Page 116 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“What about Mordric?”

My cheeks warmed. “Of course, I just meant …” I hesitated. “I just meant that somehow, even though you’ve spent the majority of the last four months trying to make me hate you—”

I swallowed as I caught sight of the look in his eyes. His stare was so intense my knees almost buckled. “I don’t,” I concluded, my heart beating against my ribcage. “Hate you, I mean.”

A wicked grin danced across his lips. “Alright, alright. Stop groveling.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not.”

He closed the distance between us, my protest snagging in my throat. The shadows cast by the dwindling fire danced across his features. “I will be here for you,” he whispered. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“And you will not let this magic consume you. Understood?”

I nodded once. “Understood.”

Ivor conceded his place as my tutor to Enhart without protest, and stood now in the prince’s former place across the lake. Agnes, ever the loyal deputy, watched from his side with her arms crossed.

“Don’t stand like that,” Enhart instructed me.

“I highly doubt that the Ealdorfyre cares how I stand,” I replied.

“You’re so stiff. It looks like you’re about to keel over and reveal that you mistakenly turned yourself to stone,” he shot back.

My fingers curled into fists as he circled me like a hawk, coming to a halt behind me. “I can see the tension you’re holding in your shoulders. Release it.”

“I can’t focus with you lurking,” I snapped.

“Don’t be obstinate.”

“Do you really want me to summon the Ealdorfyre when I’m irritated with you?”

“You’re the one who wanted me here. Remember?”

I groaned in response.

“And to answer your question, no,” he said evenly. “Instead I want you to do the opposite of what you did the last time you summoned it.”

“Meaning?”

“Humor me, witch. We’re trying a new approach. Now, relax your shoulders.”

I bit back a retort and did as I was told. A flurry of power rippled up my spine as my shoulders dropped, my blood vessels no longer constricted.

“Don’t you hate it when I’m right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied without missing a beat.

He backed away, watching me from a short distance. “Continue to deepen your breath, only this time, turn your thoughts to the Ealdorfyre. Don’t be afraid.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Do you remember Ivor’s story?” came the prince’s voice.

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll recall that Celene was gifted her magic in a moment of desperation. The flame, however, she summoned from a place of empathy. She conjured it in order to help people, and it was entirely her own. I want you to think of the Ealdorfyre as something entirely your own. Find your peace and call to it.”