Page 86 of Shroud of Eternity (Sister of Darkness: The Nicci Chronicles 2)

Andre made a rude noise as he tapped the glass wall of the tank, startling the fearsome-looking fish in the murky water. “It was like the combat arena, only done with magic. One doesn’t split hairs about the fine points of protocol in a blood combat. What’s done is done.”

“Even so,” Elsa said, “I don’t like the idea that the sovrena used her scrying magic to spy on people. She could have been watching any of us, through any basin.”

“But what do you have to fear, hmmm? Sovrena Thora is merely insuring the security of our city.”

Elsa scoffed. “In my household, I will insure my own security, thank you. I have drained all of my reflective basins and fountains—and I suggest you do the same. Unless you want her to watch your efforts to awaken Nathan’s gift.”

The fleshmancer grinned. “Then she could see how hard we are working. Currently, my primary interest is to make certain that Nathan once again becomes the wizard Nathan.”

“And that’s my priority as well.” Nathan sat resting on the edge of the table that had held him in recovery for so long. He wore a loose, unmarked white robe. He decided he needed to find his trousers, laced boots, ruffled shirt, and cape—and his sword, the lovely ornate sword that had served him so well. He hoped his blade was still where he had left it in the grand villa, but he wasn’t going to be doing any fighting soon. He still felt too weak.

“I come to offer my assistance,” Elsa said, stepping close to the table. “I can help train you, but more importantly, give you a bit of energy with my transference magic.” She looked at him with her light brown eyes, and her crow’s-feet crinkled as she smiled. It was a pretty smile, he realized.

“And how would that work?” Nathan asked, far more interested in her than in the fleshmancer’s gruff suggestions for exercises.

“The gift is also a great responsibility,” Elsa said. “You might have it, but you must know how to use it. Inside you, the Han is like a fast-flowing stream. It has been dammed up and now needs to be released.”

“If only I knew how to do so, my dear.” He wished he’d been able to wash and comb his hair, to shave and put on clean—preferably more elegant—clothes. He felt awkward speaking with Elsa in his condition.

“Let me attempt a little something that might help,” she said. “I think you’re trying too hard. Fear of failure makes you uncertain. Uncertainty makes you weak. Watch.” She extended a finger and touched her chest, just above her cleavage, part of which was exposed by the open purple robe. She traced her finger in a circular motion, then drew loops marking an invisible symbol, a pattern that only she could see, although Nathan tried to follow the tracings.

Andre stood back, interested.

“Now you, Nathan.” Elsa came closer and tugged open his white robe, exposing his chest. She was startled to see the long, lumpy line that looked like a thick stream of candle wax down the center of his chest.

Nathan looked down, embarrassed. “The mark will surely fade in time.”

“On the contrary, it will always be there as a reminder of my work.” The fleshmancer added brightly, “Like the signature of an artist.”

Elsa looked troubled, but reached forward and placed her hand against Nathan’s chest, touching the scar. “I can feel your heart beating. Yes, it is strong, but is the Han as powerful? Let me give you a little of mine. Perhaps it will unlock what you need.”

Her fingertip touched the skin above his breastbone and with swift, ticklish gestures she traced a rune on his chest, the counterpart to the one above her own heart. When she finished, she tapped her fingertip there and stepped back.

Nathan experienced a sudden tingling warmth inside, as if he had just downed a goblet of fine Aydindril brandy. “I can feel something.”

“I think Elsa is flirting with you,” Andre chuckled. “Perhaps you’ll be invited to our next pleasure party after all—as her guest if nothing else.”

Elsa flushed.

Nathan just frowned. “You are ruining my concentration, Fleshmancer.”

“We wouldn’t want that, would we, hmmm?” Andre scuttled across the room, rummaged among the paraphernalia on the shelves, and found a wide candle. He carried the candle over, set it on the table next to Nathan, and indicated the drooping black wick. “See if you can make a spark. Use your gift to work a fire spell and conjure a candle flame.”

Nathan was more confident now that he felt warmth tingling through him. Maybe Elsa’s transfer magic had connected the last threads of Han to his heart—his new heart. He looked at the bent wick, the hardened and misshapen wax. Nathan felt the magic, pulled it closer.

He remembered the countless times he had summoned huge balls of wizard’s fire, how he had easily ignited campfires or torches with barely a thought. He had walked through dark tunnels in the Palace of the Prophets, holding up a hand light that he conjured without effort.

He also remembered the time aboard the deck of the Wavewalker when he had tried to show a trick to eager young Bannon. He had summoned a simple flame in the palm of his hands … only to have it flicker and die out.

He shoved those thoughts aside, not wanting his own hesitation to weaken him, as Elsa had warned. He focused on the burned wick, sensed the warmth inside him, and tried to move the warmth to the candle. The gift trickled and grew.

“Make the flame, Wizard,” Andre snapped. “Or must I deny you that title?”

Startled, Nathan tried harder. It had been so easy to create a simple flame. He sensed the heat, drew it out of the air, and placed it into the candle. “Ignite!” He strained through clenched teeth.

He pushed, feeling a hiccup of magic within him. The candle flickered, a small yellow spark, which then faded.

“Ignite!” he shouted louder, pushing with his grasp of the magic, drawing upon the restored gift.

The candlewick still did not light.

But the fish tank exploded.

Nathan’s uncooperative magic had sent a lightning bolt of heat into the murky water, flashing it into boiling steam, shattering the glass. With a gush of water, the flopping, smoking carcass of the hideous fish spilled onto the floor. Its needlelike fangs snapped as its jaws clacked open and closed until its eyes turned milky, and it slumped in death. Its large scales slid off its body like unwanted coins, and the crisped skin cracked to reveal steaming, flaky meat that fell off the curved bones.

Nathan lurched back, astonished at what he had done. “Dear spirits!”

“You have the gift back!” Andre cried.

“But it’s still uncontrolled.” Nathan felt sick dread build up within him. He remembered the man he had tried to heal in Renda Bay; his efforts had only resulted in a mangled corpse. “The magic is wild and dangerous.”

“But it’s there,” Elsa said.

Andre stepped over to his shattered fish tank, frowned down at the remnants of the scaly thing he had created. “And it looks like you’ve prepared a late lunch for us, Wizard.” He smiled. “Yes, I shall call you wizard, at least provisionally.”

Nathan shuddered, clasping his hands together. He imagined the consequences of greater workings, if his magic ricocheted and went wrong. “I was just trying to create a tiny candle flame, and look what happened.”

“Indeed!” Andre sounded delighted. “It looks as if Chief Handler Ivan gave you a great deal of power.” He shouted for slaves to come clean up the mess.

Elsa patted Nathan’s hand. “It’s a step in the right direction.”

“Or the wrong direction,” Nathan said.

“If only you had gotten better sooner,” said the fleshmancer, looking up at them. “Tonight is the great bloodworking with three hundred slaves. Once we reinforce the shroud, we’ll never have to worry about the outside world again.”

Elsa looked away, disturbed.

Andre narrowed his muddy eyes and leaned closer, speaking with an undertone of threat. “You’d better hope you get your gift back, Nathan, since that is the only way you will remain among the noble class in Ildakar.?

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