Page 84 of Cage of Starlight
“You may, but only after you tell me what energy you believe you handled.”
Tory grumbles. “Shit, I don’t . . .”
“Reach for it again. I think it might be more familiar to you now.”
After a long pause, Tory gasps. Finally, voice low, he says, “It’s a tree, isn’t it? It’s . . . in Hulven, I’d lay in the woods, and there was this—something. This peace, like they were watching over me, you know?” He frowns. “But this is . . . so small. A baby tree.”
“You may remove your blindfold.”
Tory pulls the sweat-soaked strip of cloth away from his eyes and flings it to the ground like he did on the training field. Sena finds himself smiling. For all that things change, so many remain the same.
“I was right,” Tory says, triumphant. “Close enough, anyway. A branch is kind of a baby tree.” He stares at the branch, the infant leaves, the vibrant blooms. “Did I do that?”
Iri smiles. “You did.”
Quietly, nearly inaudible, Tory says, “That’s not healing.”
“It never was. I told you, what you do isn’t healing. It’s—”
Tory traces the silky blossoms. “Restoration.”
Iri turns to Sena. “And what you do is not destruction.”
He walks off the rug, to the pile of items he dumped in the clearing when he arrived, and he grabs a dented metal bowl. From the bowl, he lifts a flattish, disc-shaped stone, deep blue and milky, with inclusions that catch the dim light like stars. He grimaces when he handles the stone, fingers twitching like he wants nothing more than to let it go.
“Remove your gloves.” Iri walks toward Sena with the stone clutched in one hand, and Sena retreats, a shudder crawling up his spine. “It’s your turn next.”
Remove his gloves? Sena’s hands clench, and before he knows it, he has them half-hidden behind his back.
Tory turns as if sensing Sena’s unease. “Hey!” he says. “He clearly doesn’t want to. Knock it off.”
Iri stops, sighs. Drops the stone into a pocket and winces like it punched him. “I assure you, he’ll be thankful.”
He turns to Sena. “My dislike of this training method aside, I promise it will not hurt you. We use these stones for Seeds who struggle with control. Because of the stress my family endured and our nearness to the battlefront, I blossomed when I was six—earlier than I should have. Earlier, certainly, than was safe for a Flameseed. I had to train with one of these for two years after I burned down our home without meaning to. I keep them to remind me of how far I’ve come. My discomfort with the inkhstone is personal, not universal. It dampens powerful Seeds and will allow you to train without fear of causing wide-spread damage.” Iri lifts it from his pocket and holds it by two fingers. “I’ll be asking you to use your abilities, and in absence of the control this demonstration requires, a dampening of your energies will suffice.”
“He’s not a child,” Tory blurts.
Sena takes the inkhstone immediately.
“It requires contact with skin. Remove the gloves.”
Sena does, and the effect is instant. All this time, if he’d had one of these—so many things could have been easier. Unlike Tory, he can’t feel his energy dropping. Instead, he feels the stone’s effects like a cocoon, like a weight around his shoulders. “I . . . It’s okay,” he says to Tory. “I like it.”
“It’s harder to sense you,” Tory grumbles. “It’s weird.”
Sena smiles. “I really like it, Tory.”
Tory throws his back against the nearest tree and crosses his arms. “Fine. Do your thing.”
Iri invites Sena close to the blooming branch. “Tory, I’ll need you to observe this, as well. Sena . . .”
Sena’s grip around the stone tightens.
“I’ll . . .” Iri frowns. “Actually.” Without another word, he disappears between the trees.
A minute or so later, he returns, arms packed with items: a bright copper teapot, a few blossoms plucked from a hardy wildflower, a glittering silver wristlet, a potted plant.
“All right. We’re working on control. Your goal is to do your work as slowly as possible.” He clears the branch from the simple pedestal, twists the wire smaller, and sets a single flower in the y-hook. “Do what you usually do but make it last.”
