“Enough stalling,” Olani says, collecting our empty bowls one by one into a wobbly stack. “I’ll handle all the dishes if you just do it without complaining.”

I’m not going to get a better bargain than that, so I accept my fate.

Olani worked with me first, but her use of magic was mostly limited to healing, which I didn’t have the talent for. I was too scared to really try, in case I accidentally caused more damage while trying to mend a small cut on my sister’s knuckles.

After that, Raze took over. We haven’t made much progress, but he’s a better teacher than Olani, who (despite all her virtues) lost patience with me almost immediately.

He tries coaching me through a series of exercises that mostly involve deep breathing and guiding the wind around the building’s echoing interior, but I’m too afraid of blasting a hurricane-level gale that will send this whole thing crashing down around us. Each of my breezes snuffs out before making a full lap around the room, but he won’t let me stop, won’t stop being relentlessly enthusiastic and encouraging.

Finally, when I can barely hear anything except the blood rushing in my ears, I let the wind slam into his face as I release it with a frustrated sound. He tries to say something to make it okay, but I just turn my back and sit heavily on the Destiny’s steps. Isolde and Olani have been watching this whole ordeal from the stage, and they both stare down at me with similar worried expressions.

“This isn’t working,” Isolde says.

I don’t say anything but look up slowly and blink in what I hope is a sarcastic way. Of course it isn’t working. I’m not meant for this.

Raze puts one hand on his hip. The other scratches his head with complete disregard for the mess it makes of his hair. “Maybe we should try another approach. Look at her, she’s miserable.”

I don’t appreciate being talked about in the third person when I’m right here, but he has a point. I’ve never been able to learn anything when I’m upset, and it seems that slinging balls of fire is no different from addition or lacing my boots.

Olani leans back, giving me space to breathe as she folds her arms over her chest. “When I was learning how to heal, my parents—” She breaks off for a moment, measuring her words like she always does when speaking of her family. “They used to make me focus on happy memories. What about you, Raze?”

His eyes glaze over for a second—less than a second—and then he’s back. “I used to sing.” A smile steals over his face, but his eyes go distant, like he can see the memory playing out in front of him. “When I was really young, I had to sing to shapeshift. The first time I did it, I didn’t even know I could. One moment I was inventing a song about the creek I was jumping over, and the next I was a sparrow. It was very disorienting.”