Chapter 2 - Lessons and a Letter

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Kastali Dun

Claire always worked with the Grand Mage after breakfast as part of her mage lessons. Marcel was a squat older man, always dressed in robes of black that belted at the waist. His attire often reminded her of medieval monks, tucked away in their monasteries, getting plump on fine wine.

Their lessons were unconventional at best. More like quests for knowledge than anything. They'd spent nearly two weeks focused on the Vodar, working to uncover information about their magical abilities, ways to destroy them, secrets that might offer protection.

Marcel's study was half library, half common room. Tables, chairs, chaise lounges, sofas, a wall of books, two fireplaces—one at each end of the room—all gave it its inviting nature. A good thing, since researching the Vodar was hardly a pleasant topic.

Marcel shuffled through several books stacked on the table before them. He looked up at her. "Found anything useful in that one?"

She frowned at the book in her hands. "Hardly. I'd have told you if I had."

Their search had been mostly fruitless. The Vodar could be banished three ways: by fire, beheading, or stabbed with their own poison blade. She had yet to test the third theory, but it was the only bit of extra information they'd gained in two weeks. Two weeks! And that certainly wouldn't help them permanently defeat the wraiths.

"It seems the only way to truly destroy them is with Sprite Fire."

Marcel chuckled. "Is that what you're calling it now?"

A wicked smile spread across her lips. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Marcel knew all about her Sprite Fire. He'd learned of it from Talon after the Vodar had attacked the keep. They'd come in search of the Dragon Stones tucked away in Talon's study. Not exactly the best hiding place for something so valuable. Which was why Talon had left, to visit the Sprites in the forest and beg (if he had to) Queen Jade to take them back into safekeeping.

What Talon hadn't been able to explain to Marcel, was how the fire had come to her. How it had marked her. How it even worked. She certainly didn't know. Though, she had theories.

She and Marcel had spoken at great length about it, but she could never put into words the entirety of the magic. Even still, the song was a part of her now. Like a whisper of words flowing through her veins. Saturating in her very bones. Flowing into her core. An addition to her identity on a fundamental level. Untamed and unexplainable.

Marcel's magic fit neatly into a box. Hers had no such place. While Magoi magic was spoken as a command, using words of authority, hers was not. It was instinctual. It came to her with no prior knowledge, no training. Just as it had when she attacked Caterina that day that everything had changed.

It was a struggle then, for Marcel to comprehend what she'd done. Singing words she never knew. A fire powerful enough to destroy things that weren't human. Things that weren't of this world. She'd repeated the words to him, careful not to sing them—because every time she did, something burst into green flames—and what was more, he had claimed to recognize them. According to him, the words slightly resembled the old language used by the Magoi, but not enough to explain how she'd known them. Nonetheless, he'd made her practice in the fireplace until she could focus her efforts enough to set things on fire.

But surely Sprite Fire wasn't the only way...was it?

She pulled another book forward and began thumbing through it. The minuscule handwriting was difficult to read, to fit as many words as possible on a single page. It was an overzealous religious text about the ways wicked souls were tortured after death. She snorted, shutting it. "I hardly think a Vodar wraith is going to snatch me up if I pilfer an orange." She gave an audible tut, grabbing another. But it wasn't much better. "It feels useless," she said at last. "How are we supposed to help the villagers in Celenore if we can't find a way to permanently destroy them? They'll just keep coming back."

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