Chapter 380: The Reward 2

"Others see their mana. You hear it. You have been casting by ear for a year. Hold that note, and instead of a candle, picture a hand pushing it out. Four breaths in. Two to hold. One to let go."

Her lips moved as she counted. On the last count the cushion slid six inches across the sofa and stopped against the armrest.

Sophia's eyes flew open. "Did I do that?"

"Again. This time picture a wall, not a hand. Lia, throw something at her."

Lia grinned and hurled a cushion. Sophia threw up her hand and pictured a wall. The cushion hit a faint gold disc a hand-span from her nose, stopped dead, and flew straight back into Lia's mouth.

"Rude," Lia said, through the cushion.

Sophia clapped both hands over her own mouth and giggled until her shoulders shook.

Then she looked at her finger, and her blue eyes went wet at the corners.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."

"Change the picture, and you change the magic," the Light said. "Try a new one every night."

"Lia."

"Finally." She scooted forward, and the green dress did what it did. "Wind. The one that gets Lila."

"Stand."

Lia stood.

The Light moved in behind her as well, took both of her wrists, and drew a V in the air with her hands. Her back pressed into his chest and her bottom into his hips, and she went absolutely still.

"A wedge. Push along this line, and exhale into it. Wind will not come to a person who holds her breath."

"I'm not holding—"

"You are." A palm settled on her ribs, just under the swell of her breasts. "Out."

Lia let go of her breath in a shaky rush. The curtain shivered, dust lifted off the floor, and she shrieked and the wedge fell apart.

"A wide gust makes noise. A narrow one leaves a mark. Aim at the ribbon."

She narrowed it. The first try blew the ribbon on the chair sideways, and the third rattled the whole chair.

On the seventh, the ribbon snapped at the knot and drifted to the floor.

Lia whooped, spun around in his arms, and nearly knocked them both over.

"One more thing," the Light said, steadying her. "Cloth is only thread, and thread is held by stitching. A narrow blade of wind run along a seam needs only a breath. The waist. The hem."

Lia's mouth fell open slowly. Her eyes slid to Olivia.

"No," Olivia said. "Lia. No."

"It's a lesson," Lia said.

She drew the wedge with a flourish and exhaled hard. Her aim jerked.

The thin line of wind skimmed the room, found the weakest seam in reach, and the top button of Olivia's blouse sprang off its thread, hit the floor, and rolled under the sofa.

Olivia's hand flew to her collar. The blouse gaped an inch across her collarbones, and she clamped it shut. "Lia."

"It was a seam!"

"Aim," the Light said, in exactly the same deep, even voice.

Sophia put her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook.

The Light let the quiet run for the space of a breath.

"Practice what you were given, every day. Cast on the exhale. Do not rush."

"Understood," Olivia said.

"We know," Lia said.

"Yes," Sophia whispered.

The pale glow went out of his eyes. The tightness left the room with it.

Lor grunted and pressed two fingers to his temple. When he lifted his head his eyes were hazel again and raw at the edges.

"How did it go?" he asked.

They all answered at once.

"It was adequate," Olivia said.

"It was amazing," Lia said. "It was the best thing that has ever happened to me. I moved a ribbon."

"I can do three more spells than I could this morning," Sophia said. "Maybe six. I have to count them."

Olivia stopped. She looked at the bead of white fire still glowing, forgotten, in her palm, and she closed her hand around it. It went out.

"I'm just the messenger," Lor said. "I don't remember a word of it. Did I say anything weird?"

"No," Sophia said.

"Yes," Lia said. "You told Olivia her pulse was high."

"I did not," Olivia said, and held her collar shut with her fist.

Lia got to her knees, crossed the boards, and threw both arms around his neck.

She was warm and a little damp from the effort, and her chest pressed against his arm, soft through the green cloth.

"Don't get used to it," she said into his shoulder. She did not let go for several seconds.

Sophia waited until Lia was done. Then she bowed her head, small and serious, with her twin tails falling forward.

"Thank you, Lor. I mean it. I know you do the hard part."

"I sit here and look pained," Lor said.

"That is the hard part," Olivia said. She stood up, and the commanding voice came back at once.

"Practice. All of us. Tonight, and again at dawn. Lia, you are not allowed to aim anything at me. Sophia, bring your cushions."

"Yes, ma'am," Lia said.

Lor looked at the far wall. The strip of sun had climbed up and it was time for some lunch.

"I should go," he said.

"You're leaving?" Lia said. "Now? We have so much to ask."

"You have so much to practice. Ask me tomorrow."

He pushed himself up off the floor. Olivia walked him to the door and held it, one hand still gripping her collar, and when Lia and Sophia had turned back to the room she lowered her voice.

"The six hours."

"After the exam."

"That sounds worse."

"It is," Lor said pleasantly.

"What sounds worse?" Lia called from the floor.

"Nothing," they said together.

He stepped onto the porch, and the door closed behind him.

Through the wood he heard Sophia begin to count. Four. Hold. One. A cushion thumped.

Lia swore happily, and the curtains rattled, and something snapped and hissed in a way that made Olivia say, "THAT was too close."

Lor smiled and went down the steps.