Chapter 379: Offering

"Sit properly," Olivia said. "The Light does not teach people who are slouching."

"It taught me while I was covered in oil," Lia said. She dropped onto the floorboards and folded her legs under her anyway.

Olivia had been acting more bitchy than usual, and both Lia and Sophia knew why.

They had moved out to the front room, well away from the bedroom, and it had changed since the morning.

The curtains were open again, and the long strip of sun had crawled off the boards and climbed the leg of the sofa.

The bedroom window at the end of the hall had been left wide, and behind it Lia’s quilt was soaking in a basin. Nobody had mentioned it. Nobody was going to.

They were dressed again.

Olivia had put the light blue blouse and the black pants back on. Her hair was still damp at the ends and had darkened the collar.

The blouse had never been cut to stay buttoned over her chest, and the top button held on with visible effort every time she breathed in.

The black pants fit the way they always did, which meant that every crease showed when she knelt.

Lia had found a fresh dress, a dark green one with a neckline she had not bothered to adjust. Her red curls were pinned up badly, and a few had already escaped.

The skirt rode up her plush thighs as soon as she sat, and she left it there.

Sophia had zipped her jacket to the chin, which accomplished nothing, because the short skirt still left her thighs bare.

Her twin tails were tied a little uneven. Her cheeks had not finished being pink, and every so often she touched her left eyebrow with a thumb and checked it.

Lor sat with his back against the sofa. His shirt had been rinsed in the sink and tugged back into shape, and it was still damp along the ribs. He looked rested, which Olivia found unreasonable.

"The Light is ready to give you its guidance," Lor said. "Sit still."

Lor closed his eyes.

When he opened them, pale light had come up behind the hazel. The room drew in by half a step. Sophia’s hand left her hem. Olivia’s did not move from her knee.

The voice that spoke was far deeper than his, cold and slow, and it pressed on the ears. It seemed to come from somewhere behind his teeth.

"The Light is pleased."

Nobody breathed.

"You all have exceeded it’s expectations."

Olivia’s ears went red from the tips to the collar. Lia pressed her lips together so hard they went white, and Sophia studied the floor.

"The Light will answer in the order you asked. Olivia. Show me your fire."

Olivia held out her right hand and spoke the incantation under her breath. A flame rose in her palm at once, orange and about the size of a fist, and it leaned to one side and flickered.

"Large," the Light said. "Why large?"

"Because it is stronger."

"It is larger. Larger is not stronger." The pale eyes moved over the flame. "You were taught to divide your mana, and it taught you to waste less. Now you must learn to spend it better. Make it small."

"How small?"

"The size of a bead."

Olivia frowned and pulled the flame in on itself. It shrank, and as it shrank it dimmed, until a thin orange bead sat guttering in her palm.

"You are letting go of what you feed it," the Light said. "The flame shrinks, and your hand lets the mana leave with it. Do not take the mana away. Fold it in."

"I do not know what that means."

"Come here."

Olivia hesitated. Then she shuffled forward on her knees until their knees almost touched. The Light reached out and laid two fingers flat against her stomach, low, just under the ribs.

Olivia drew a sharp breath through her nose.

"Here," the Light said. "Not the chest. Your chest does the thinking, and it thinks too loudly. Breathe into my hand."

She breathed. The blouse rose against his knuckles, and the top button creaked. Lia opened her mouth, caught Sophia’s elbow instead, and shut it again.

"Again. Slower. Hold what you have drawn in. Now let the flame take it, but do not let it grow."

The bead in her palm stopped guttering. It brightened from orange to yellow, then to a hard, steady white, and a thread of blue appeared at its core. A faint hiss came off it. The air above Olivia’s hand shimmered.

"Oh," Olivia said.

"That is the first part. The second is this. A flame fed only from outside is a bonfire. A flame fed from within is a forge."

The Light took its hand away. "Leave a hollow in the center of the bead, and let the mana pass through the hollow before it burns."

"A hollow."

"A gap the width of a hair. Fire eats air. Give it air from the inside and it will burn clean, and hotter than you can make it by growing it."

Olivia’s brow creased. She tried twice, and the bead wobbled both times and nearly went out. The third time, the hiss rose into a thin whistle.

The white bead turned blue-white at its edges and sat in her palm without moving, small as a pea and bright enough that Sophia looked away.

"The fireplace," the Light said. "The poker."

Lia got up, took the iron poker from its hook by the hearth, and held it out. Olivia brought the bead to within a finger’s width of the tip. It did not touch. In four seconds the iron was dull red.

In six it was orange, and Lia dropped it into the grate with a yelp.

"Fuck," Lia said, shaking her hand. "That’s a poker."

"It was," Sophia said.

"This morning that would have cost you a full fist of fire and every breath you had," the Light said. "Tomorrow it will cost you three counts."