Page 112 of The Tribes of Magic
I ignored the laughs and glowers, dropping to the ground. I executed thirty pretty pushups, then jumped up to my feet and smiled at Jareth.
He pretended not to look impressed. “Now that the little princess is finally done holding up our schedule, we can proceed.”
Jareth assigned us sprinting drills with a magical twist. We were supposed to shape-shift to enhance our performance. The results were mixed. Most of the Apprentices accomplished nothing more than turning their face red, but Dante, who was standing next to me in the line, managed to pull off a pretty convincing werewolf morph.
“Nice,” I told him. “So you really are a Metamorph.”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
No. Not really. Before we’d come to the Fortress, Dante had told me he was going to be a Metamorph. And my brother generally got whatever he set his mind to. Everything came so easily to him.
“Excellent work, Rhett.”
I glanced down the line, to where that big, buff bully Rhett was showing off his were-bear form to Jareth. I didn’t like Rhett, but I couldn’t deny that his morph was very convincing. So convincing that if I met that bear in the woods, I’d absolutely run the other way.
“Looks like you’re getting Tweedle-Dee in your Tribe,” I told Dante.
“Actually, he’s Tweedle-Dum.” Dante sighed. “And I was hoping he ended up being something other than a Metamorph.Anythingelse.”
I got that. I wouldn’t want a meanie like Rhett in my Tribe either. Not that that was very likely. Polymages were so rare, I only knew a handful of them. No, less than a handful. Kato, the Polymage Knight Commander. Conner, the Polymage Knight-turned-Rebel-leader. The mysterious Polymage Templar we’d fought at the Spirit Tree.
And then there was me: Savannah Winters, Knight Apprentice and Official Disturber of the Peace, at least as far as the General was concerned. I had all kinds of magic—but had a hard time controlling most of it. I could also read a book whose pages appeared blank to everyone else, including other Polymages. Oh, and I scared the daylights out of the Cursed Ones.
Being a Polymage meant I could wield Metamorph magic. I could complete the task Jareth had set all of us…if only I could force my magic to cooperate. I clenched my fists, squeezed my mouth together, and tried to morph myself a pair of big butterfly wings.
Nothing happened.
“What will it be, snowflake?” Jareth said. “A mouse? Or maybe a cute little hedgehog?”
A bunch of the Apprentices laughed.
I stood up as tall as my short height could manage. Then I met Jareth in his eyes. “Why bother with morphing? I can beat them all just as I am.”
Jareth’s snort was more amused than anything else. “We’ll soon see, won’t we?” His attention shifted to the whole group. “Prepare for the sprint.”
As the Metamorph mentor walked away, Dante whispered to me, “You shouldn’t antagonize him, Savi.”
“I’m not.”
Dante laughed.
“I’m not,” I insisted.
“If you annoy him too much, we willallsuffer.”
“And? What’s the worst he can do? Make everyone do a whole lot of pushups?”
Dante’s eyebrows drew together. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to do a whole lot of pushups.”
“I’ve done my fair share of them,” I countered. “Training for the Choosing wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns, you know.”
“I know. But training under Jareth is more like tempests and dragon fire.”
“He’ll respect me more when I beat his whole team.”
“That would sound far more threatening if you’d actually managed to morph.”
I waved my hand, brushing off his comment. “Morphing isn’t all there is to being a Metamorph.”
