The Consumption of Magic (Tales From Verania 3)

“He’s neither.”

“If the choice came between saving Verania and saving Knight Commander Foxheart, what would you choose?”

And I hesitated.

Which he latched on to immediately. “That’s all the answer I need.”

“That’s not fair,” I said, scowling at him. “You can’t put me in that position.”

“I can’t? Are you going to say the same thing to Myrin? That he can’t put you in that position? Because he’s not going to care, Sam. About what you want. What you need.”

“I’m not you,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “I can’t just shut everything off. I won’t. That’s not how I work.”

“With everything that has happened to you, this prophecy, Vadoma, the dragons, the people of Verania turning against you—”

“Okay, that last bit is completely the result of Lady Tina DeSilva. In case you didn’t know, she and I are mortal enemies, and I promise you with everything that I am that one day I will rend her flesh from her bones and spill her blood upon the earth—”

“With everything, Sam, it’s no wonder that you let your emotions get the better of you.”

I stopped my rant on the evils of teenage girls. Then, “Better that than having none at all.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. My hands were curling into fists, and my jaw felt tense. When he opened his eyes again, his expression was as bland as it always was. “You are governed by your youth. It’s not a bad thing, but you are headstrong in areas that you must not be.”

“You can’t expect me to change. Not like that. I won’t.”

He beckoned to something over his shoulder.

Almost immediately, the two Grimoires on the shelf rose and floated toward us, his passing over his left shoulder and the other passing over his right. There were others on the shelves, covers bound with many different things, but I ignored them in favor of the books before me as they lowered themselves to the top of the table. They lay next to mine, and a chill ran through my spine at the sight. These two things might be the most powerful books in the world. The only thing that would make the set more complete would be to have Morgan’s Grimoire there.

And even though I completely understood the gravity of the situation, I was trying really fucking hard not to fanboy all over Randall right now. We might have been mostly antagonistic toward each other, but even I could understand that Randall was a hard-core motherfucker.

“Want to touch,” I whispered, reaching out toward the books—

Only to have Randall smack the back of my hand.

I glared at him.

“You done?” he asked.

“You can’t just whip those things out and not have me want to touch them.” I frowned. “Gods, what is going on with my phrasing?”

“Stop hitting on me and pay attention. I’m trying to be serious here.”

I sputtered at him quite dramatically.

“I told you about the consumption of magic.”

That sobered me. “Eating it.”

“Yes. I believe the marks upon your skin are evidence of such. Whether or not he meant it at the time, I don’t know, he surely would mean it from that point on. You defended yourself from him?”

I nodded slowly. “He held me above the lake. His… hand. Around my throat. And I felt the lightning in me, like it was with the sand mermaids. But this was… different. In the desert, it was, like, a reaction. Tiggy and Ryan were gone under the sand, and I just couldn’t let them go. But in Mashallaha, it was more like I was going to do anything to end it. I wasn’t thinking about saving anyone. I wasn’t even thinking about saving myself. All I wanted was to end it.”

“I don’t think he was expecting it,” Randall said quietly. “That level of magic from you. He underestimated you, which is something I think most everyone has done. Including me. He tried, then, to take it from you, but it was too much for him.” His fingers played along the covers of his and Myrin’s Grimoires. It looked to be an almost unconscious habit. “You were very lucky.”

“He…. Why haven’t you asked me about him?”

Randall blanched at that. “What?”