The Fire Within Series: Books 1 - 3

by Ella M. Lee

  The coils of his magic aside, his eyes were deeply intelligent and calculating, and he radiated shocking amounts of poise. The lines of his muscles didn’t just make him pleasant to look at—they told the story of someone who could move quickly and efficiently when needed.

  Yes, Nicolas belonged on the council. I bet he practically ran it.

  He was studying me with more curiosity than usual.

  “What?” I asked him.

  “Your specialty in Flame, was it detection?”

  “Yes, both magical and non-magical.”

  “What form did the non-magical aspect take?” he asked. “And what was your scope?”

  It was clear this man came from Smoke. He used all the official terminology for magical classifications, and he knew exactly the right questions to ask. The words “magical” and “non-magical” detection had a very specific meaning.

  “Magical detection” was easy to classify. It meant a person could understand magic they were viewing at a deeper level than other magicians, that they could pluck information out of it without being told, that they could use the equivalent of deduction and reason to make valid assumptions about it.

  It was much like a singer with absolute pitch versus one without absolute pitch. Both might be excellent at their art, but one had an advantage in a way that wasn’t easy to quantify. Flame magic produced excellent detectors—better than almost all the other clans except Smoke—but even within Flame, some people were better than average.

  I was one of those people.

  But Nicolas hadn’t homed in on that part of my confession. No, he cared about the more interesting part: my non-magical detection skills. Non-magical detection skills came in a million forms but were usually empathy driven. Being a detector meant the magician possessed the ability to see people or events or situations with clarity that another might not. They were heightened perception skills that gave the ability to analyze details with care and speed but usually only in a specific way. Nicolas had asked for the particulars of my form—how my detection skills worked. He had also asked for scope—the strength of those skills.

  “I couldn’t read minds like you, if that’s what you’re asking. No one can,” I said. “And I wasn’t a human lie detector.”

  Those did exist, and they were treasured skills. Nicolas was likely interested in whether any of my former Flame skills might be of use should I eventually be offered the opportunity to join Water.

  He waited, his brow raised. I sighed.

  “It’s boring,” I said. “I wasn’t the fun kind of detector. I did research and intelligence work for Flame because my non-magical detection skills allowed me insight into difficult questions. Looking for information was easy for me. My mind just followed these incredible maps and patterns without any effort. It was easier if I was looking at text or pictures—my magic would lead me right to the results I wanted—but I could do it in conversation sometimes too.”

  “Interesting,” he murmured.

  I looked away. All of Nicolas’s attention was focused on me, and I felt crushed under its weight.

  “It’s not,” I said. “And it’s unlikely I’ll have anything like it outside of Flame, so don’t get any ideas.”

  “I’m not getting ideas,” he said, amused. “I gave you information, and I merely wanted some in return.”

  “Ha,” I said. “Why ask? You can just take whatever you want. Half the magical community would give their right hand for abilities like yours.”

  “They would find themselves quickly regretting that trade,” he said darkly. “My abilities are not desirable. Sometimes, even now, I wish I could give them back. They came at a price, one I was forced to pay against my will.”

  I frowned. He was telling me he felt trapped, although it was tough to believe that a man like him could feel trapped by anything. He was leaning back now, his palms resting on the floor, completely calm and relaxed. It seemed like that was his thing, to appear in control no matter what he was truly feeling.

  I wanted to discover what was under that impenetrable expression.

  “Do you like where you are today?” I asked him, turning onto my stomach—gently, so as not to aggravate my bruises—and putting my head on my hands.

  “Pardon?” he said blankly, his French accent coming through. I had caught him off guard.

  “Do you like where you ended up? Do you like your life as it is now?” I said.

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t complain too much, then. It could always be worse.” I paused. “For instance, you could be me,” I said with a self-deprecating smile.

  “I know it’s been a rough week,” he said sympathetically, “but I wouldn’t be so quick to resign yourself.”

  More vague words of encouragement. I was getting sick of being left in the dark about all the important aspects of my new circumstances.

  “Well, my tall, Burgundy-drinking, Parisian Water Rat,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, “you are one scary creature. It’s hard not feeling resignation when I’m trapped here with you.”

  He laughed. “What would help allay your fears?”

  “Maybe quit it with the stern looks and the terrifying magic?” I said, waving my hand at his impressively powerful presence.

  He narrowed his eyes, confused. “You find my magic lovely and incredible and beautiful,” he said. He had taken those words from my thoughts. “Does it truly frighten you?”

  I swallowed, afraid I had offended him. “Yes,” I said. “It’s part of you, so you don’t see it, but magic like yours is meant for intimidation. A hundred years in Flame wouldn’t have given me that quantity or quality. There are plenty of commanders in the world who don’t have what you have. Most of them, in fact. I’m just a mortal woman. You can’t sit there and pretend like you couldn’t choke me with my own blood or wrap me in a shield so reinforced that I’d suffocate in a minute or—”

  He held up a hand. “Yes, I see,” he said. “When you are a fish, you forget about the water around you.”

  “You are a shark, and I’m just a lamb.”

  He put a hand out to me. “May I?” he asked. “I’d like to show you something, and it’s easier if we’re touching.”

  I nodded, staring at his hand for another moment before taking it. His skin was incredibly warm, practically burning up, a sharp contrast to his freezing apartment. His fingers supported mine gently, and his thumb brushed my knuckles. I shivered.

  He shifted onto his stomach, our faces only a foot or two apart. We were mirrors of each other, stretched out, my left hand in his right hand.

  “Relax,” he said quietly. “Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Good. Again. Pretend you have magic, and let yourself go into centering form.”

  I listened to his rhythmic words. He was instructing me carefully, as you would instruct someone new to magic. He was asking me to meditate, to look inward, to pull my core together and strengthen it, to allow my body to still. “Centering form” was the technical and rarely used term for grounded headspace ready for complex magic use.

  “I’m not going to grant you any magic to use for yourself yet,” he said. “You aren’t ready. My magic is hard to handle under the best of circumstances, and you are not nearly at your best. I am not an ideal commander to receive gifted power from, but I will do so when I think you are stable enough. Be patient. Until then, I want you to be less afraid of me. Center yourself, please.”

  I did as he asked, instinctively finding the place within myself that allowed me to use magic so effectively. It stung that nothing was there right now except my own will.

  “Good,” Nicolas said. “Keep breathing.” He took my other hand in his, holding them both firmly.

  I loved being completely centered. I had tried several times over the past few days to get there, but it hadn’t worked. I didn’t know what had changed today, but finding myself felt amazing.

  “My magic can frighten,” Nicolas said, very quietly. “I kno
w that, and I use it when I need to. It can impress, it can intimidate, it can appall, it can terrorize, it can injure, it can kill. I know that’s what you see when you look at me. But magic is a bond formed with the wielder by understanding and attraction and love. You know that. Flame is one of the most difficult magics because the bond needs to be so very true and pure and strong. Less so with Water, but even still, my magic is filled with that bond.

  “I love it, and it can show that love,” he continued, his voice mesmerizing. “My magic can strengthen, soothe, encourage, restore, and heal. It can calm oceans as easily as it can create hurricanes. It can reform hail into the lightest snow. It can bring forth crops and feed flowers. It can do that all splendidly because… Well, that quantity and pressure that scares you? It was all born out of a connection so strong that nothing but absolute love and adoration could have made it.”

  He went quiet for a moment, his fingers caressing mine gently.

  “I was intentionally dimming your senses, Fiona, but now I’m going to intentionally heighten them,” he said. “Don’t be startled. All right, open your eyes.”

  Opening my eyes immediately pulled me out of my center, and I could feel again. I gasped. His magic had filled the space around us. It was tight to my skin, wrapping me in coils and tendrils and ropes. It lit Nicolas up like the sun, radiant, his eyes glowing. It twinkled in my vision all around us like a million stars, like fireworks, like heavenly snow.

  But it wasn’t choking me. It wasn’t crushing me under its pressure. It wasn’t sending alarmed shudders down my spine. It wasn’t hurting me.

  Instead, I felt safe and protected. The sinewy ropes of it weren’t bindings—they were the feather-light caress of silk, the comfort of a warm blanket, the gentle touch of a hot bath. Its odd darkness wasn’t strangling; it was vast and stretched out before me like the night sky, utterly captivating. Its power spoke to me, but not in threats. Instead, I heard the whispers of ancient ships, the lap of waves, bubbling streams echoing through the morning mist. I felt its coolness spreading over me like the sweetest memory.

  I realized I had closed my eyes again. I opened them, studying Nicolas. He was entirely at ease, his eyes filled with gentleness, his face serene. He did love his magic, perhaps this beautiful side of it more than the rest. His fingers still moved over mine soothingly, as though he couldn’t help himself.

  Nicolas was, of course, more than his magic, but seeing this aspect of it taught me a lot about him. He had specifically chosen to show me this, even though he knew that it would temper my fear of him. I’d never again be able to look at his magic, even at its most threatening strength, without remembering the echo of how tender and sweet it could be. There was kindness in him, in this gesture.

  I kept my eyes on his as he deconstructed his work. The coils of his magic evaporated around me, and I felt cold again without them. The stars winked out. The safe cocoon of his demonstration faded to nothing, but the memory remained, and I could see it imprinted on him. He loosened his hands, and I realized with a start that I had been gripping him tightly. I let go, embarrassed.

  “Thank you,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to,” he said, smiling. “I so rarely get to show anyone the parts of myself that I like.”

  I flipped over onto my back again, wincing. Nicolas sat up, his eyes wandering out the window. I closed my eyes, exhausted.

  I told myself to sleep, throwing an arm over my face to block out the light. I couldn’t fathom why my body refused to rest. I hadn’t gotten a human amount of sleep in a long time. I had fought, seen my friends killed, been captured, had magic ripped from me, and been subjected to Nicolas’s strange whims.

  Why wasn’t I completely dead by now?

  I was glad Nicolas had opened up to me. It was telling that he had wanted to put me at ease, that he had answered my questions, and perhaps most importantly, that he had asked questions. I had no doubt our deal was still in place, but I didn’t think it would hurt my cause if he got to know me and maybe started to like me. Today had been interesting in terms of advancing our relationship, but it wasn’t clear what the long-term effects of our morning out would be.

  I breathed deeply, trying to find a comfortable rhythm, trying to center myself as I had a few minutes ago, trying to recall the beautiful warmth of Nicolas’s magic around me.

  Sleep, I told myself again, and sank as far against the floorboards as I could.

  When I awoke, I was incredibly disoriented. I flung myself upright, my head spinning. I was in Nicolas’s bed once again, his duvet thrown over me. The shades on the windows were half pulled against the daylight. I could see that it was raining now, beads of water running down the glass.

  There was a tiny beautiful brass clock on his nightstand that told me it was now mid-afternoon. I stood carefully and crept to the closed door. I pressed my ear against it and frowned. I couldn’t hear anything on the other side.

  I pulled it open and skittered back a step after being met with a glimmering force shield. On the other side of Nicolas’s light-blue magic, I saw him sitting with his back to me, playing the piano.

  I pressed my hand to the shield—it was solid and soundproof.

  Hey! Hey! I thought, but he didn’t turn. I exhaled sharply.

  I moved my hand over the shield, examining it. It was a static shield, which meant it had been placed here and was detached from his magic, so he couldn’t sense this particular touch.

  But it had wards placed within it, as was commonly done, and those would alert him if disturbed.

  I just had to find the right one.

  Nicolas was an extremely competent magician. I couldn’t sense magic perfectly, but I could still see his work clearly if I focused.

  Because he was competent, he had naturally laid all the basic wards together, whether they were relevant or not. Wards to detect other magics, to detect someone messing with the shield, to dampen dangerous elements like fire, to limit magical overloads, and so on.

  And one of the most common basic wards was a ward designed to detect mortal interference.

  I felt along the shield for it, sensing the contour of his magic, blowing by one useless ward after another, as well as the rather sturdy silencing spell that suffused the surface.

  Ah-ha, finally. I pressed my palm into the ward I needed. I looked up. Nicolas stopped playing abruptly. He turned and offered an amused smile.

  I tilted my head at him and knocked on the sturdy pane of magic. He snapped his fingers, and the shield disintegrated into nothing.

  “Thank you,” I said, getting a bottle of water from the fridge and throwing myself across the couch.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to trap you. I was merely keeping the sound out so as not to wake you.”

  “You weren’t paying attention to my thoughts?” I asked.

  “Music is one of the only things that allows me to focus deeply enough to block out thoughts,” he said. He paused. “I’m impressed with your ability to navigate my wards.”

  “You are the one who called my magic detection skills ‘off the charts,’” I reminded him.

  “I’m glad I was right,” he said.

  He turned back to the piano and put his hands to the keys. I pulled my hood over my head and curled up, listening to him play something I didn’t recognize. It was haunting and profound.

  I reminded myself that he was hurt too. We were both grieving. I thought of our morning together, and it seemed like we were both doing the best we could, with ourselves and each other. I just had to hope my part in that was enough.

  Chapter 13

  Nicolas seemed to have no desire to bother me for the rest of the afternoon. I ate almonds and fruit and watched him work on his laptop.

  I wasn’t feeling much better, despite fresh air and reassurances and sleep. Even though I was continually reminding myself that Nicolas was being good to me for now, I couldn’t force myself to nap. I was stuck in a dazed state, blea
ry-eyed and shivering, until there was a knock on the front door well after sunset.

  “Get the door,” Nicolas called from the bedroom, snapping his fingers to lower the shield. “It’s Daniel.”

  “Hi,” I said warily to Daniel, opening the door wide to admit him.

  I really didn’t want to piss him off. I knew Nicolas would be unhappy with us both if that happened, and keeping Nicolas happy was currently my number one mission. I also had no desire to be hit by Daniel again. For such a tiny thing, he was quite strong.

  “Hi,” Daniel said awkwardly, studying me. “You look terrible. Sorry about my contribution to your face.”

  I shrugged, turning away, but he caught my arm in his delicate hand. I tensed, my feet automatically assuming a fighting stance, although my brain knew I’d be dead if I attacked him.

  “Hands off,” Nicolas said sternly, coming out into the living room. “Don’t ever touch her without her permission.”

  Daniel let go of me immediately and flipped his hand palm up in apology, though he eyed my feet interestedly. I glanced at Nicolas, surprised by his defense of me, especially since he touched me all the time without permission.

  “It’s fine,” I said to him. I met Daniel’s eyes. “You’ve already bruised me. Do you want to pick another fight?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, I learned my lesson the first time.” He walked past me, dumping the huge bag in his left hand onto the table. “I hope you like spicy food, Fiona.”

  I didn’t, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Daniel. Nicolas got up to pour wine for himself and his lieutenant—red, probably from Burgundy. I didn’t know why he skipped me, but I hadn’t wanted wine anyhow.

  In fact, I hardly wanted anything other than sleep. I was more exhausted than I’d been in years, since my early days of training with magic. I curled up against the couch, pushing away my hardly touched food, avoiding getting too close to Nicolas, who was seated near me.