A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(58)

“I can’t work with their magic. You said you’d help me.” My nerves were frayed enough as it was. My head started to pound.

“Why should I?”

“For my father’s sake.”

“Yes, but now that I’ve thought about it, I’ve realized that is a spectacularly good way to die. I like myself alive,” he sniffed. I slammed Porridge onto the table, careful to avoid the entrails.

“If I’m commended, I could try getting the ban on magician apprentices lifted.”

He considered this. “I can’t imagine that would be an easy fight.”

“Nevertheless, I’ll do it if you help me.”

“Yes, but I also want money. Twelve pounds, specifically. I’ve a project in mind that requires a certain sum.”

Twelve bloody pounds? Where was I supposed to get that? “What do you need it for?”

“Rule number one: as my apprentice, you don’t ask nosy questions.”

If he got me commended, I’d commit highway robbery. I would find a way. “You’ll have to take it in bits. I can’t manage it all at once.”



He nodded. “That and a bottle of wine next time you come will seal the deal.”

Relieved, I tried to hand Porridge to him. “Show me what to do.”

“I can’t use that,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Magicians can’t handle staves, darling girl.”

“I thought you said I was a magician.” Pain throbbed in my temple. Why was everything so bloody complicated?

“Well, you might have an outmoded ability. Magicians are descended from sorcerers, after all. Your father was always vocal about uniting our two societies once again. Pity he drowned when he did.”

“What was he like?” Despite my exhaustion, my heart sped up. No one had ever spoken to me about my father before. Aunt Agnes told me that he was a good solicitor and a poor sailor, and not to ask questions.

“Friendly, witty, always ready with a joke. That was the Welsh in him. Intelligent, to be sure, though a bit quick-tempered. Like father, like daughter. Can you really do that whole set-yourself-on-fire thing?”

“Yes.” My skin tingled at the mention of it.

“Magicians have many unique and strange talents, my girl, and several of them can be passed down in families. Some magicians take the form of animals, some allow the souls of the dead to enter their bodies and speak through them.” His face brightened. “Care to see mine? Haven’t got a hankie on you, eh?”



I handed him my linen handkerchief, disgusted as he took it with bloody fingers. Hargrove examined it, murmuring and pursing his lips. Exasperated, I began to feel he was toying with me. Shaking my head, I reached out to reclaim it. “Now, what on earth did you do?” I said, looking up.

He’d vanished. I checked the corner of the room, underneath the table, even outside. The children giggled as they watched my confusion. Finally, one of them piped up and said, “He’s in your hankie.”

“What?” It was impossible. I unfolded the smallest crease and found a great black eye winking up at me. With a scream, I dropped the handkerchief, and Hargrove spilled out of it and onto the floor. “How?” I gasped.

“Magicians violate all natural order. Of course you’re one of us. Your father could burst into flame and never harm himself. It’s no wonder you’ve got the ability, too.” So that was the secret. I was a magician’s daughter with an abnormal talent. I sank into my chair.

“Aren’t magicians descended from sorcerers?” The prophecy had called for a girl-child of sorcerer stock. He recognized my real question.

“Sorcerers like to pretend they’ve no connection with us. The Speakers might be a druggy bunch of fools, but they’d never be so vague about an important detail. If the prophecy calls for someone of ‘sorcerer stock,’ they mean a sorcerer parent.” There was my last hope, gone. I closed my eyes. “That prophecy is a lot of blather.” Hargrove’s voice softened. “Dictating who can and can’t be important is a waste of good brainpower. Give anyone the juice of the night-blooming Etheria, and they’ll tell you hedgehogs are coming out of the woodwork and there are clouds of grapes hovering on the horizon. Now, wake the stave.” I did as he asked. “The sorcerers want you to add your power to theirs, like pouring a bucket of water into a pond. Differences between sorcerers and magicians, chapter one, section one: our instincts are opposite. What do I mean by this? Let me answer with a question. What is the difference between a bird and a fish?”



“One flies and one swims?”

“No, the correct answer is: everything. Sorcerers conduct the earth’s energy from one place to the next. We magicians are creators. Do you understand?” He tapped a finger to his forehead in emphasis. “We generate, we don’t manipulate. Your Master Agrippa surrenders himself to the power of the elements; he’s a mere conduit for them. Meanwhile, your feelings, thoughts, dreams, ambitions, all build your magic. How do you feel now?”

Fearful. Angry. My throat was tight, and my head pounded. The blue flames ignited and swirled about me.

Hargrove cried out, “You’ll burn us all! Calm down.”

The anger released itself, and the fire died, until it was only a thin shell that clung to my body. With a thought, I stopped burning. “What does it mean?”