Page 63 of The Chaosweaver's Daughter
He snorted.
They ate delicious food at a supposedly-Karovian themed restaurant and stayed up late into the night. After rehashing the presentations they’d sat in on during the day, their conversation hit a lull. Sitting before the waning fire, sometime after midnight, Nes stifled a yawn with a sip of wine. She’d asked Kas to procure a dry variety that agreed with her palate, and he’d happily obliged.
“Nes”—his voice was gravelly and tired—“tell me more about your magic?”
“What do you want to know?” She let out a small yawn, unable to stop it from escaping.
“Chaos. It’s renewable, you can grab it from a moving stream, from flames, from air, from—earth? How does it work with earthshapers? For example, do they have to be moving sand? Or is chaos something you can harness from any element at any time?”
With a smirk and sleepy blink, Nes laughed. “You have so many questions.”
“I like to learn.”
“On that, we’re the same.” They toasted, and she continued, “It’s everywhere, truly everywhere, Kas.”
Sighing wistfully, she tapped into her sight, watching pale, shimmering threads of chaos whorl through the room. A golden cord flowed from Kas’s finger, and she squinted, realizing he was pushing the air around, moving the heat outdoors, and beckoning a cool breeze through the open windows. Bringing her gaze back to his face, she stopped drawing power from her well, her breathing shallower than it had been a moment before.
“Nesrina.” Kas leaned forward in his chair, arms resting on his knees.
“What?”
“Can youseeit?”
“You’re very observant.”
“On occasion.” The muscles of his forearm bunched and flexed as he swirled the ice in his glass. He’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows and ditched his coat at some point during the evening. “What do you see and how?”
“Is this an interview?”
“The good sort.”
Laughing, she offered a better explanation, informing him that chaos appeared as little threads of gold woven throughout nature, throughout space itself. He thought that sounded like it might be exhausting to have to take in all the time, but she assured him she didn’t have to see it constantly, only when she chose. And itwastaxing to tap into the ability, hence limiting her use of the skill. This intrigued him further, and she told the fascinated duke how Papa had given her the sight a few years prior.
“He gave you ‘the sight’? Sounds official.” Lifting a brow, Kas took a sip of his drink.
“Far from.” She chuckled, before going on to explain that once her papa deemed her old enough, he’d literally drugged her and taken her on a journey to learn tosee, on command,the elusive fibers that composed the fabric of the universe.
Kas was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the best pupil she’d ever instructed. He leaned toward her again, hungry for more information. “Nesheli kibdi,the joyful herb?”
“Stronger.” She chuckled into her wine. “A combination of mushrooms and a guided lesson.”
“You delinquent!” His enthusiasm reverberated through her, somersaulting her stomach.
With a grin, she said, “You know as well as I that academics will do damn near anything in the pursuit of greater understanding.”
He returned her smile, and a wayward strand of his magic brushed against her cheek, at least she thought it was from him. She wasn’t using her sight at the moment.
“What is it that your father always said? You’ll learn more at the helmthan reading books about boats?”
Nes startled. “That’s it, but you never said you knew him.”
“I haven’t? You’re certain I’ve never mentioned it? I’m almost positive I have.”
“I’m positive you have not.”
He fidgeted with his whiskey. “We were friends. I met him here, at the symposium. I was fourteen, and Hevva chaperoned me after much cajoling on my part. It was the year she met Ehmet, actually. I spoke with your dad then. And we corresponded for years after that, well into my time at the Institute. I regret that we lost touch a few years back, and—”
“And?” Nes’s tone was sharper than she intended. It was quite a surprise, after all, to learn Kas had been in regular contact with Papa. More pertinent, she hadn’t realized her father corresponded with anyone from the aristocracy, not with how vehemently he’d railed against the upper class.
