Page 77 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

“The first thing I do is envision the untapped power in my mind. For me, I imagine a lake. In my mind, the water is the well of magic that I can command to my will,” he explains. “When I’d first begun using magic, I would close my eyes and imagine myself stepping into the lake, deep enough I could place my palms beneath the surface.”

“That’s it?” I ask. “What then?”

He shrugs, though his hands don’t leave my waist. “Then, it’s simply a matter of willing the magic to conjure what you command.”

I snort. “You say that as if it were simple.”

“With enough practice, it is simple,” he says. “There comes a point when the shadows become an extension of you.”

I lean forward. “Do all conjurers wield shadows?”

As if entertained by my curiosity, his eyes brighten. “Some do, yes, but not all. Some conjure light, while others specialize in more localized conjuring, like the spell we did to speak with Viridian and Cryssa back at Orim’s family manor.”

“Interesting. Despite all my tutoring, I’ve never quite understood the difference between conjuring and summoning.”

“They are similar,” Asheros concedes. “But distinct. Conjuring is characterized as magic that creates something entirely new. Something that wasn’t there before. Summoning, on the other hand, is a matter of calling upon aspects of our world that already exist and draws from gold metal instead of silver.”

I gape. “You mean to tell me that your shadows—you create them from thin air each time?”

“Yes.” Asheros nods, lips tugged into that wicked smirk of his. “Don’t tell me that’s all it took to impress you, Bladesinger.”

“And what if it is?”

Gripping my waist, he pulls me closer. “Then I’ll curse myself for failing to realize this sooner.”

He kisses me again, and I muss his hair when I pull away. We both turn to the window, the rising sun coloring the sky with light pink and orange hues.

“We should go.” I move away from the bed and tug on my pants. “The others will be waiting.”

Asheros’s expression shifts into something serious.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice low.

“I’m—” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he pauses. “There’s no way to know what waits for us going forward. And gods-damn it, I’m…” He lets out a breath.

“I know,” I say. “I’m nervous, too.”

What’s to come?

And what does it mean if my suspicions about the killer’s identity are right?

My heart constricts, as if strangled with iron.

Asheros stands and reaches for my hand. The motion draws my eyes to his. “Whatever happens,” he says, holding my hand gently, “you will be all right.”

“I don’t need to be coddled,” I tell him, my voice as soft as his expression.

The corners of his mouth tug into the hint of a smile. “I know you don’t. And I’m not coddling you, Lymseia. It’s the truth.”

“You’re no diviner,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “You can’t be sure.”

No one could. That was one of Ceren’s first lessons the first day I stepped into her training room.

“Listen now, and listen well, to the first and one of the most important lessons I will ever teach you. You may think you know the outcome of a battle, but that is an illusion.”

“What if we outnumber the enemy two to one?” A fellow trainee asks, cocky arrogance brimming in his voice. “We all know how that battle would go.”

Ceren only crosses her arms. “Do you know of the Battle at Lothaes?”

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