asked.
“Mental doors.” Gemma pressed a fingertip to her temple. “When I ask someone a question, they
must
answer me. That’s how I was able to follow you three all the way from Canada. I asked anyone you might have met along the way, and they told me exactly what I needed to know. Including the ticketing agent at the New York harbor, and “— she cast a slightly apologetic glance at Catullus—” your friends, I’m afraid.”
“Ah,” he said, mouth wryly tilting. “That’s what I felt when you asked me questions. As if a gate inside my mind wanted to spring open and reveal itself to you.”
“What I don’t understand,” she wondered, “is how you were able to resist it. No one has, until now.”
“I have been a Blade of the Rose for years,” he answered, dry with understatement. Gemma could see plainly in the way he held himself that he was a veteran of at least two decades. She had seen him fight just that morning, with the skill of a hardened soldier. “I have been exposed to magic many, many times. No doubt I’ve developed something of both a sensitivity and resistance to it.”
“Or perhaps your mind is simply too strong.”
He raised a wry brow. “Entirely possible. However,” he added, stern, “I don’t want you to use that magic on me, Astrid, or Lesperance again.”
“I won’t,” she said at once, and felt for the first time stirrings of misgivings about the usage of her magic.
Dwelling too much on her own use—or abuse—of magic wasn’t a pursuit Gemma wanted to engage in overmuch. She steered the conversation back to more relevant topics. “Tell me more about what I … overheard … outside your cabin, that the Heirs sought Astrid because of her knowledge of the Primal Source. They don’t know how to use the Primal Source?”
“Not fully,” answered Astrid, coming with Lesperance into the carriage. The Englishwoman sat down beside Catullus, with Lesperance lowering himself down next to Gemma. Even though Lesperance’s attention was fully given to Astrid, Gemma could feel from the man waves of energy, as though he was barely containing some great force within. He did not speak much, but still cleaved a presence into the world.
She would have found him fascinating, this Canadian Indian in European clothing, far from his own home. He clearly loved the flinty Englishwoman, Astrid Bramfield, as she loved him in equal measure. Doubtless Lesperance had a story to tell, one she would have gone to great lengths to discover. Yet, even this intriguing man could not hold her attention when Catullus Graves was near.
She forced herself to focus. They were discussing the Primal Source.
“But,” Astrid went on, “as you heard when
eavesdropping,
that doesn’t mean the Primal Source will not work on its own. Even without direct guidance, the Primal Source will act upon the Heirs’ wishes.”
“Which means disaster.” Gemma felt herself turn ashen and cold, thinking about what that meant. If the Primal Source was as powerful as these people believed—and Gemma didn’t doubt their veracity—then whatever it unleashed upon an unsuspecting world would be devastating. Just the scale of lives that could be lost in the ensuing catastrophe turned her stomach.
“Whatever is coming, the Blades will face it,” Catullussaid, resolute. “We’ll fight until the threat has been eradicated.”
“Or until there are none of us left,” Astrid added. Lesperance, grim-faced, reached across to grip her hand, but did not deny this possibility.
Gemma stared at Catullus, no doubt eyes wide as apples. “With your own magic?”
Astrid and Lesperance shared a quick glance before Catullus said, “Not precisely. One of the ways in which Blades protect magic is to use none of it themselves, not unless it is given to them by birth or gift.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Gemma protested.
His gaze frosted. “Ridiculous or not, it is our code. To use magic that isn’t ours is to risk
“Mental doors.” Gemma pressed a fingertip to her temple. “When I ask someone a question, they
must
answer me. That’s how I was able to follow you three all the way from Canada. I asked anyone you might have met along the way, and they told me exactly what I needed to know. Including the ticketing agent at the New York harbor, and “— she cast a slightly apologetic glance at Catullus—” your friends, I’m afraid.”
“Ah,” he said, mouth wryly tilting. “That’s what I felt when you asked me questions. As if a gate inside my mind wanted to spring open and reveal itself to you.”
“What I don’t understand,” she wondered, “is how you were able to resist it. No one has, until now.”
“I have been a Blade of the Rose for years,” he answered, dry with understatement. Gemma could see plainly in the way he held himself that he was a veteran of at least two decades. She had seen him fight just that morning, with the skill of a hardened soldier. “I have been exposed to magic many, many times. No doubt I’ve developed something of both a sensitivity and resistance to it.”
“Or perhaps your mind is simply too strong.”
He raised a wry brow. “Entirely possible. However,” he added, stern, “I don’t want you to use that magic on me, Astrid, or Lesperance again.”
“I won’t,” she said at once, and felt for the first time stirrings of misgivings about the usage of her magic.
Dwelling too much on her own use—or abuse—of magic wasn’t a pursuit Gemma wanted to engage in overmuch. She steered the conversation back to more relevant topics. “Tell me more about what I … overheard … outside your cabin, that the Heirs sought Astrid because of her knowledge of the Primal Source. They don’t know how to use the Primal Source?”
“Not fully,” answered Astrid, coming with Lesperance into the carriage. The Englishwoman sat down beside Catullus, with Lesperance lowering himself down next to Gemma. Even though Lesperance’s attention was fully given to Astrid, Gemma could feel from the man waves of energy, as though he was barely containing some great force within. He did not speak much, but still cleaved a presence into the world.
She would have found him fascinating, this Canadian Indian in European clothing, far from his own home. He clearly loved the flinty Englishwoman, Astrid Bramfield, as she loved him in equal measure. Doubtless Lesperance had a story to tell, one she would have gone to great lengths to discover. Yet, even this intriguing man could not hold her attention when Catullus Graves was near.
She forced herself to focus. They were discussing the Primal Source.
“But,” Astrid went on, “as you heard when
eavesdropping,
that doesn’t mean the Primal Source will not work on its own. Even without direct guidance, the Primal Source will act upon the Heirs’ wishes.”
“Which means disaster.” Gemma felt herself turn ashen and cold, thinking about what that meant. If the Primal Source was as powerful as these people believed—and Gemma didn’t doubt their veracity—then whatever it unleashed upon an unsuspecting world would be devastating. Just the scale of lives that could be lost in the ensuing catastrophe turned her stomach.
“Whatever is coming, the Blades will face it,” Catullussaid, resolute. “We’ll fight until the threat has been eradicated.”
“Or until there are none of us left,” Astrid added. Lesperance, grim-faced, reached across to grip her hand, but did not deny this possibility.
Gemma stared at Catullus, no doubt eyes wide as apples. “With your own magic?”
Astrid and Lesperance shared a quick glance before Catullus said, “Not precisely. One of the ways in which Blades protect magic is to use none of it themselves, not unless it is given to them by birth or gift.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Gemma protested.
His gaze frosted. “Ridiculous or not, it is our code. To use magic that isn’t ours is to risk
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