Page 1 of Trial of Three
1
Lera
The air explodes, the magic flowing from my fingers igniting into brilliant flame. The practice arena’s sand shoots up toward the blinding sky as tongues of red and orange mate to spawn smoke and sparks.
I stumble backward, my body striking a wall of hard muscle. The scent of pine and citrus washes over me, beating back the bitter tang of ash filling the broiling air. Tye’s corded arms wrap around my body, cocooning me in power and safety. For a split second, everything goes silent and still.
And then the magic I threw strikes the ward protecting the top of the arena, the dullbummmof impact echoing through my body. A heartbeat seems to stretch on for an eternity... before all that debris I so gloriously sent up into the air rains right back down on me. The sand, the rocks, the flames.
I scream, raising my arms to block my face, as if that will do any good. I might be able to echo Tye’s magic as if my body were some preternatural mirror, but I certainly can’t reflect any of his control of the bloody power.
Tye’s arms tighten around me, confident and unyielding. Small pulses ripple through the phantom limb of my magic as Tye nudges it aside, his own power stretching with lazy grace and taking over. An instant later, the falling debris crashes against Tye’s shimmering shield, the rocks and sand and fire sliding down obediently to sputter out against the ground.
My heart stutters, my breath coming in hard, sharp bursts, my shoulders pressing shamelessly against Tye. My body, still filled to the brim with the echo of his magic, is somehow awake down to each fiber while feeling like absolute mush. I hadn’t realized just how powerful the large, easygoing male truly is, not before now. Echoing Tye’s magic is akin to leashing a wild tiger; you’ve little control over who holds whom. And when that leash snaps... I shudder, looking at the five-foot crater in the middle of the practice arena where a candle once stood.
“I...” My voice breaks, my mouth dry. I can’t bear to turn my head toward where the other members of our quint, River, Coal, and Shade, stand witness to my latest disaster. The ancient magic that made me a weaver, able to echo and weave together the magic of others, unfortunately failed to send an instructional text along. In the week since the second trial announced my ability to the whole Citadel, Autumn has had help from Klarissa herself to cobble together what’s known of my power, which is little beyond its theoretical potential. For now, I’m failing gloriously at controlling just one magical cord—one that Tye wields as easily as he breathes—let alone four.
Maybe mastering such magic takes centuries. I have one more week—as far back as River was able to push our retake of the first trial. Stars, but I hate the Citadel’s damn rules. Its deadly games. Maybe a weaver was never meant to be a mortal.
Tye’s velvety lips brush my ear, reclaiming my attention. My body reacts to the sensual touch involuntarily, blood diverting to the suddenly sensitive juncture of my neck and ear.
“You do like things big, don’t you, lass?” Tye whispers.
I—I gasp as Tye’s sharp teeth nip the top of my earlobe. The tiny sting races through me, indignation shoving away the fear. My mouth dries, the sensation tingling along my skin. “Bastard,” I hiss.
Tye chuckles and slips his hands lower on my waist, resting his large palms comfortably on the crests of my hips. “That’s my lass.”
“I did technically light the candle,” I mutter. After my one and only training session with River, when I felt none of his magic, I expected the chief problem going forward to lie squarely in the “it’s not working” camp. Instead, with Tye’s fire magic, I’m fortunate if I don’t blow up the entire mountaintop. The image of a tiger returns to my thoughts. Adorable when sleeping, apocalyptic when nudged awake.
“Let’s try it again, Leralynn,” River says, stepping toward Tye and me. The commander’s gray eyes are steady, but the hand he runs through his short brown hair betrays his frustration with the absolute lack of progress. Beautiful, hard, and the most closed-off male I’ve ever met—immortal or otherwise—the prince of Slait is used to elite fae warriors, not twenty-year-old magical strays. Face unreadable, River tosses me another candle from his never-ending stash, the hunk of wax thunking down a foot away from me. “This time, try to light the wick, not the world.”
I glare at the candle, a sibling to the ten others I’ve massacred this afternoon. Not only am I efficientlynotweaving mystically powerful magical knots, but I think I’m actually getting worse with each repetition. At this rate, next week’s trial will probably roast the whole Citadel until it can be served to Mors with a side of potatoes.
“Ready, Lilac Girl?” Tye asks softly.
I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, holding on to the feeling of Tye’s muscular body warming my back. “Has magically lighting a candle ever saved anyone’s life?” I ask, keeping my voice low enough for only Tye to hear. Buying a few more seconds to shore up my resolve. “I think it’s safe to say that if I need to use your fire magic, it will be for something more spectacular than creating an evening ambience.”
“Is waging war the only use you can think of for this new toy?” Tye clicks his tongue, his hands tightening on my hips. “I thought mortals had better imaginations.”
“I—” My mouth snaps shut midsentence as tiny prickles of heat suddenly dance along my abdomen, circling my navel.Prick. Prick. Prick.The quick, hot touches scatter over my skin, each sizzling prickle igniting my nerves. Teasing my body. My breath catches, the world blinking around me for a heartbeat, then focusing with inappropriate intensity low in my pelvis. “What are you doing?”
“Mmm,” Tye drawls lazily, even as his iron grip holds me in place. “I’m... educating.”
The sparks tour my navel one more time before impudently hopping lower.
My thighs clench together, my skin flushing with enough heat to rival the inferno of moments ago. Certainly enough for Tye to take note. The male bends his head, first his nose and then his velvet lips brushing the inside of my ear. “I do enjoy watching you learn, lass.”
Prick. Prick. Prick.
I wriggle, which only presses me deeper into Tye’s chest. Into a different hardness. Stars.
“The others are watching.” My words escape through clenched teeth, my body rising to the provocation even as my mind screams the wrongness of it. Do the other males realize what’s happening? Can theysmellthe wetness quickly coating the inside of my thighs? The insistent throbbing that makes standing still impossible? My face blazes. Thank the stars, the uniform’s black pants and long, wine-colored tunic have a chance of concealing the visual evidence of my arousal, if not its scent. My thick auburn hair, which started in a neat wreath around the back of my head, now curls against my damp temples and sticks to my forehead. I’m surprised steam isn’t rising off my skin where it touches the cool air.
Ice. I make myself think of ice. And slimy sclices. And...
Prick. Prick. Prick.
I bite back a scream as Tye’s sparks march lower again. When they infiltrate my sex, my heart stops altogether. There ishairthere. Hair that can catch fire.
