Page 17 of Kingdom of Dance

“Better take this as well,” she said, holding out a larger rucksack. She started pulling extra clothes from the cupboard, including Obsidian’s uniform. “Pack extra. Who knows how long you’ll be gone?”

Disregarding her words entirely, Obsidian frowned at her. “Did you really know?”

“That you’ve always enormously understated the strength of your magic?” she asked placidly. “Of course I did.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure what you think I should have said.”

He searched her eyes, trying to read her true thoughts.

“What are you looking for?” she laughed. “I don’t know why you’d be surprised by my reaction, Obsidian. You know I’m not afraid of your magic. I don’t understand why you are.”

“Don’t you?” Obsidian asked, taking the rucksack from her at last and turning away. “Father was afraid of it. Why is it strange that I should be, too?”

“Your father wasnotafraid of you,” said his mother firmly.

Obsidian made a scoffing noise, his back still to her. “He was afraid of my magic that day, Mother, you know he was. I reduced a carriage to splinters, and either one of you could have been terribly hurt.”

“But we weren’t,” she said staunchly.

“That’s not the point,” Obsidian said, spinning around to face her. “I saw his face the moment my power released, Mother. If you’d seen it, too, you wouldn’t be claiming that he wasn’t afraid of my magic.”

Her eyes were serious now, and her voice as sad as he’d ever heard it. “He loved you unreservedly, Obsidian. But he was still human. He carried his own scars.” She stepped up, running a gentle hand over the jagged white line that ran from below one of Obsidian’s ears halfway down his jaw—the souvenir of one of his few genuine military participations. “Just like you.”

Obsidian pulled back, his voice gruff. “I don’t want to talk about this any more.”

With a sigh, his mother stepped away again. “Well, I certainly can’t force you to talk about anything, and I’m not so foolish as to try.” She gave him a stern look. “But you’re going to need to talk about it all sometime, Sid, with someone. Or you’ll simply burst one day.”

Obsidian shrugged, shouldering the now-bulging rucksack. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are.”

He could almost hear his mother rolling her eyes. His escort stood as soon as Obsidian entered the room, and they were halfway out the door when his mother spoke again.

“Oh, Sid, if you’re going to be gone a while, you should really renew the protective ward around the chicken coop before you go. We can’t afford to lose any more to foxes.”

With a sigh, Obsidian turned back, passing through the back door and out to the chicken run. He knelt before it, half closing his eyes as he used his indefinable extra sense to assess the enchantment. It was by no means gone, but his mother was right that it was weakening.

He lifted a hand, hovering it over the hutch, and taking a moment to sense the subtle strands of magic that permeated his surroundings. Living near the realm of the dragons, as he always had, magic was plentiful for those with the aptitude to wield it. But he didn’t need to draw from outside himself. Little as he liked to dwell on it, the magic that resided permanently within him burned as ferociously as a wildfire. It was always at the ready, like an eager hound, hoping its master would finally set it free for the hunt.

Pulling it from his core up to his fingertips, Obsidian began to mutter a simple phrase. The air seemed to shimmer, although he knew it was just his eyes trying to see what his extra sense could detect. The magic passed out from him, settling over the chicken coop like an invisible steel net, impenetrable by all. His thoughts flew to his mother, and with a gentle tug, he gave the enchantment its usual tweak to allow her to pass through. With a smile, he worked his own signature in as well, remembering the scold he’d gotten the time he’d created a ward that barred all but his mother, in the happy belief it would get him out of his share of the chores.

“Very nicely done, for such an untrained enchanter.”

The approving voice of the guild member brought a scowl to Obsidian’s lips. He hadn’t realized he was being observed.

“You could make it much stronger if you learned some of the more complex language, you know.”

“It doesn’t need to be stronger,” Obsidian said curtly. “It’s just a ward to keep foxes out.”

Master Hughes chuckled. “If you think that, you clearly don’t understand the strength of your own magic. I suppose you can’t help overpowering the enchantment, with how much magic you naturally channel. Not without more training. But a simple warding enchantment designed to protect chickens isn’t normally strong enough—or sophisticated enough—to specifically exclude certain individuals.”

“More training would help me uselessmagic?” Obsidian said. “If you’d told me that, you might just have signed me up years ago.”

The older man gave an indulgent smile. “Well, I’m glad to see that you don’t refuse completely to use your magic, at any rate.”

“Of course not,” said Obsidian stiffly, following his visitor to the waiting carriage. “That would be foolish. Magic can be useful, in its place.”

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