Page 110 of Anathema

“That was weak. Try again.”

Once more, I shuttered my eyes, imagining the lines she’d drawn. When I held out my palm again, nothing happened, except for the strange deflating sound that reminded me of a cat being smothered. “Well, at least it made a sound that time.”

“That was my stomach.” Rykaia rested her hand over her belly. “I’m starving.”

Rolling my shoulders back, I cleared my throat. “Fine.” I squeezed my eyes shut, growing frustrated by the repetition. I thrusted my hand out that time, and my body flew backward just like before, landing on the bed.

Rykaia snorted a laugh and covered her face. “Never saw that happen before.”

“Forget it, then. I’m not meant to wield magic.”

“I’m beginning to think that myself.”

“Then, perhaps you should just let me go back to where I came from, just as I’ve been requesting since I got here.”

“Or maybe you should try a little harder, mortal. You’re weak. You need to build up those muscles.”

“I’m not weak!” Hands balled to tight fists, I let the frustration and relentless exhaustion swallow me. “Forgive me for not being interested in playing with symbols, when my sister might very well be dead!”

“If she’s dead, why the hell do you want to go back to her so bad! You said it yourself, you’re unwanted!” Her words slapped me across the face, the sting burning my cheeks.

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re a heartless immortal, like your brother!”

Eyes bright and flickering, she glowered back at me. “If I were my brother, I’d have fed you to the fyredrakes by now!”

I jumped to my feet and waved a hand at her. “Then, do it!”

Rykaia flew backward into the bars. She flinched on impact, before sliding to the floor.

“Oh, my God.” I rushed toward her, falling to my knees at her side. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

She chuckled, rubbing the back of her head. “Finally. You see? Sometimes, it can be physical learning glyphs.”

“What happened?” A burning sensation flared across my palm. I turned my hand over and found the three squiggly lines had appeared like three open cuts carved into my flesh.

“Congratulations, mortal. You’ve earned a new glyph.”

I ran my finger over the wounds, smearing the blood over my palm. “Is that how it works?”

“Yes. The first time you use a glyph successfully, it remains permanently etched on your palm.” She held up her own palms to show seven symbols–four on her left and three on her right. “These are the powers I wield.”

“Seven?”

“You can only summon a glyph based on your bloodline. Hence the training. You need to figure out what your powers are. Some are basic, and they’re known as the minor glyphs. All manceborn master them because they’re easy.” She wriggled her fingers on her left hand. “Some are much harder to summon and require intense concentration. Those are the major glyphs.”

“May I ask what that one is?” I pointed to a scar, a complex symbol of curls and lines and dots contained within a circle.

“I’m an empath. My mother had the same glyph.”

“You feel the emotions of others?” I asked, studying the symbol.

“I absorb the emotions. But only when I want to. It’s a curse, really.” She sneered, curling her fingers over it.

I thought back to Zevander’s horrifically scarred hands. “Your brother …. He has so many.”

“Yes, well, he’s a bit of an anomaly. Most Lunasier only have about one, or two, major glyphs. Sometimes, three, like me. I could learn more, but it takes years, and only those who study at the House of Sages are given access to the other glyphs.”

“What is a Lunasier?”

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