“How many times are you going to do that?” Soren asks.
I’m out of breath, my voice hoarse. “As many as it takes to kill it.”
“Ah. Well, so far, you’ve only succeeded in giving it a severe case of windburn. I actually think it’s enjoying itself.”
“As I told you before,” I seethe at him, “I don’t know how to wield my powers!”
“Try harder.”
That is easy for him to say. Too many times in the past, I’d pushed myself too far—my power too far—and paid the price for it with a bout of days-long unconsciousness. Already, my rib cage is beginning to ache with the effort to contain the gathering wind within me. The storm inside swirls faster with each passing moment, maegic mingling with fear and frustration and fury until I am a living, breathing maelstrom.
You cannot put yourself at risk, Rhya!Penn is shouting from my memory.Rein it in before you lose control!
Twice more, the spider comes at me. Twice more, I rebuff it with amateurish air blasts that send it spiraling up into the rigging—each less accurate, and less powerful, than the one before.
Despite my best efforts, the creature seems no worse for wear. I cannot say the same for myself. Blackout looms, the telltale signs too apparent to disregard. My chest burns with a cold I feel down to my marrow. My head pounds, static waves pressing in at my peripherals. My breaths shred in my throat.
I cannot keep this up.
Not for much longer.
A web shoots suddenly down from above, snaring me around the head and shoulders, wrenching my braid with scalp-searingpain. I cry out as I am jerked off my feet, the sound somewhat muffled by the thick film cloaking my face. The arachnida manages to pull me quite a ways into the air before Soren waves his wrist and frees me with another sluice of speeding water. I collapse at his feet, breathing hard as my trembling fingers rip the sticky silk from my skin, my nose, my mouth. My whisper, when it comes, is directed at his boots.
“Are you trying to get me killed? Is that it?”
Two fingers slide beneath my chin, tilting my face up to his. He is crouched before me. His eyes are deadly serious, not even a trace of teasing humor in their depths. “I think the more appropriate question is, why are you fighting like you want to die?”
I jerk my face from his grip. “I am not the one with a death wish here!”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then why do you keep repeating an approach that is clearly not working?” He shakes his head slowly. “If you attempt to fill a cup from a roaring waterfall, you’ll never drink. Likewise, if you attempt to snare a spider with a tornado…”
“I understand the issue,” I say tersely. “It’s the solution I’m struggling with. I don’t seem to be able to summon the wind without…”
“Blasting with brute force? Mmm. I’ve noticed.”
“I’m not in the mood to be teased. I’m tired. I’m—” I bite back the wordterrifiedbefore it can escape. “I can’t seem to do anything but blast at it, which is clearly not working. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep trying before I—before—”
“Rhya.”
I swallow hard. He so rarely says my real name—and never in a tone like that. Never soft. Never…gentle. “What?”
“You have everything you require to win this fight.”
“How can you say that? I do not possess whateverfinesseyou use to so easily drown your enemies on dry land and shoot water-arrows and orbit droplets around goblets!”
He stares at me for a long moment. Calculating something. Turning over options in his mind. Eventually, he shrugs with a casualness I do not believe, even for a second. “Then borrow some.”
“Excuse me?”
“You envy my finesse?” Pushing off his heels, he rises to full height. His hand extends down to me. “Borrow some.”
I look from his hand to his face and back, somewhat baffled by the proposition. “What do you mean,borrow some?”
“Channel me.”