Page 47 of Vicious Is My Throne

“Stop getting distracted.” Bexley didn’t so much as glance up. “Keep the flame steady, not so much as a waver, for five minutes, then you are done with your first lesson.”

He kept his eyes on his book. “Witch magic has many different mutations. Potions and spells, of course, but it can be used to peer into people’s memories, to divine the truth, even to stop time for those who practice.”

“I can read people’s memories? Like tell what they’re thinking? And stop time?”

Now those skills would be fucking amazing. And useful.

“For someone who can’t even hold her flame steady, I’d say you’re getting ahead of yourself. Walk before you run, young lady.”

I rolled my eyes and the top of the flame bent and wove like a drunkard.

Maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe after this we’d move on to explosions and stopping fucking time and I could actually use my magic instead of acting like a glorified candle.

“Not that you asked, but I will offer you some advice. Mysthaven is too dangerous for you to visit. Even if the village has been abandoned and there isn’t a single witch left. I don’t advise it, Anaria.”

“What if the weapon is there? The book mentions the village, and you practically admitted it’s home to the Vanguard Conclave. If something that valuable still exists, it would make sense the leaders of a once-great coven would keep it close, right?”

“You said it’s home to the Vanguard Conclave, Anaria, not me.”

“Well, you didn’t argue.” The flame was waving like a flag in the wind now and Bexley’s lips pursed in aggravation as I gave up altogether and the flame winked out. “When are we going to get to the exciting part of training? I have a lot of pent-up anger to expend, and this flame thing isn’t doing it for me. How about you teach me to fight? Or read your mind?”

The mage set his tea aside and flipped the book closed. “All I wanted was five minutes to finish my chapter.”

My mouth fell open. “You were using me like a glorified candle, weren’t you?”

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “The life of an apprentice isn’t meant to be glamorous, and I haven’t had a moment of peace since you lot arrived. You disrupted a perfectly good exile.”

“A bit of candlelight isn’t going to beat Corvus.” I climbed to my feet, knees popping. “We need that weapon. I need more magic.” We need to figure out how not to die.

“You need to learn control,” Bexley explained patiently. “This is how you learn. Practice. First with a flame, then a fire, then something larger. There are no shortcuts.”

I slid him a sideways look. “There are always shortcuts, Bexley.”

He sighed again, one of those long-suffering ones that made it sound like he’d been doing all the work. “Fine. Find that thread of magic. Got it? Now follow it all the way back to the source. This will feel like somewhere inside your ribcage, right here.” He pointed to a spot below his heart. “Now give it a strong tug.”

Now that I knew what I was looking for, I found the thread with no problems, like a vein of silvery mithirium gleaming in a bed of black granite.

The witch magic felt different, and even though it was as slender as a hair, there was strength there. I did what Bexley requested and I tugged.

Flames burst out of in a torrent, coating me, the ground, the stones. I grappled with that elusive thread of power, but like a rope slipping through my fingers, I couldn’t grab ahold.

Flames grew, glowing against the walls of the palace, a beacon in the darkness, before Bexley, with the barest flick of a finger, doused them completely.

“There are no shortcuts. Learn to control the flame, practice on your own, then we’ll graduate to something larger.”

16

TRISTAN

Ididn’t think I’d ever been happier, or more scared, than sailing over the ruined forest with Anaria on my back.

I could still taste her, flowers and amber, still feel her coming apart beneath me, her soft cries music to my ears.

I was a fucking fool to have waited so long, to deny myself—both of us—what we’d shared. Would share again the first fucking chance I got.

I leveled out, scanning the forest for any threats, keeping Anaria’s slight weight carefully balanced between my shoulders, my outstretched wings catching the updraft. What I saw beneath us made me ill. Miles and miles of blackened forest, all the beautiful life Anaria had created was dying before our eyes.

I stayed high enough to avoid the reeking smell, the choking intensity of rot.

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