An Affinity For Fire

36. Clover

Clover had thought that maybe a family full of blue mages would be able to do something to stop the rain. She had thought wrong.

When she'd asked Bryn's father, Prince Kavalore, he had explained that manipulation of weather required affinities for both water and air, whether those be in a person of double affinity or in multiple mages working together. And even then, it was an activity they saved for emergency situations. Sadly, not enjoying being wet didn't pass as an emergency situation.

At least the Lapisalis family had allowed them to borrow proper tents for their journey to Dormis. She never wanted to sleep under one of the haphazard constructions she, Tarry and Leo had put together with blankets and sticks again. Not to mention, with extra horses joining to carry provisions for the Ocassan noble families, they had been able to borrow proper travel rugs, too.

But that was where the advantages of travelling with a larger group ended.

With carts bursting with dresses, jewels and food and carriages filled with travel-sick nobles, the pace of the travelling party was painfully slow. Clover and Tarry had wanted to wait back with Bryn, who would be joining the travelling party in a week on Onyx, but he had insisted that kelpies were far too antagonistic for effective group travel. And Leo had agreed that riding a half-breed at speed through snow was too challenging for an unpractised rider. So, instead, they had set out with the royal travelling party on what would be a nine day ride.

A nine day ride through rain, which would undoubtably turn into sleet, before eventually becoming snow.

Clover tugged her hood further over head, pressing her hands to her ears. The cold wasn't bothering her too much, but the thunderous drumming of the rain on the tent was making it impossible to sleep. She sat up, trying not to shuffle too much, so as not to disturb the princess beside her, who was somehow sleeping through the noise. The travelling tents were designed for two, so Leo and Tarry had shared one and Clover had been paired with Bryn's sister, Jassiba. Weyra slept with them, too, a prospect that had bothered the young princess on the first night, until she'd realised how much warmth the wolf radiated. Now, only one night later, Jas was hugging Weyra like a ragdoll.

Failing at sleeping, Clover turned to the one pass-time that had occupied her every spare minute - attempting to summon fire. She went through her usual methods - rubbing hands, squeezing fists, clicking fingers. She tried with eyes open, eyes closed, holding her breath. desperate, she even tried clapping.

Nothing.

she clapped again. And again. And again.

The pile of blankets beside her shuffled and Jas rolled over, rubbing her eyes.

"I realise you're appreciative of being dry, but there really is no need to applaud the tent."

Clover's cheeks flushed. "Sorry. but that wasn't what I was doing."

"Then what in all the Fates' names were you doing? You were at it all of last night, too."

Clover chewed her lip, conflicted. But then, she supposed, another mage shouldn't be a threat to her.

"I'm trying to start a fire. but I can't."

Jas's brow creased in concern. "In a tent? I seriously do not endorse that. Also, without a flint and steel, that won't work."

"It should," Clover argued. "I'm a red mage. Either that, or my skin an resistant to fire for some other magical reason. But I can't make flames."

"Ah," Jas said. "You have Aestasan ancestors?"

"Yeah," Clover lied, to prevent the inevitable follow-up questions. "But I only started showing an affinity two weeks ago."

"Well, that's where your problem is," Jas said. She propped herself up on an elbow, waking Weyra with the motion. The wolf blinked her golden eyes, yawned, and curled up to sleep again. "Affinities take months to master. And it's not a skill that comes from clicking your fingers. Well. Not at first, at least." She flicked her wrist, gathering a swirling, plum-sized ball of water just above her fingertips. With another flick, she sent it flying at Clover's face.

"Hey!" Clover protested, wiping away the splash with her sleave.

Jas let out a smug snort, but then the amusement fell from her face, replaced by something close to sincerity. "Do you want to know how I first realised I was a mage?" When Clover nodded, she continued. "I was nine. My brother and some other boys were cliff-diving, and I was watching with some friends. Mal had just jumped in, and I was telling my friends how I thought it was silly and dangerous. Then one of the boys decided it would be hilarious to push me in. Now, I was about as competent a swimmer as a nine-year-old can be, but I was in a dress, and a heavy one at that. And the shock of cold water didn't help. I sunk before I knew what was happening, and no matter how much I kicked and flailed, I couldn't make it to the surface."

She paused, shuddering for a moment, probably at the horror of the memory.

"But then I remember this bubble of air forming around me. With every gasping breath I took, it got bigger, until I was sat on the seabed, a dozen feet below the surface, in my own self-made dome of air. But it didn't last long. Just long enough for Mal to swim down to me. Then whatever tenuous control I had over the water gave in and he had to haul us both back to the surface. But it was enough. I'd done it once, I knew I could do it again. After that day, it took months of trying to cause so much as a ripple in a glass of water. But I got there." She pulled her blanket up to her chin. "You will, too. It'll be mind-achingly frustrating, but it'll happen. Trust me."

Clover nodded. "Thank-"

She didn't get to finish. She was cut off by the sound of Weyra letting out an agonised, gut-wrenching howl. The wolf burst through the flap of the tent and into the rain, whining at the sky.

"What in all the Fates' names was that about?!" Jas gasped, flustered.

"I have no idea," Clover answered honestly, peering out of the tent in concern.

"That's one strange animal you have," Jas said, shaking her head and rolling over to go back to sleep.

"Very strange," Clover agreed. A strange enough animal that, if she was so upset, Clover couldn't help feeling that something was horribly, horribly wrong.