Frey (The Frey Saga, #1)(8)

She looked past me for an instant at the few inches of open floor, and I took the opportunity to bolt past her down the hall, straight out the door at full speed. I ran from the house ignoring the paths; other elves would be no help to me. I kept running until I was certain she wasn’t coming, and then I collapsed at the edge of a meadow. I dropped my face into my hands and considered weeping.

“Freya?” a soft voice asked.

I looked up, startled. Chevelle stood just in front of me. He dropped to his knees and reached out to touch the mark across my cheek. I turned my head to hide the evidence and his hand became a cradle on the side of my face.





Chapter Four


Flame





“Freya,” he repeated in a softer, soothing voice as he lifted my face. He appeared to have real concern as he glanced from what I was sure was now a welt to my eyes and I struggled to keep the tears that were welling up from falling. I’d not had a caring touch or this kind of regard from anyone for so long I didn’t know how to react.

“You’ll need to learn protection spells.”

“I… I can’t…”

“We won’t tell Francine or the council,” he promised, and I didn’t miss that he’d used Fannie’s real name. Then, softer, “We won’t even tell Junnie.”

I didn’t understand. “I mean I can’t do magic… just useless stuff… light candles…”

“Then we start with fire.”

He lowered his hand to mine and stood, pulling me up and toward the center of the clearing. When we'd distanced ourselves from the tree line, he abruptly stopped and turned back to me, still holding my right hand. My eyes followed his as he looked down at our clasped hands and a cool blue flame lit on my right sleeve.

Immediately, my other hand jerked up to extinguish it. Chevelle took the hand to keep me from smacking at the flame, which had already disappeared. “No,” he said, “use the magic. Feel it.”

I nodded and he returned his gaze to our hands, now both connected, as a spark lit at the hem of my left sleeve and slowly worked its way up my arm. I wanted the fire off my arm, needed it put out now. When I concentrated on that, the flame flickered. It flared again and Chevelle squeezed my hands; I had to be able to do this. I focused hard at the base of the flame as it wavered and then fell back toward the hem where it finally choked off. I glanced up at Chevelle. He looked pleased.

“Again,” he said as he stepped back and released my hands.

A circle of fire grew in front of me where our hands had been. It was blocking my view of Chevelle, I tried to see through it and then it was gone. He was further back now; he raised his right hand and a stream of fire followed it and then curved in my direction. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to extinguish it before it was to me but my feet were frozen in place. What was the old saying? Fight fire with fire. I flung my arm toward the incoming stream of flames and a tongue of fire akin to a dragon’s shot out and collided with it. I was shocked. I'd only used my fire to light candles and lanterns, I had no idea I could produce such a vicious plume of flames. I looked at Chevelle. “Yes,” he exalted.

He raised his arms above his head to produce a massive circle of fire. When his eyes returned to mine, he smiled. He liked playing with fire. And then he shoved the fireball toward me with frightening speed. I threw both hands in front of me palms out and forced the largest mass of flame I could toward the ball of fire. Chevelle twisted his hands and it dodged up and then angled back toward me. I shook my hands frantically, spitting small bullets of heat at it, hoping to break it up. He pulled his hands apart and it split, each side curving back toward me; there were suddenly two now, closing in fast.

I leapt forward just as they collided where I'd been standing and lost my footing while I watched the fireworks behind me. I spun into a tumble to keep from landing flat on my face and was still thrilling from the fire play as I rolled to my feet. Magic. I let out a breathless laugh and Chevelle joined in, though he may have merely been amused by my fall.

We spent the next several hours there in the meadow, sculpting my craft. The exercises grew increasingly more difficult but it seemed Chevelle was only toying with me. He must have had much experience with fire magic; the flames he produced behaved like an obedient dog. Mine acted more like a wet cat.

Exhausted by the day’s work, I began to sway a bit. Chevelle led me to the base of an old willow and I slumped against the trunk and then slid down to lie on my back. Chevelle reclined against the tree, his legs coming to rest just above my head on the ground.

I gazed through the immense mass of leaves and branches overhead and breathed deeply. I felt I needed to explain. I rolled my eyes up to look at him as I lightly touched my cheek. “I was searching for my mother’s things…”

He didn’t respond, he merely continued as he had been, staring straight out into the meadow, so I returned to watching the canopy of leaves.

“… I can’t remember her…” I hadn’t really discussed this with anyone before but now I was talking and I didn’t know where to stop without a response from him. I kept on, explaining my dreams (leaving out the part I had read about the northern clans) and closed my eyes in an attempt to see them clearer. I was recalling the details, her dark hair blowing in the wind, the feeling of being trapped, when my thoughts faded into the blackness of sleep.