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I had only seen one Pankreatin before Mother had deemed me too ‘sick’ to make many appearances and locked me away. I remembered the brutal fights with both swords and magic. The way the explosions had mixed with the clang of metal was something that had made my jaw drop in amazement then; now it was just dread.
It wasn’t the first time I questioned what I was doing. Showing Mother I wasn’t some sickly princess, though, would be worth it.
I held tight to the wooden nub until my knuckles turned white and faced him, well aware I had no weapon, but more aware that I would probably face the same in the arena. My stocking feet slid on the wood floor as I moved into a fighting stance, pulling the half a sword back. I didn’t give the Boy any time to plan what he was going to do before I darted at him, attempting to plunge what was left of my sword right into his belly.
The tiniest of gasps echoed from him as he dodged, rotating away and grabbing the battered blade of my sword. The wood went flying, his heavy cape circling around me. It would have been enough to trap me if I hadn’t fully anticipated this move. Before what was left of my sword clattered to the ground I grabbed his, wrenching it from him as he spun around. By the time he faced me again the point was inches away from him.
My grin stretched. I knew I looked smug, but I didn’t care. I had defeated him.
“Hands up.” I tried to sound forceful and victorious, but he simply stood there.
Before I saw what was coming, he dropped his weight, hands grabbing for the sword. I dodged, swiping furiously. I refused to let him take this win that easy. He, however, dodged every attack I sent his way, his body moving so fast he looked like little more than a wall of shadow. I only caught what he was about to do a second before he did it, his hands wide as he spun and threw the imaginary magic the same as we had played at a so many times before.
The sword clattered to the ground as I froze, staring from the spot on my chest where the magic would have hit had it been real. Normally I would act it up, sputter and gasp and stagger back. This time I just stared at where the imaginary magic hit me in the chest. The Boy stood there, hands still outstretched before he shook his head at my defeat.
“Fuck!” I swore, unprincess-like as I usually was and sagged to the floor, ripped and stained skirts billowing around me. “Magic.”
I had been thinking about the fights I had seen, but I had been so focused on the swords I had forgotten what I would actually be facing.
Magic, the lack of which was what made me too sick and disappointing. It also made me an easy target.
What was Aeinya thinking even suggesting this?
“How in the Ether am I going to face magic?” I asked the Boy who was squatting before me, handing me the unbroken sword with a click of his tongue.
We needed to keep fighting, but somehow being defeated by fake magic hit me harder than all the swipes from the wooden swords that I was sure left bruises up and down my arm.
There was no way I could win, no way I could even show her what I could do.
How could there be, unless I had magic.
Magic that exploded bureaus.
Still sitting on the floor, I turned toward the open door to my room, to the remains of the bureau that was still littered all over the floor. Neither of us had brought it up again, not after what had happened immediately after became much more pressing. But now…
I had seen the white light explode from my hand. I had seen the magic.
I stood slowly, leaving the Boy in the middle of the floor, still holding the sword out to me as I turned to the wreckage.
I knew what I had seen, I had tried all night to recreate it. As impossible as it was, I knew what had happened. Even now I could feel it shimmer its way over my skin. Magic like that, it would change everything.
His gloved hand wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me from my trance as I stared down the bureau as if it would come to life and give me answers.
“Last night, when you rushed into my room…” I began and he visibly stiffened. I plowed on before he darted behind his partition again. “I was angry and something happened, something flew out of my hand and did that.”
I looked from him, to the bureau, to the callused and slightly dirt covered palm of my hand.
“Magic,” I whispered the word, almost as though it was forbidden. Maybe it was, the histories said that magic had been split when the Goddess killed the last of the Fae, that the Fae split it with their last breath in order to punish us.
But what if it was joining back together.
“Magic without a Catalyst.”
I looked up to the Boy, half expecting him to be shaking his head, or to make some gesture about how crazy I was. He only stood, that expanse of black staring down at me.
“That’s not possible? Is it?” It was a silly question, one with no answer. Yet the Boy stood frighteningly rigid, his breathing clearly accelerating.
“Boy?” The false name for him burned my lips, his body posture sending a ripple of panic twisting through me. “What is it?”
