“Whichever feels most natural. Here, you’re not quite there.” With deft hands, he gently shifted her foot, straightened her back, and lowered her shoulders. She suddenly found herself achingly conscious of her body, her hair escaping from its bond, the dark mark on her face. She lowered her eyes as he resumed his own pose—graceful and strong. He stood with his left foot forward; she was facing the opposite direction. For a moment, they locked eyes. Emris smiled. Not for the first time, she glimpsed something—a flash of real warmth—behind his friendliness. “That’s good,” he said, his voice soft and low. “Hold out your arm like so—but try not to brace. You’ll be surprised at the kickback.”

“If it works at all,” she mumbled.

Emris laughed. “Don’t worry so much! No one gets it right on their first try. Now, you need to find that place inside you—the place you feel your magic strongest. You need to reach for it and imagine it traveling out along your arm and toward the target. Imagine it first, and then command it.” Almost invisible, a little corkscrew of translucent energy shot from the palm of Emris’s left hand and thudded into the punching bag, which swung violently from the ceiling. Lena blinked in surprise. Can I really do that?

“Last time I reached for my power, in the temple, it didn’t go so well … Won’t that happen again?”

“This is different. It’s more akin to the simple light orb spell … or the wisp of vapor spell, in your case.” He dropped his arm to his side and stood naturally, rolling his shoulders. “Go on. Give it a try.”

She gazed at the second target and tried to imagine something firing out of the palm of her hand. Go! she commanded, frowning intently. Go on, now!

Nothing.

“It’s not working.” Besides, her arm was beginning to hurt. She lowered it and rubbed the muscles, flexing her fingers.

“Are you really engaging with your power? Remember the breathing, feeling how the air fills up every part of your body. Remember that sense of awareness. Try again.”

She breathed deep, shut her eyes, held out her hand. She did feel something, that burning coldness at the pit of her lungs. She imagined a white spark of light traveling from the place and along her veins, out through the center of her palm. She opened her eyes and gazed at the target. Now.

At first, an underwhelming effect: her hand tingled with cold. But suddenly a dart of gray burst out of her hand. Lena staggered backward with the force. The little arrow of mist exploded onto the left side of the punching bag, which rocked nearly as violently as Emris’s.

She stared at Emris. “I did it!” she said, flushing with unexpected pleasure.