Page 13 of The Exile's Curse

Control. Finesse. It wouldn't do to get it wrong and do something that would leave the oldest teacher at the Academe scarred.

"May I?" Chloe said, stretching a hand toward Madame Simsa's face. She'd been taught to always ask permission before touching any patient, whether she intended to use magic or not. On that matter, the teachings of the Academe and Anglion seemed to be in accord. Or at least Ginevra's beliefs. She hadn't really spent much time with temple healers. Other than the fever that had made her so ill early on, she'd been fortunate to not suffer any serious illnesses or injuries in Anglion. Any small ills she'd been able to treat herself—or with Ginevra's help—well enough.

"Of course," Madame Simsa said, not moving. If she was nervous, she didn't show it.

But she'd had many years’ experience in letting inexperienced earth witches demonstrate healing skills. Learning to act outwardly composed no matter what one was feeling inside was a useful skill for a teacher. Just as it was for royal courts or navigating life in a hostile country.

Chloe laid two fingers on either side of the tiny cut. It was barely a scratch. If it wasn't for the small smear of rapidly drying blood, she might not have even been able to find it.

Madame Simsa made an encouraging noise, but she didn't move her head.

Chloe closed her eyes and took a breath, focusing on her heartbeat. And on the sense of magic that had strengthened since she'd touched the ley line. She wouldn't have to call on it for something as small as this. She opened her eyes again, let herself see the glimmer of magic around Madame Simsa and, there, for the first time in a long time, around her own fingers. And she listened for the song. It came, too loud at first, and she made herself push it back, narrowing the connection until it faded to a trickle rather than a flood.

She pictured the light sinking into Madame Simsa's skin. Felt for the sensation of wholeness, of completion. Of life being in order, as the goddess intended. Then she let her power free, concentrating on releasing just a little at a time. There was a tiny bright spark followed by a sensation that felt cool under her fingers before she lifted them. The tiny cut was gone.

"There, child," Madame Simsa said. "Nicely done. Perhaps you have not forgotten as much as you feared."

Chapter 5

The day following their practice session, Madame Simsa had sent Chloe a note with a list of suggested reading materials and invited her to another session the next day. It didn't matter that Chloe hadn't yet decided to return to the Academe; Madame Simsa seemed to have taken her on as a project anyway.

Lacking any good reason to refuse, she had accepted the invitation. It would take her away from the house, a respite from her mama's efforts to hide the fact that she was still hovering and gave her something to do with the restlessness dogging her.

She arrived early for their lesson, eager to start. But after three hours of Madame Simsa drilling her in small earth magics, her head ached like fury. Controlling the flow of magic that wanted to rush through her down to a whisper was exhausting. And yet, somehow, the fatigue did nothing to dull the restlessness.

She should go home. It was nearing the dinner hour, and Imogene's ball was tomorrow. An early night seemed called for. But instead of seeking out her father to see whether he was ready to leave, her feet took her in a different direction.

To the far west corner of the Academe, where the Raven Tower stood sentinel, climbing several stories higher than the rest of the buildings. Its lower door was closed, as was usual. With the light fading, the ravens would be returning for their evening meal, and Mestier Allyn, the Master of Ravens, fed them himself. During the day, students spent time in the tower. Learning raven lore and helping to clean the tower were part of life at the Academe. Those who manifested strong earth magic and had an interest in bonding a petty fam at some point would often spend more time there to get to know some of the ravens better.

But Mestier Allyn alone cared for the ravens at night. Though sometimes during breeding season he recruited an assistant for a few weeks to help him deal with hungry mothers and broods of fledglings. Chloe had done it one season when she'd been about fifteen. And she'd spent plenty of time here as a child. She'd always liked the crows. And they seemed to like her.

She pushed the door, with its inlaid brass raven flock, open and slipped inside, closing it behind her. Mestier Allyn wouldn't thank her if she allowed one of the birds out when they should be settling for the night. It was a game to some of them to see if they could escape and harass the kitchen maids or students into handing over extra scraps to supplement their dinners. They were big birds, protected and cared for from birth, and having one perch beside you and squawk a demand for food was hard to ignore.

Inside the tower, the cool air smelled like stone and feathers. The earth lamps lining the spiraling staircase were alight as always. No open flames near the birds. She trailed her hand along the brass banister as she climbed the stairs, the smooth metal familiar beneath her fingertips.

When she reached the door at the top of the stairs, she paused, listening. The soft sound of Mestier Allyn's voice, combined with various squawks and grumbles, told her dinner was in progress. But the ravens weren't too loud, so likely not all of them had returned yet. She wouldn't be causing too much of an imposition if she interrupted. She knocked, heard a surprised “Come in,” and opened the door carefully, keeping the gap just wide enough to step inside.

"Chloe!" Mestier Allyn said, bushy brown eyebrows flying upward. "I heard you were back—"

A squawk from the raven sitting on his shoulder interrupted, and he pulled a piece of raw meat from the bowl he held and handed it up to the bird

"I am," Chloe said, smiling. "But I don't want to interrupt. I just felt the need for some air." She pointed past him to the closest of the tall windows that studded the walls of the tower.

Mestier Allyn nodded and fed the raven another piece of meat.

She smiled her thanks and hurried over to the expanse of glass. Her hands found the clasps without thinking, and she pushed the windows open and stepped through the gap onto the narrow walkway that ringed the tower. The crenelations were nearly as tall as she at their highest, but the lower parts were chest height, offering a sweeping view of Lumia through the gaps. Chloe gripped the stone and peered down at the city, something she couldn't quite name still nipping at her heels.

The tower had always been one of her favorite retreats. She'd probably been only five or six the first time she crept up the stairs, escaping from her father's office when he was busy teaching and she'd grown bored. Instead of shooing her away, Mestier Allyn had welcomed her to the tower, introduced her to the birds, and let her help him for an hour or so before showing her the view of the city from the walkway and sending her back to her father. She'd loved the tower ever since.

And it, at least, seemed unchanged in the years since she'd last climbed the stairs.

Years that had been stolen from her.

Her fingers curled over the edge of the stone. She couldn't dwell on the differences or the lost time. Samuel, the captain who'd taken her to Anglion when she'd fled, had taught her it was useless for an exile to play “what if.” Useless to long for what might never be hers again. She'd fought hard to learn that lesson and find some peace in Anglion.

But the win had cost her. And now, when she was finallyhomeagain, too many of those long-ignored emotions were surfacing to toss and turn her like one of the gusts of winds that rolled around the tower and made it dangerous for the unwary.

But she wasn't unwary. She knew this place. The lights blinking into life below her made the city gleam, and she could recite the names of each street and alleyway they illuminated. Lumia was in her bones. So why did it feel as though she no longer fit there? Like her feet couldn't quite find a solid place to stand. It had been a week and a day already. When would she start to feel normal?

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