He nodded, his eyes wide. “Good … very good. Now do it again, this time faster, and try to hit the center.”

The next time, nothing happened. After that, she hit the target twice, but very weakly, the sack barely moving on its rope. She tried again and again, Emris correcting her posture, lifting her arm up straight, reminding her to breathe—which was something Lena found surprisingly difficult to remember. The magical place inside her evolved again. At first, it had felt obvious, a fizzing sick feeling beneath her lungs … and then, after the Binding, it had felt like a cold fire crackling in the pit of her stomach. But now, after she’d drawn on it time after time, it grew insubstantial, like vapor. The more tired she became, the harder it was to grasp on to, like trying to clutch at a loose strand of thread.

After half an hour, she felt like the first time had been a fluke; she could barely muster a puff of vapor, let alone force it toward the target. She felt hot and achy, and long strands of flyaway hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks. As a little wisp dissipated barely an inch from the palm of her hand, she stamped in frustration.

“For Ancestors’ sake, why can’t I do it anymore?” She fumed at her hands, as if they were to blame.

“Let’s take a break,” Emris suggested calmly. “You’re just tired. With practice, drawing on your power for longer will get easier.”

They moved to the side of the room, where a bucket, ladle, and a couple of cups offered some refreshment. Lena gulped down her first cup of water and poured a second, hoisting herself onto the table, her legs dangling over the side. “Did you find it this hard—you know, when you were a Rogue?”

Emris glanced across at her, sipping from his cup while he leaned against the battered wall. “Yes, it was difficult for me too. It’s always difficult, but especially for Rogues. We’ve developed our own methods of coping, not all of them healthy, whether we realize it or not. This whole process is unlearning, as much as it is learning.”

A darkness had passed over his scarred face. Lena found herself wondering for the hundredth time what creature had left those silvery scars—but she couldn’t bring herself to question him.

Emris spoke again. “You know, I should tell you something … because I’m not sure if I’ve made it clear, and I wish someone had told me when I was starting out.”

“What is it?” Lena asked a little warily.