Caster Training

I DECIDE TO PUT MY ALL INTO THE SPIRITFLAME. I dedicate my time throughout the rest of the week to researching books written by past warlocks and enchantresses of the flame, coincidentally the past kings and queen. They have a lot to say—mostly the women. The leathery pages I quickly flipped past in the castle's hallowed library shows that each avatar of the Spiritflame manifested its energy in a way unique to themselves. One queen used an actual wand to cast. Another king had a special ring he used to summon sorcery. The flame had the ability to meld into each user's aura, the infinite mana adapting to suit their tastes. Despite the varied techniques each one wrote in their books, unequivocally they all had a sea of power to draw from. And though they had villains of their own time to contend with, none came as close in tyranny to Lord Vileyns Crave. And so, the Spiritflame has never been used to its full potential, which no one knows, really.

Any spare time between combing the long dour aisles, I use to visit the glass pyramid, the host coven of the Celestine Court. Besides knowing that we are seven witches who make up the Court, possessing the blood of druids—mine being the strongest and most potent—I know little of the other witches private lives. We are all pretty mundane until it comes down to a Summoning. And then we become ...something chilly. Needless to say, the Dead Empire is pretty fortified against dark invasions. The Court has wards up in the borders by the sea where the naval forts are stationed. Every now and then, a sturdy vision of fleets of ships rove past the library window. It's a beautiful thing to witness. This far away, tucked in the castle, they are as tiny toys, winding across clear white water.

In the pyramid, I focus on the magical ball floating in the air. By now, walking through the frozen glass walls to and fro is nothing out of the ordinary. I discover that the crystal sphere of slushing magic is merely a demonstration of bountiful energy unseen, like a wizard's staff. The ball wields a fraction of the Spiritflame. Because the flame itself is a Being, alive, and everywhere. It's the sky, the ocean, the earth. It's in every little green thing on the planet, everything with a drop of nature. Even humans. It's absolutely wonderful, and I spend most of my free time away from reading in the pyramid. Staring at life the size of a bowling ball is beyond science. And I would know.

In the past, no warlock or enchantress of the flame had fully merged with it. They had all only conjured enough to combat their villains. Not more. Mere drops from a bountless ocean. To truly be one with the Spiritflame is to be a god.

I try many times during my visits to the pyramid to grab the crystal ball. My hand goes right through, always. I can't hold onto it. It's like see but don't touch. I wonder if it knows who I really am; a stranger in this beautiful magical world. I wonder if it can sense my mostly normal aura. Nothing special in me. That I haven't so much as lit a match with magic. That I'm braving the most risky stage of my life by being here at all. It had helped me though once during the Inquisition Spell as I battled Crave's voice in my head. Even then, choking as Crave tried to strangle me telepathically, as I reached for the last of my strength in an effort to push back, I could feel the light of the flame, warming me up and giving me the hope to remain alive; just as a creek to a tired deer.

The Spiritflame had helped me once.

It has been in my head, which makes me wonder, if it saw that my memories are not of a princess newly coronated to queen, but of a highschool laughingstock, reinvented in a world of her dreams.

I wonder if it knows me as nerdy Allie, and not Queen Alessandria Irene Forsythe. Perhaps that's why I can't hold it. Why I can't feel the energy that captivates my eyes. Why anytime I put out my hand to touch it, all I feel is air. Yet it's there right in front of my eyes. It knows, that I'm a fraud.

...not worthy.

A loud banging scatters my thoughts, tearing through my mind, and as I discover on opening one eye—waking me up.

I stare around me with heavy eyelids. Books. Lots of books, stacked on high, gigantic shelves. No one else in sight. The whole place silent as a cemetery. So I'm in the library then. Perhaps, one of those reading routines I follow hard. I run a hand over my face, putting two fingers to my forehead and struggling not to hunch over the open tome before me. A drying map that doesn't belong to its pages sticks out to my eyes.

Yep! I'd drabbled on it. How long was I out?

I remember now, I'd come straight here after my futile attempt to wield the flame. After magic, books come next. Had it been morning or evening though? I don't know. Well, I suppose my tired eyes had seen enough of ink and light for one week.

BANG! BANG! BANG!!!

The knocks hammer again, resounding in my head like a blacksmith's anvil.

Jesus! My fingers rub at my temples. I didn't get a lot of sleep seems like.

The door breaks in with a loud creak a second later. I hear the sound of several feet pounding in. Rushed. I don't look up, still rubbing on my head and blinking away sleep.

"Your Majesty!" An officer's hard voice spits. "We have been looking everywhere for you."

When I actually get past the animalistic growl of the person speaking, it's a familar gruff tone.

Lance.

...of all people that could find me blasted with a spinning head and bags under my eyes, it had to be him! The one person who I always want to look my best for whenever we cross paths? My golden knight? Fuck him, anyway. He'd left me wet and unfulfilled when I needed him most. He's thirty percent reason why I decided to put my all into Casting, dive into books and whatnot. Okay, maybe, seventy percent. A shaky eighty. Fine, a hard ninety. In truth though, he's ninety five percent the reason. It hurt to want so much from one person and be turned away with no plan B in sight. So eff you, Lance. Mentally, I flip him a bird.

"Your Majesty," his voice swims again over my bent head. When I don't look up yet again, I swear I hear his knuckles pop. His anger ripples over my skin. I can almost see the fire rage in his blue eyes. Good. I love angry Lance. He is damn hot. His voice is harder when he speaks. "Is this because of before? Because of—"

I know what he's going to say. And I don't let him finish. The nerve on him. After leaving me in such a state at the Guards Guild, he has the guts to come up here in my face, in my freaking quiet time, and think me being secluded in an empty library is because of him. Well, it is...but he doesn't get to be arrogant about it. Not everything is about him. The hard truth is in my case, it mostly is—has been since our gazes locked at five years of age. But still, I lash out.

"Not every fucking thing is about you, Sir Lancelot Grimwald!" I jerk to my feet. "I can be alone in the library if I want to. I can disappear if I want to! Not because of anything you did or didn't do." My silver blonde hair falls in my eyes. And I see him smile—he too, likes it when I'm angry—the blue-eyed devil. He hides it well. And it's then I really look around. I'd been so focused on him I didn't notice the others. Yennara is by his left, her head lowered. Four other equally astonished and slightly afraid guards stand behind Lance. The pounding feet, I should've guessed.

They all avert their eyes from mine. It's like I'm Medusa and could turn them to stone at any moment. I suppose I could. I don't blame them. It's not everyday their Witch Queen thunders her disapproval to the most feared Knight in all the land. Lance bravely keeps my gaze. Only him. My beautiful Perseus.

"Leave us," I say to the guards. They skip like lambs, their boots hurrying out the library.

It's quiet again and with a heavy sigh, I lean back on the beige sofa I'd been curled up on when they arrived. Only Yennara and Lance remain in the room as I sit. It's a while before anyone speaks.

"I'm sorry." Lance is first to break the ice. "I didn't mean to insinuate anything by my words." His voice, though still deep, is many shades softer. It warms me more than I want it to. "I only meant to ask if your quest to conquer all earthly scripts was inspired by the Inquisition Spell and its toll on you."

Oh!

I can tell Lance is trying to be funny by his 'conquer all earthly scripts' words. It lightens the air. But he wasn't asking about what happened at the Guards Guild. I'd misunderstood. He was asking if me distancing myself was because of the need to be ready if Crave were to ever threaten my mind again. Now, I feel bad for shooting him down in front of his subordinates.

Shit.

Yennara walks over to the sofa and kneels by my side. She holds out her hands, a steaming mug clasped in her fingers. I've learned her kneeling in front of me is her choice, and I don't stop her anymore. She holds out the cup of hot tea to me as an offering. "No one faults you for what happened during the Spell, Your Grace. Lord Crave is a bastard for what he almost did to you..."

She pushes the mug into my hands and I yield, taking if from her and lifting it to my lips. A sip eases away my headache. Just a sip. Yennara and her healing hands.

"But," she continues. "We worry about you, Your Grace." She glances at Lance a moment before sweeping back to meet my eyes. "We can't not worry about you. You know that." Her brown eyes widen meaningfully. "You have been avoiding us for a week. You didn't sleep in last night, sinking into your books." She eyes the open journal before me like it's an unfriendly pet. "What Sir Lancelot meant to say by his gruffness...is that we're both here, your Lady-in-waiting and official Knight. And we're not going anywhere—not until you talk to us."

I look between them, the mug balanced in my hands, its heat seeping through my fingers. Yennara is the calm in the storm; will hold my hand and walk on embers for me. Lance, is the dragon, will strip me with his fearless gaze and run through anyone I say with his sword. I wonder how I'd stayed away for a week.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

When Yennara gives me a look, I raise my voice, "I'm sorry."

Lance doesn't hide his smile this time.

"Group hug?" I offer enticingly, opening my arms and knowing they can't refuse my bright emerald eyes.

Yennara jumps in, holding tight and making me laugh. Lance moves in a beat later, swallowing the both of us in his sizeable armor. He's big and strong, completes us perfectly. Yennara lifts her eyes to mine and it becomes awkward. Lance moves away before any of us can look at him.

We break into easy smiles and silence reigns. I lift my cup, taking sips as I peer between Yennara and Lance, hiding my blush over the rim of my cup.

God, do we look good together!

Lance shifts on his feet, drawing our attention. "The Guild has enough space and even an arena, if you seek a place to practice. I was a squire under the previous Warlock, your father, and could train you as a Caster too."

I shift my eyes to Yennara.

"—only if you want though," Lance hastily adds, looking cute with his anxious demeanor.

He doesn't even need to ask. To spend more time with him among ancient treadmills and dumbbells... Hell yeah! I'm already thinking of all the ways me and him sweaty and flushed could lead to something else. I only look to Yennara to see if she's thinking the same thing as I am. She is. Her smile is downright sinful.

"Yes." I turn back to Lance, my heart bathed in warmth when his frozen eyes actually light up. I had no idea this would make him happy. "Yes, Sir Lancelot. It would be my honor to train with you. And just for the record," I add. "It's Allie. Not Your Grace." I flash Yennara a look. "Or Your Majesty." I sweep back to Lance. "Just Allie...at least when we're together alone."

I leave my final words hanging in the silence of the booky halls, along with a cryptic promise of what else it might mean.

I on the other hand look forward to my first day of Spellcaster Training with the dashing Sir Lancelot.