Page 13 of Gifted Destiny

Everyone pretends to ignore the nearly silent interaction – except for Bren. He leans over her to peer at her expression. I can’t decide whether his ignorance about social conventions is willful or true.

“Do you doubt me?” He asks Zosia with a pronounced frown.

I roll my eyes at the domed ceiling before refocusing on the pair’s faces. Their combined lack of self-worth could sustain all of us, and I have my own hefty dose to manage. Of course, Zo feels even worse that Bren suspects he’s the cause of her doubt.

“I was trying not to draw attention to her,” I tell Bren in an exaggerated stage whisper before she can argue.

Bren’s gaze flickers between Zo’s reddened cheeks and my face, but he doesn’t appear contrite. “You know how to be subtle?” His impassive tone turns the insult into an attack. He’s spot-on, and the infuriating shifter snorts to hide a laugh. I want to elbow him, but it would cause more discomfort for me than for him.

Our sphinx clears her throat. “Never mind all that. We can’t get sidetracked.” The interaction between Bren and me distracts her more than my whispered reprimand. Bren winks at me while she refocuses, indicating that his lack of social aptitude was deliberate in this instance.

Although I’m certain nothing escapes Tremayne, he pretends to ignore us. What does he think of our dramatics? Is our immaturity amusing or horrifying? His wizened face doesn’t offer any clues, and he picks up the conversation as if it never paused.

“You are offering your consent, Brendan Kennard,” Tremayne states in a solemn tone. It feels like more than a passing remark; he is a judge issuing a sentence.

The mechanics of the situation are comparable to Addington’s evil acts in the dungeons of my youth, but Tremayne’s statement emphasizes Bren’s consent and free will. The supernaturals imprisoned in the underground compound hadn’t been given the luxury of a choice.

“I am consenting to attempt the discharge of my wild magic,” Bren agrees with equal earnestness. He squeezes Zosia’s hand as he says the words.

The connection is more significant than it appears. Bren doesn’t sit in one place, and Zosia is beginning to overcome her discomfort with physical touch. After I realized my jealousy served no purpose except to upset Zosia, I managed to suppress it. I wish the shifter could do the same. He might be more stubborn than me, although he blames everything on his beast.

“Do you know how the process works?” Bren asks the older mage. He doesn’t sound upset by the possibility of losing his magic.

Tremayne strokes his long white beard. I may have managed my jealousy regarding Zosia’s mates, but the wizard-like mage’s facial hair is another story. I’ll never grow a beard as magnificent as his, and it’s a damn shame.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that. It depends on your chosen vessel or recipient. If you select a sentient being and the transfer is successful, your magic will integrate with theirs. An object would store the power, making it dangerous and powerful. If you choose the latter route, consider your vessel wisely. An object can be used – or abused – by anyone.”

My mind wanders as I contemplate which relics have been supercharged. The Spear of Destiny? The Holy Grail? Excalibur? Are they artifacts that the magicless have relegated to fairytales and legends?

“You said a sentient being or object,” Zosia murmurs thoughtfully. Sphinx or not, she’s always been one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. Although her common sense can falter, she has a consummate ability to retain knowledge and memorize data. “What about both? Can Bren offer his magic to the library?”

Tremayne studies our surroundings as he considers the question. What does he see? Zosia said that some people don’t see what we see. When she first entered, she was shown anillusion as well. All of her time in the magicless community had closed her mind to the idea of magic.

“The library would be better equipped to answer that than me. If she says yes, I believe you’d receive a portion of that power as her representative. The indirect transfer has advantages because she’ll have an understanding of your limits and curtail the flow before you incur damage.”

I shudder at Tremayne’s choice of words.Incur damagesounds horrid regardless of the library’s involvement. Zosia has incurred enough damage in her relatively short life.

Bren leans forward eagerly. “T.S. Eliot said, ‘Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.’ I’m embracing this advice. Kodi is my first choice. Any excess will go to the library.”

“Me?” I blink rapidly. I’d been the one to suggest it, but I hadn’t actually thought they would consider me a viable choice. “Why me?”

Bren meets my shock with a look of smug satisfaction. “It will help you maintain a solid body,” the atmospheric mage says as if the answer is obvious. For some unknown reason, I imagine him shouting, “Checkmate!” I hadn’t realized we’d started playing.

“Did you foresee this?” I blurt inelegantly. Shouldn’t I be thanking him? Isn’t this what I want?

“You are solid in some of my visions,” he hedges. “It will be easier to bond with Zosia and the library this way, which increases safety for all of us. If I’m releasing my magic, I want it to go to a good cause. Besides,” he adds with a shrug, “you deserve it. You were dealt a bad hand.”

I huff. “All of us were,” I grumble. I might be dead, but all of us have suffered. I feel like a hypocrite for doubting myself, but …. “I’m grateful, but I don’t think I deserve this.”

“‘It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves,’ Sir Edmund Hillary said. If you don’t feel deserving, then earn the right to it.”

I wait for him to attach a name to his second sentence before I realize they’re his words. Can I earn something after death? Do I deserve anything after I’m dead?

Bren shrugs. “Besides, I have plenty of magic. Even if I give some away, it will return.”

My brow wrinkles with confusion. If a supernatural’s magic replenishes, how did our enemies drain them? I’d been taught that it disappeared for good after it was taken.

“Is that true?” Garrett asks the question in my head.

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