned her perturbed gaze to Nerys. She decided the best idea was to play for time.

“Where is Calyx?” she asked.

“Out running,” Nerys replied, a hint of longing in her tone.

“Running?”

“Of course.” The Lat’Nemele circled her, appraising her from every angle. Jordan stood her ground. “Magic is not an infinite thing, dear – didn’t your grandmother teach you that? It is only as strong, as enduring, as the vessel that wields it. Consider if you were to exercise a sword, the first thrust is easy, the second harder – by the tenth, you are tired. You need more than will-power to continue to brandish it for any meaningful period. You must be fit, strong, and… in practice.”

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She reached the front of Jordan again, stared at her with those bright, predatory eyes.

“You, clearly, need practice. Now, answer my question.”

“Where is Grandma?” Jordan said instead.

Nerys blinked. “I have no idea. Probably out chasing Calyx.” Her eyes bored into Jordan’s. “Last chance. The question.”

“Yes,” Jordan huffed at last, “I like to read.”

Nerys nodded, tapped a slender finger against her lips. Above her, the twig continued its sluggish oscillation. “That, I can work with.”

She conjured a scrap of paper, a torn page covered in scribbled words, and floated it before Jordan’s nose. She moved to stand at Jordan’s shoulder and gestured at it.

“This is unambiguously wood – mulched and dried to parchment, peppered with spots and splashes of crushed dye.”

Jordan glanced at her sideways, wondering if there was a point.

“And yet,” Nerys continued, turning Jordan’s chin back to the paper with one fingertip, “It holds a castle upon its face. White marble, dancing spires, an autumn valley that sweeps into the distance through a riot of colour. Soft breezes blow, the scent of cinnamon rides the air, drying leaves whisper in cheerful surrender to the change of seasons.”

Jordan stared at the page, mesmerised by the words the Lat’Nemele painted in her mind. She could see it, the castle, and its grounds, as clearly as if she were standing on a rise looking down upon it.

“That’s the secret of your magic, Jordenna. You are seeing only the ink and the paper, and not what it contains.”

The stick swooped down, hovering within easy reach. Jordan hesitated, and then plucked it out of the air. Nerys nodded encouragement as she clasped it with questing fingers, feeling for its story. It was a birch twig, its papery bark pale, soft to the touch. In her mind’s eye, she saw its truth – the tall, majestic tree it had snapped away from, pulled down to earth by heavy snows.

“You are a Worldkin,” Nerys whispered, watching her, “You control its story. Are you writing its beginning, or its end?”

Jordan sighed, looked down at the twig. Because it felt right, she twirled one hand over its surface, tugging at the cords of life she could feel pulsing within it, and watched in fascination as swirls of magic responded. Nerys stepped back, out of range, as Jordan drew the strands of power into fronds, long leaves unfurling. It didn’t matter that it was a birch twig – she wrote roses into its story, ferns, carnations, baby’s breath… They all grew from it as if they belonged there. At last, she held it up before her, a living bouquet of floral beauty.

She turned to Nerys, her eyes shining with wonder.

“I felt it,” she whispered, “It was all around me, the pieces of the world.”

Nerys nodded, offered a small smile. “Magic is beautiful, Jordenna. Never forget that.”

“Thank you,” Jordan said, and meant it.

The Lat’Nemele dipped her head. “Helping you awaken your magic is the least I could do, considering I almost killed you with mine.”

Jordan smiled, realising that was as close to an apology as she would ever get.

“It wasn’t meant for you,” Nerys continued, lifting her chin, “It’s your own fault you got in the way. I don’t recommend indulging a hero complex – that kind of stupidity will get you killed.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “You sound just like Grandma.”

“I’ve already said that she is a smart woman.”

She spun lightly on her heel, and Jordan understood that the conversation was over. When Nerys was gone, Jordan turned to Norae with a strange expression.

“Is it just me, or is that woman absolutely terrifying?”

“Made good point about magic,” Norae shrugged, getting to her feet and testing that her legs still worked after the magic bind, “But scary. And rude.”

Jordan laughed. “Will you come outside with me? I feel like I need some air.”

“Aye,” Norae nodded, following her, “Want to feel dawn, too. Hate being target of magic – lingers too long after.”