Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(29)

She spread her arms. “Come.”

He saw nothing, heard nothing but the girl, her arms spread wide, her body statue-still. And her face, he thought, luminous.

A minute passed, then another, then a third. He thought to stop her, to tell her she could try again another time.

Then he heard the swarm.

The air filled with a deep, droning buzz, and Fallon stayed still. The cloud, a swirl, swooped out of the woods. His instinct was to rush to her, to pull her away, inside to safety.

Before he moved, she opened her eyes. And glowed.

A large honeybee—the queen?—hovered over the palm of her right hand. And the swarm covered her outstretched arms, her hair, her shoulders, in a mad buzz.

She laughed as though surrounded by butterflies.

Did she know, could she know, all she had? Mallick wondered. All she might be if he didn’t fail her? At that moment, her power was so strong, but still young and painfully innocent.

What would she be, what would she hold when that power matured, and that innocence was lost?

She moved then, tipping her fingertips down in a gesture toward the hive. “Welcome,” she said. And as one, the swarm entered the hive.

“How do they—” He broke off to steady his voice. “How do they know where they should go inside the hive?”

Her answer came with a puzzled smile. “Well, I told them.”

“Ah. All right then, well done. I’ll put the tools and so forth away. You’re free until dusk.”

“I want to take Grace for a ride.”

He nodded. “Don’t go too far, and be no later than dusk.”

She ran off, young, innocent. Mallick listened to the hum of the bees, and felt very old.





BECOMING


Learning is not child’s play;

we cannot learn without pain.

—Aristotle





CHAPTER SIX


Every day for three days, Fallon visited what she thought of as faerie-land. She tried magicks on the owl with no success. She tried bribery, intimidation, and what her mother called reverse psychology.

I don’t want your stupid apple anyway.

He simply sat, guarding the apple that hung tantalizingly from that high branch.

She swam in the pool so at least she felt clean. The little faeries grew used to her and came out to dance or skim along the water when she bathed.

But she couldn’t convince any of them to help her get the apple.

She sat on the grass at the end of her first week, drying her hair, studying the stubborn, hard-eyed owl.

She couldn’t climb the tree, but what if she went up without climbing it? She’d been practicing—away from Mallick’s watchful eye—and though her form proved shaky, she’d managed to levitate about two feet off the ground.

The apple, to her gauge, would require a solid ten-foot lift. And then she had to consider that big, sharp beak, those keen talons. So she’d have to practice until she could go high, and go fast.

She wanted to outwit the owl as much on principle now as for the bathroom.

“One week down, a hundred and three weeks to go,” she said out loud as she braided her hair.

She still hadn’t unpacked, told herself she could leave in the morning, be home in less than two-days’ ride.

She didn’t mind the lessons and lectures and practice as much as she’d thought she would. Some of it was interesting, even if it had started to cut into her free time since Mallick had added physical training.

Still no sword.

And while she didn’t see how being able to balance herself on one hand or juggling balls of light would help her save the whole damn world, she liked learning. She didn’t mind the studying or learning about the people Mallick claimed were her ancestors. She liked the spell casting.

But everything took so long, had to be done over and over again. She couldn’t imagine spending another one hundred and three weeks doing the same things over and over. Or having nobody but Mallick to talk to.

Maybe she’d try balancing on one hand over the water. Now that would be really interesting. If she could work with two elements—water and air—balance on the surface of the water.

Even Mallick would be impressed.

She would practice levitating in her room with the apple as the goal, and practice the balancing here in faerie-land. When she had perfected those skills, she’d use them as a lever to start learning how to use a sword.

She wished she’d thought of the water-balancing earlier because now she’d already taken most of her free time for the day.

“Tomorrow,” she murmured.

She didn’t sense or hear anything until almost too late. She spun quickly toward the sense in time to see the boy slip half out of a tree, an arrow already notched in his bow.

Even as she threw up a hand in defense, she saw that he aimed the arrow not at her, but at the owl.

She didn’t think, only felt. Outrage, fear for another. And the feeling shot her ten feet in the air, slicing out her hand to deflect the arrow. The keen point grazed her palm before the arrow winged away and thudded into another tree. The shock of pain, the shock of rising, broke that feeling. She tumbled back down, landing with enough force to knock her breath away.

“Are you crazy?” The boy, tumbled bronze hair, furious eyes the color of spring leaves, leaped toward her. “I could’ve killed you.”