Page 90 of The Art of Exiley

“Yes.”

“Take it out. Do you know how to use it to create a flame?”

“Yes.” Well, I do in theory, but I’m not particularly good at it. The mod creates a small spark that can be ignited with Ha’i.

Rafe takes out his own spoon, opens to the sparking mod, and effortlessly creates a flame. “Now you.”

I follow suit, rather clunkily.

“Again,” he says, watching my hands closely. “What’s causing you to fumble?” he asks when it takes me three tries.

“I’ve never been great at calling Ha’i on demand.”

“You’re thinking too hard. It should be effortless.” He’s not the first person to tell me this, but no one seems to understand that it’s anything but effortless for me. Maybe I’m just a weak Sire.

He has me try a few more times, and once I get a little smoother at it, he says, “You won’t always be able to access your spoon, so you need to be prepared to improvise. In this room, what can you manipulate with your Ha’i?”

“Um, you. Me.”

He waits for more, but my mind is blank.

“The lights,” I say when the thought comes to me. “Maybe the water can be electrified?”

He nods. “What else?”

“I’m all out,” I say.

“Think!” he snaps. My spine straightens from the sharpness of his tone.

“I don’t know, okay? I thought that’s why you’re here to help me.”

“There’s a rug on the ground, a source of static electricity. Out that window and through this wall, there are trees, with branches and roots near enough to break through.” His words are clipped and full of judgment. “The rocks in the corner can be heated. If you have sense with you, the mud could be sculpted and animated into a golem. You need to learn to think on your feet. You need to know what you can control!”

“Fine. I’m here to learn. I’ll do my best, but stop yelling at me!” Though I am annoyed at myself for not having thought of the tree. Plants are my thing.

“I’m not yelling; I’m speaking passionately.”

“Please reduce your passion.”

“I am a passionate person.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He grins but moves on without missing a beat. “Let’s start with static.”

He demonstrates, rubbing his socked foot against the rug, then, lifting his leg bent at the knee, he—exhibiting a distracting level of dexterity—passes his hand in shiin below his foot. A flame sparks into existence and then is quickly extinguished as Rafe claps it between his hands.

It’s awesome. But I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of saying so. “Can you do that again?” I ask.

Rafe rubs his toe on the rug. I move to watch more closely, and this time the flame he sparks swooshes into a large blaze, igniting a lock of my hair.

Rafe’s surprised expression makes it clear this wasn’t supposed to happen.

I instinctively slap at the flames, screeching, my face heating as the fire licks its way up my hair.

Rafe quickly flicks opens a mod on his spoon that immediately stifles the flames.

The room is acrid with the scent of burning hair. “What just happened?” I ask.

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