Page 33 of Ruby & Onyx

Chapter 13

My eagerness to continue lessons with Sir Magis quickly fades the moment he holds out his hand and reveals another tangerine. The corners of my lips slide into a frown, much to his dismay.

“Have patience, Radya. We must perfect these tasks until they are as effortless as breathing,” he says, looking at the tangerine like a fine work of art.

I do my best to stifle the curse words rumbling around in my mind and decide instead to take on his challenge. I close my eyes, sinking deep into the inner chambers of my mind. Not even a minute later, the tangerine flies toward the windowsill. A smirk tugs at my lips as Sir Magis walks over to it, knowing fully well that I am committed to making this point. Before his hand reaches the fruit, I flick my hand again and send it careening through the air to the other side of the room.

He hardens with irritation as he beckons the tangerine back to him. “Fine, point taken. But let me offer a warning, such impertinence will only be tolerated once. This is our second day together, and I would hate to report that you are unworthy of the position Their Royal Highnesses so graciously bestowed. Understood?”

My shoulders slump at the admonishment, and I offer an apologetic nod. “Understood.”

We sit in an uncomfortable silence for what feels like an eternity, each second emphasized by the tapping of his finger against the desk. I don’t know why I chose to bait him, truly. But the look that he’s giving me now, with the cruel lines of his eyes and puckered lips drawn in warning, is all of the lesson I need to never cross him again.

I hold my breath until he claps his hands together and lets some of that sternness fade. “Right, well, let’s not permit this unpleasantness to mar the rest of our time together. What type of challenge will you find most interesting, hm?”

“What about flying?”

“Dear girl, when have you ever heard of non-Mediols flying? Last I checked, wings have yet to sprout from your back.” He chuckles to himself, amused by my ignorance. “Let’s stick to something a little more realistic. How about conjuring flame?”

I swallow my wounded ego for the sake of moving forward in our lesson, but how was I supposed to know that only Mediols could fly? I didn’t believe magic to be possible for anyone but Lord Myles until this week, so the possibilities seemed endless. “Can I create fire?”

I saw Sir Magis light a candle by simply waving his hand over it like it was nothing.

Without another word, he places an unlit candle on the desk in front of me and says, “Bring it forth.”

No advice, no instruction.

He seems to expect me to intuit how to light the candle as if it should be instinct. But, then again, maybe it is. I figured out how to move objects on my own, so maybe this will come just as naturally.

Breathe, focus, and feel. I need to empty my mind of all other thoughts and allow only this to occupy the chambers of my mind. Behind my eyelids, I see the flames flickering in a rhythmic dance, swaying to an invisible beat that warms my hands. I hold on to this image until the room disappears around me and all that exists is that thermal energy flickering in my mind.

I open my eyes, prepared to see the dancing candle come to life, but instead, I find the unlit wick staring lifelessly back at me. I look at Sir Magis for help and cross my fingers and toes that he finds the generosity to do his job.

“Find the source of the flame in your heart and draw it forth,” he says as if that makes the instructions any clearer.

“A flame in my heart… What does that mean?”

“You tell me.” What is the point of the lesson if he won’t answer my questions, or provide any form of instruction that makes a lick of sense?

A flame in my heart? A flame is a natural element… like my heart… which has blood… “Do I need to draw blood?”

Sir Magis draws his lips into a tight line and shakes his head. “No, blood drawing will not be necessary.”

“Could you perhaps instruct me, or do you simply enjoy watching me suffer?” That seems to be a common theme in this household. Maybe there’s no true gift at all. Maybe they brought me here as some cruel joke. Are they just waiting for me to crack?

“How are you feeling right now?”

“A little annoyed, honestly.”

“Good, now harness that emotion.”

“My annoyance?”

“Annoyance, anger, lust, greed, anything that lights your heart aflame.” He fans his hands in the air, and I take a mental note of his flair for dramatics. “Find it. Recognize it. Hold it in your hands and then let it build.”

There’s always a deep well of anger and resentment somewhere inside of me. It simmers down below, occasionally rearing its ugly head for no reason at all. Born of loss and loneliness, fear and frustration. No matter how hard I try to clear it, to clean it all out, that muck remains. It thickens and grows with each new lashing. Tapping into it might be the easiest thing I’ve done so far.

But where to start? My conversation with the twins comes to mind first. I imagine Gemma and Viola being plucked from their homes as children, shoved onto a dark ship, and sent across the sea and into foreign territory with nothing more than each other. Separated from their parents. Far from their homes. To be traded as a commodity. The more I think about it, the more my heart begins to race. Red hot fury pulses through my veins almost instantly.

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