Page 112 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“Yes,” I replied, somewhat unconvincingly.

“Good. Now then, when you command elemental fire,” he began. “You focus on a feeling of calm, correct?”

“Yes.”

“The power flows through your veins and erupts from your fingertips.”

I nodded. By now that feeling was familiar to me in its predictability. It was comforting. “The Ealdorfyre,” he continued, “is not the same. It is akin to a living creature that must be fed. And tamed.”

I recalled the image of the fire pouncing on those men in Wealdstone and swallowing them whole. The flames had had a mind of their own. I wiped clammy palms on my breeches. “I can’t do this,” I protested weakly.

“You can,” insisted the ancient vampire. “And you must. Tell me, what did you feel when you first connected with it?”

“Rage,” I whispered without missing a beat. My anger had been pure. White-hot.

“Not just rage,” he said as if reading my mind. “What else?”

“It was like … like I was a wild beast that had found itself ensnared in a trap. The panic was so raw that it threatened to swallow me whole.”

“Fear,” he said, “is a powerful force.”

“I suppose.”

“Your fear is understandable. To wield the Ealdorfyre responsibly, however, you must summon it from a place of emptiness.”

I frowned. “Emptiness?”

The vampire appeared in front of me, blocking my view. “Close your eyes and empty your mind.”

“I don’t think—” I began, stopping short as he raised a weathered hand.

“Slow your breath,” he ordered. “Inhale slowly, hold, and exhale. Let the world around you fade away.”

I obeyed, squeezing my eyes shut against my better judgment. I tried to focus on my surroundings. The breeze tickling my nose. The tiny waves that lapped against the shore. But my mind burned with questions, anxieties, and resentment at both Enhart and Mordric for wrenching me from the comfort of Valnar and sending me instead to a place that made my skin crawl.

“Your mind is not empty.”

I sighed. “Sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. Breathe.”

I exhaled through my nose.

“Welcome your power. It’s in the tips of your fingers.”

I splayed my fingers across my hips.

“It spreads inwards toward your center.”

Ravens cawed in the nearby trees. “It’s not working,” I insisted, blinking my eyes open.

“Then we will try again.”

I frowned at the Chancellor. “How long is this going to take?”

He shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

An evening passed. Then a day. Before long, it had been over a week and I had still made no progress despite spending my evenings ankle-deep in mud while Ivor prattled on about breathing exercises. On this particular night, I had nearly throttled the ancient vampire when he reminded me to empty my mind for the umpteenth time. It was an impossible task. I was haunted by the words I hadn’t said to Mordric before I left, fear of the Ealdorfyre, and the godsdamn whispers that still came from the forest. I wondered if any other girls had disappeared off the streets of Valnar. Niamh had promised to heed my warnings, but the thought that she, or Vesper, could be in danger of some mad witch kept me up at night.