Page 66 of Feral Guardian
“I believe this joke has run its course,” I grouse.
She smiles. “Not quite yet, I think.”
She does it again, despite my attempt to block it.
“I’m going to keep doing this until you stop me with Kor’Tar’s shield, or something of the likes,” she says, flicking me once again despite my best attempt to dodge her assault.
“Princess,” I growl, wiping my face with the back of my arm. “I do not need another bath.”
“Really? I think you look good wet,” she says with an impish smirk, then slaps me with droplets. “Come on, you know Kor’Tar’s shield. Use it.”
I begin to draw the symbol, forcing my magic through my fingers as I would to rune-write into stone, bone, or wood. A second before I finish, I’m splashed with even more water, soaking some of my beaded braids.
“How am I to learn if you don’t give me a moment to practice?” I ask, my chin dripping water.
Her face loses its joviality. “Practice under pressure creates power. If you wish to wield this power, you must learn the hard way, the way that torments you.”
Water splashes into my eyes and I growl.
Lily laughs maniacally. “Get that shield up!”
I try again and again, getting wetter and wetter. Lily is a brutal teacher, but I love it.
I want to learn all her secrets.
Chapter twenty
Lily
Alastair almost burns our breakfast in pursuit of a proper shield. He manages a malformed blob that catches a few speckles of water but still let most of my assault through. He is trying though, and, gods, it feels good to be the teacher for once. I have something of value for him, something he thinks is worth learning. And I can do it kindly. Progress does not always requirethatkind of pain.
Progress can be made softly.
“We should pause for now and eat something,” I say when my stomach groans.
“Not yet,” Alastair says and I can see by the red gleam of magic in his eyes that he’s frustrated with himself. It only makes me love this more. He’s so cute when he gets determined.
My stomach roils again, even louder, and Alastair notices.
“We should break,” he says, changing his tune immediately.
“Oh, don’t stop on my poor stomach’s account,” I say, flicking more water at him.
He uses both hands to draw Kor’Tar’s shield, Eng, in a sloppy, rushed arc, botching it significantly enough to break the rune. The red of his magic burns fast, then discharges back into his fingers andshocks him. I can’t help but chuckle at the furious expression on his face as the water hits him.
He shakes the pain out of his fingers. “How long have you been practicing this?”
My dream brings back the black walls, red candles, and rune-carved animal skulls easily. I make a desperate attempt to protect myself from her attack. A devastating failure. Pain and blood. Magic burns through my arms; the runes she’d carved to make me hard like her, ruthless like her. Capable like her.
I didn’t succeed in the way she wished. In the way the headmistress had been ordered to shape me. But didn’t I emerge stronger? Am I not worthy of the throne now?
“Lily?” Alastair prompts and I snap back to the present. He’s standing next to the fire, pulling our turkey leg skewers away from the heat.
I try to smile, but it feels forced. “A long time.”
He scowls and beckons me to come eat. I sit next to him on the log and accept the skewer he hands me. Our turkey legs look properly caramelized from the berry jam, and though the meat smells divine, the memory has soured my stomach. I know I still need to eat, though.
“What made you start rune-writing like this?” he asks.
