Page 95 of A Baron of Bonds
“I don’t hear anything,” he replied curtly.
I met Revich at his side, gathering patience. “For me, it was the breeze within the tips of the trees. It felt like my name wasbeing called on the wind, something I did not yet know myself, but Felgren was aware of. I felt myself being reached through ageless power that sought to settle itself within my very soul.”
Rev beamed at me and nodded. “Yes. Like that.”
A tendril of white encircled the handle that Mychael held, thin and wispy, but proof nonetheless of his channeler magic.
He looked down at his hand and laughed, shaking his head in surprise.
“Congratulations, Mychael. You’ve proven your position as channeler to be here.”
I thought of the first time I had been asked to prove myself here in Felgren. Heimlen had led us to a small patch of earth and requested we each grow a flower from the thawing soil.
All three of us had done it, not yet knowing that was our first trial in Felgren.
Philius furrowed his brow at his guard, looking down at his own marred hand gripping the handle tightly. “What if I can’t do it?”
“Then you can turn around and catch your carriage back to Hyrithia,” Revich answered, now crossing his arms at his chest—something I rarely saw him do.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“Then summon your magic to carry the trunk,” Rev replied.
Philius fought back a retort. I could see it in the tension of his body and the way he slid his jaw to the side as he had always done when we were children.
We’d both been taught to hold back our anger. We’d both found ways to suppress it, and I wondered if he’d rebel upon that demand of the Queen’s just as I did.
Mychael’s magic was thin, and he still needed to hold the handle to keep the trunk upright, but I was proud of him for heeding our words. He glanced at me and I smiled, watching his face light up in a similar grin. He was a handsome man, at leastten years older than me, a few strands of gray littering his brown, shoulder-length hair that curled at the ends. His beard and mustache were flecked with grays too, leaving him looking more than a bit dashing, and there was a kindness to his features. He was probably the oldest channeler ever to be trained in Felgren.
We stood for a few minutes, waiting for Philius to prove he belonged in Felgren as he glared down at his hand wrapped around the trunk’s side handle.
“It’s not working,” he said bluntly, not looking up.
“We noticed,” Rev replied, quickly adding, “Would you like to hit me again and we’ll see if you can summon the strength?”
I knew what he was doing.
And it worked.
Sparks of orange light shot from Philius’s hands. His side of the trunk lifted suddenly, the weight off-balance as one end flew into the air and they both let go. The trunk crashed to the ground in a thud. I wondered how many bottles of wine he’d undoubtedly brought were now broken.
I’d never seen a channeler or conduit’s magic express itself like his. Typically, it displayed in thin tendrils like smoke around the magic wielder’s hands as they used it for tasks. But Philius’s magic sparked like the initial flare of a fire about to burst into flame.
“Well done. You’ve both shown your suitability to be here. You may follow us to the Fortress.”
Rev turned from them, slipping his hand into mine and continuing down the path.
We walked in silence for a time, and I took those moments to bask in the late morning sun and fill my soul with Felgren.
I stole a glance back at the two new channelers. Mychael’s magic still swirled around the handle of the trunk while Philius seemed to have lost his.
He glared at the back of Revich’s head, and I rolled my eyes, turning away.
“Was I this stubborn when I arrived here?” I mumbled.
“You had more reason to be. You had been forced to come here. He has not. Though, I understand his frustration. His power only shows through anger, and when you arrived, yours flowed from your skin easily and without your knowledge.”
“Not when I first arrived.” I frowned.
