Page 74 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
I look at her, reading the tightness in her expression, then down at the book. “She was your mother?”
It’s the only conclusion that makes sense. I wondered why Maeve insisted that Cressida could teach me to use this power when she doesn’t possess it herself.
“That’s irrelevant.” Cressida shuts me down. “The veil is thin. Put more effort into using your sight and you might make some progress. We’re not leaving this room until every dead person in here is dancing.”
She sits back, raising the cup to her lips, and waves a hand at me to get on with it.
“But I’ve only called spirits from the Otherworld with their names,” I object.
“Which is what she did.”
“But she knew their names, I don’t.”
Cressida’s hand drags down her face in a display of clear frustration. “Read the book before asking stupid questions. She had their names carved into the floors to make it easier. And no, you’re not to read them aloud. Let your magic do it for you.”
What does that even mean? I try to hold in my frustration, but it boils over anyway.
“You could at least try to teach?—”
“No other necromancer in history has had a teacher,” Cressida interrupts. “They’re as rare as plain-spoken seelie, and they normally don’t live long enough to become mentors. Those that do lead solitary lives, and theystillmanage to master their magic. You will be no exception.”
“But—”
“You don’t need to be taught. You need to learn what you can do, and then practice until you can do it faultlessly.”
“We don’t have time for that!” I’d love nothing more than to have the time and relaxed environment necessary to experiment with my magic, but there are two wars going on.
“Which is why I’m here to direct your focus.” Cressida rubs her brows, nostrils flaring. “I grew up with someone who lived and breathed death like it was air. I saw a lot, and considering I don’t have the sight, that’s probably barely half of what she could do. My mother never spoke their names aloud. The runes simply glowed, and the ghosts appeared. Reading every single name will waste time you might not have on the battlefield, so you will learn to summon the dead silently.”
She sips the tea, visibly working to calm herself. “Enough arguing. Get on with it.”
Evening islong past fallen when I finally make back to my room. My feet might as well be made of lead, and I come to a stop outside my door, trying to get up the energy to turn the handle.
If I walk in there, and they’re at each other’s throats, I might just be exhausted enough to cry.
I accomplished so much today, but Cressida is the harshest teacher I’ve ever known. She kept her word, not letting me leave the ballroom until I had three dozen ghosts waltzing around in perfect time to a silent hall. They weren’t corporeal, just visible, and it was as eerie as it was taxing. That was after Gryffin—who spent most of our lesson making eyes at Prae until she got fed up with him and left—made me hover for a full hour.
I’m beyond drained, both physically and mentally.
“Coming in, pet?” Lore asks, and I blink as I realise he’s right in front of me.
The door is open, and I’ve just been staring at his chest for the last Goddess-knows-how-long.
“Your wolfie has run you a bath,” he tells me. “And I’ve been waiting very patiently…”
“She’s exhausted, you pervert.” Jaro knocks Lore out of the way.
My redcap is undeterred. “An orgasm will help her get to sleep.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I honestly can’t see getting to sleep being a problem, but all that escapes is an unflattering yawn. Before I can stifle it, my wolf has swept me off my feet and into his strong arms.
“Bath, then sleep,” he orders, a hint of his wolf in his voice.
That’s how, an hour later, I find myself cocooned in enough blankets to immobilise me, or perhaps to keep Lore’s hands off me. I’m not quite sure which. Bree and Drystan still haven’t returned from the front lines, but Lore checked on them both and assured me that they were fine. So I’m surrounded on all sides by my Guard as I update them about my day, each sentence punctuated by a yawn.
“I even learned how to hover, though I might’ve learned faster if Gryffin wasn’t spending the entire time flirting with Prae,” I finish proudly.
Caed snorts. “He’d have better luck flirting with a cactus. She has something against fae princes.”
