The Rise of Fortune and Fury (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 5)

“So you’re saying intention has something to do with it?” Zora asks with a frown.

“Intention is part of it,” he says carefully. “But so is your inherent nature. You were raised in an environment stripped of humanity. You’re human, but you didn’t live in a human society.”

“So I’m evil?” Zora asks with a frown.

I wince, because that’s not what he’s saying, but I hate that’s where her head went.

Carrick smiles gently. “On the contrary, I think you’re as human as Finley with an identical conscience to hers. All I’m saying is that dark magic can inflame passions or anger. When Finley somehow drew on it in Faere, had she not been stopped, I’m fairly sure she would have tried to kill Deandra. So that is an example of how good you can be, but how dark magic can overtake your sensibilities. That is where you need to be strong.”

Zora takes in a deep breath before letting it out with a firm nod of her head. “I understand.”

Carrick looks my way, and I give him a quick thumbs-up. He’s handling her beautifully.

When his attention is back on my sister, he says, “You learned how to use your magic to give yourself wings. How did you do that the first time?”

“First, I envisioned it. It was really the only thing I longed for in the Underworld. To be able to fly, which was the only way to be free.”

“That longing for it,” Carrick says, urging her to focus. “Did you use it to pull forth your power?”

Zora’s eyebrows knit in thought and she even closes her eyes, as if she’s thinking back to that moment. When they pop open, she exclaims, “Yes. I was just imagining what it would be like, then very desperately wanting it, and boom… the wings popped out.”

Carrick nods, snapping his fingers, then pointing the index one. “Exactly. You can’t just envision it. The end product of your magic has to be something you want. Something you need. It has to be born of confidence that you’ll get it. At least that’s what you need to focus on to be able to freely tap the powers. It gets much easier over time.”

“Okay,” Zora says, blowing up a breath of air that lifts some of her hair away from her forehead. “So how do we test this?”

Carrick takes a step back from her. “Simply, at first. Conjure a chair for me to sit in. My back is hurting.”

I snicker because demi-gods don’t get backaches.

Taking in a deep breath, Zora closes her eyes. Her arms are hanging loosely by her side, but her hands open and close several times. She lets her breath out in a controlled, long exhale and when she opens her eyes, she lasers them onto an area of grass to the side of Carrick. I can see it in her eyes—the entire posture of her body—as she wishes desperately for a chair for him.

Nothing happens.

Zora curses—something she definitely learned from me and not in the Underworld—and spins away from Carrick. Her hands fist, and she lets out a tiny scream of frustration.

Whipping back to Carrick, she says, “I can’t do it.”

“Nonsense,” he says with a wave of his hand. “If you can sprout wings, you can conjure a chair.”

“I really, really wanted those wings. I had to fly to have some happiness. I don’t really care if you need a chair or not.”

Carrick shakes his head, stepping up to her until he has her full attention. “You’re taking what I said too literally. It’s not about you wanting or needing what I want or need. It’s about you wanting or needing to be able to accomplish the task. And in accomplishing it, your confidence will grow. So try again.”

He takes a few steps back.

Zora tries to conjure the chair.

Nothing happens.

She tries three more times, and then takes several seconds to stomp around the yard cursing up a storm. Carrick patiently waits her out. My heart clenches with sadness over her struggles, and I remember mine all too well.

“Zora,” Carrick snaps, and she turns toward him. Her face is red with anger and frustration. “Let me see your wings.”

Without hesitation, they unfurl. I gasp at their beauty despite having seen them a few times before. They look so soft and I long to run my fingers through them, but I’m fairly sure that would freak Zora out and send her scampering back to the Underworld.

“Go take a flight,” Carrick orders her. “Once around the island to clear your head.”

Zora doesn’t wait for further instruction, but lifts off the ground with a monstrous flap of her wings. She dives down the slope of the mountain toward the bay, where she evens out and glides above the water. When she banks left, we lose sight of her behind the mountain’s west side.