Page 66 of The Chaosweaver's Daughter
“We haveelementalmagic and the elements themselves are long discovered.Naughtbirinsdon’t work with nature, they’re unnatural. They create fromnothing.It’s a mutation! Thanin can’t call ‘nothing’ an element and upend an entire classification system,” the dissenter croaked.
Suddenly, shewas talking, her pitch rising with each brilliant sentence that tumbled from her mouth. Nesrina’s words were sure and clear as she defended Thanin’s work. She called out the flaws in the frog-man’s argument in a way that had Kas tumbling head over heels, as if he wasn’t perpetually falling for her.
He outright stared at her, as did most of the people in the room, men and women alike. Nesrina didn’t notice. Or if she did, she didn’t care. Or if she cared, she didn’t show it. He wasn’t sure which it was. Kas soaked in her speech and gazed intently upon her face, watching her eyebrows dance and her cheeks bunch as she raged on.
Her impassioned counterargument reached its crescendo: “What you seem unable to grasp,sir,is that we arenotcreating matter from within as Thanin posited. As much as I respect the author, he’s wrong.”
Thanin was dead wrong, but he appreciated how nicely she went about expressing it to the roomful of scholars.
She’d long since stood from her seat to climb upon it, and he loved the way she pounded her foot as interactive punctuation while she argued her point. Steadying her chair with ropes of air, he let loose a smile, enjoying the heat of her fire when he wasn’t the one being burned.
“Our magic draws from movement in the atmosphere, in nature. Itcouldbe a misunderstood element that I, and others like me, manipulate. But the fact remains that the chaos I draw upon already exists. Nothing we create is real or permanent. Do you truly want to go the mutation route? I do not—not with any type of mage, but for you,sir,I shall.
“By your definition, would it not be elemental mages, who can literally create earth, air, fire, or water, who are the most ‘unnatural’? My magic does not create, it weaves anapproximationof an object, at best. What I make is drawn fromchaotic movement in nature, perhaps momentum itself. Setting your idiotic elemental argument aside, I posit a new term for my magic. Notnaughtbirin,nortishtafir. Based on the Old Tongue, we areazhelekezhi.That’sazhel-from the word for chaos, coupled with -kezhifromkezher, or weaver. Chaosweavers.”
She stuck out her arm, her palm smacking Kas’s chest as she made a silent request for him to help her climb down.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, predominantly in agreement with Nes’s astute take. He wasn’t surprised at all.
Pride filled his chest, thrumming through his bones. To stand by her side while she shined was nothing short of blissful. This is what he’d dreamt of after hearing her speak at the symposium two years before. This is what he’d wanted to see up close. She was magnificent.
He knew with certainty that Nesrina didn’t know much of the Old Tongue, but she knew enough to coin a fitting term, better than Thanin’s.
Azhelekezhi.Chaosweaver.He liked the sound of it. Her passion and eloquence as she’d defended Thanin’s work was magnificent, compelling, enrapturing. It made sense that others were stirred as well. So no, he wasn’t surprised by the overwhelmingly positive response.
What did surprise him was the way she’d outed her extremely rare magic bravely, albeit stupidly, in a room packed full of academics who were now eyeing her like she’d make the ideal subject of their respective studies.
Maybe this is why Hothan never wrote about his. Secret’s out now.
Several audience members tested the sound of Nes’s newly coined phrase. A few even acted like they might approach her to speak further, but Kas placed an arm around her shoulders and ushered her to the rear of the theater, where they took up residence between two large parlor palms with the wall at his back.
Simultaneously wanting to shield her from the world and show her off, he decided it was best to step back and take on the role of passive protector.
twenty-three
Nesrina wears her favorite dress.
Nesstoodinfrontof Kas and beside a large potted plant, surveying the lingering crowd. Some people conglomerated in little groups, discussing the session, some eyed her with curiosity but didn’t approach. She assumed their lack of interaction had something to do with the man serving as her self-appointed bodyguard, glaring at everyone over top of her head.
Trying to get her shallow breaths under control, Nes hummed a moment, then admitted, “I possibly shouldn’t have spoken up like that.”
“Nonsense,” Kas rumbled. He lowered his head so close to the top of hers that his breath ruffled her hair. “I found your comments enlightening.”
She nearly tipped her head up to look at him, wanting to know if he was teasing her. A smirk was the only sign she could recognize. But she stopped short, because he might be close enough to kiss, and that would be... not unpleasant, but certainly inappropriate, given the crowd.
Once her mind focused on his soft mouth, a whole new set of nerves entered her system. She wanted him to kiss her again—and more. It was inappropriate, whether they were at the symposium or not. But the academic event had a way of transecting Selwas’s social norms, like it came with magic of its own. If therewasan appropriate or at least mildly acceptable place to press her lips to Lord Kahoth’s, it was there. Notrightthere, butin Rohilavol.
And this night was her last chance.
Through a gap in the crowd, Nes spotted the author’s spokesman approaching, and the threat of conversation yanked her from her lurid thoughts with an icy hand.Leneteki.She didn’t know much Old Tongue, but figured that phrase meant “damn it” after Kas cursed at her at the inn.
She pivoted toward him, hoping to avoid the speaker who must have been incensed by her outburst at the end of his eloquent presentation.
“Should we—” She cut herself off, realizing Kas stood much closer than she thought. His cozy scent wrapped around her, turning her legs to jelly before she took half a step back and craned her neck. “Should we...” Her sentence died on her lips, again, at the panicked look that flitted across Kas’s face. Whatever he saw over the top of her head was not to his liking.
“Kas.” The speaker, a lord whose name she hadn’t bothered to remember, greeted the duke warmly, without any formality whatsoever.
Nesrina turned partially to join the conversation, staying tight to Kas’s side. Not touching, of course. But close, nonetheless. The new arrival’s eyes flicked to her, and she was certain she was about to be berated for critiquing the mysterious Talik Thanin’s work.
