The Singer
Page 50

“There you are,” he said. His eyes still carried hints of pain, but he was smiling. “Got a taste of your own medicine, did you?”
“How were you even standing through that?” she choked out.
Orsala said, “He’s a bear. And a very good-natured one at that. Thank you, Bruno.”
The great man enclosed her in an embrace, pressing his hand to her cheek. The warm affection flowed into her like a hug against her soul. “That was a lot of magic you were wielding. Not even my Karen at her angriest has hit me like that.”
“I’m so sorry.” With the heady rush of power dissipating in the room, Ava felt the guilt rush in. She’d caused him pain, and she’d held it for long minutes. She’d only felt a second of her spell turned on her and it made her want to curl in a ball and sleep for a week.
He laughed. “It’s fine! I’m happy to help you practice. How do you feel, sister?”
“Tired. You?”
“Hungry.”
“Hungry? How can you be hungry after that?”
“I am a scribe of tremendous appetite.” He set Ava on her feet and stepped back. Then he patted his belly and looked toward the door. “Are we done here? I need to find my woman.”
“You are a beast,” Orsala said. “Go. And thank you, Bruno.”
He left Orsala’s cottage whistling.
Ava watched him through the window. “That is the most cheerful man I’ve ever met.”
Orsala smiled. “He is a treasure to us. Gentle as a dove and strong as an ox.”
She turned and looked at some of the pictures scattered over the walls. Family pictures. Friends. A few paintings.
“He and Karen don’t have any children?”
Orsala shook her head. “They lost a daughter during the Rending. They have not had another.”
Ava said nothing. There was nothing to say. It was easy to be caught in her own grief until she remembered that all of the Irin had lost someone. Mates. Children. Siblings. Parents. Her own grief, as heavy as it felt to her, was only a drop in an ocean of sorrow.
“Well done.” She broke out of her reverie when Orsala patted her on the shoulder and led her toward the chairs by the fire. “That was very well done. That spell is your most basic disarming spell. I imagine it’s a more controlled version of what happened in the cistern when you were being attacked. So obviously it’s very instinctual for us. If a Grigori is trying to attack you, use it. It won’t kill them, but it should give you enough time to escape.”
“Okay.” Ava paused before she asked her question. “Are there spells that can kill them?”
Orsala stared at her with measuring eyes. “Be careful, Ava.”
“What?”
The old woman leaned forward. “There is a dark thread to your power. One I’ve not encountered before.”
Ava said nothing, because she knew Orsala was right. She could feel it. She didn’t know what it meant, but she remembered the dark whisper in her mind as she held the magic over Bruno.
Not yet…
It had wanted to hurt him. Or maybe it had just not wanted to let go of the power.
“A part of you liked it, no?”
Ava said nothing.
“Your magic is very strong,” Orsala said. “Untrained, yes. But also untapped. It will be greedy. I don’t know what you’ll be capable of. It’s clear to me that you are not like other Irina—”
“You knew that already.”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.” Orsala met Ava’s growing anger with calm. “I am only saying you must be careful.”
“Fine,” Ava said. “I’ll be careful. Are we done?”
“I want you to try to sing again.”
She let her head fall back. “Again? I told you, it only happened the one time. There’s no way—”
“Just try.” The tension drifted away like smoke up the chimney. If Orsala had wanted to remind Ava she still had a lot to learn, trying to tap into her supposedly supernatural vision was the surest way to accomplish it. Ever since the sing, she had tried to recreate the experience, but nothing had come of it.
“I’ll try. But no guarantees.”
Orsala nodded. “Nothing in life is guaranteed, daughter.”
Ava closed her eyes and focused on the blurry memory of the ceremony. She tried to remember the words that had slipped out of her mouth, the song that had risen from her chest until it burst over the gathering. A song that, apparently, everyone could understand with perfect clarity. Everyone except herself. She’d sung in the Old Language, but she couldn’t remember a single detail.
She held the memory of that night in her mind, turning it from every angle until she could almost see herself standing in the old barn, her arms raised, her mating marks gleaming. Minutes passed. Hours, maybe. Ava could feel a soft cradle of power around her, as if Orsala was feeding her magic, but no words would come.
She let out a frustrated breath. “I can’t. There’s nothing.”
Orsala sat back in her chair, looking frustrated beyond what Ava had ever seen her. “This makes no sense. I heard you with my own ears. You sang perfectly, as if you’d spoken the Old Language as a child.”
“All I get are images. I can remember the images I saw perfectly, I just have no idea what the words were.”
“You sang a vision. It was…” She struggled to formulate her thoughts. “Unlike anything I’ve experienced. It was as if, with your words, you made real the vision in your mind. I’ve never met a seer with that power before. I’ve never even heard of it. But when you sang, we all saw it. And we all saw the same thing. Irin and Irina alike. I’ve asked everyone. The only ones who didn’t see it were the humans. And even they said they could feel something going on.”