Wielder's Prize (Preview Only)

CHAPTER 2

Two years ago...

I groaned. The text I needed was high up on the top shelf. The Codex of Air. It's spine was a deep green and it was several inches thick. The Citadel's library had ladders, but I was too lazy to get one. And of course, I'd spent all my magic in lessons earlier; I could barely keep my eyes open as it was. So I reached, stretching up to my tiptoes. I'd always been tall for a female at five feet ten inches. Still, it was a struggle. There! My fingers caught the edge and inched it out. It rocked back and I made to catch it. As my hand closed around it, the other books in my arms tumbled out, scattering on the floor.

Cursing under my breath, I glanced around, hoping no one had noticed, especially none of the librarian witches. But someone had noticed. My eyes landed on the alcove in the middle of the row. The plush armchair wasn't empty and the lamp on the table emitted a soft glow, casting a pool of light I hadn't seen when I was fishing for my book.

My breath hitched. I recognized my observer. Our eyes locked. A flush spread over my skin. Thank the gods it was dimly lit.

Time seemed to slow, to stop. I could hear my breathing. Gods. He probably could too. Scrambling, I ripped my gaze away and began gathering up my books. My movements were far from graceful. Once settled in the crook of my arm, I hesitated. Squaring my shoulders, I walked over to him.

He had an ankle propped on one knee, a book open on his muscled thigh. One arm was lazily draped on the arm rest. The other, resting on the open pages of his book. He tracked my approach, never taking his eyes from me. That sort of scrutiny was enough to strip any female bare. The intensity was ...unsettling.

What the hell was I doing?

I'd seen him earlier that day in the training hall, but only from a distance. Seen as he wiped the floor clean of every wielder in my cohort. The entire Citadel was awash with whispered rumors about him, about his return. Rixon. He definitely looked older up close, just as I'd heard. But it was his scar that I couldn't stop staring at. I traced it with my gaze.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, hi," I said. Then I cursed my stupid self. "You're new here, right?" Of course he was...and wasn't. A beat of awkward silence had me holding out my hand. "I...I'm Aramina. One of the witches. In training, that is. I haven't completed trials yet, I mean. I plan to this next time around."

Holy hell, I couldn't form a proper sentence.

He stared at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. A second passed, then two, then three. A flush crept up my cheeks. My heart hammered in my chest.

He just stared at me, one finger tapping impatiently on the pages of his open book.

For all my magic, nothing made me feel more invisible in this moment. I clenched my hand into a fist and let it drop. "All right, then. I guess...I'll see you around..."

Turning on my heel, I fled. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," I muttered all the way to the front of the library where I reserved my books and raced back to the female dormitories.

***

"What are you drawing?" Rixon's deep voice jolted me. I snapped the pages of my sketch journal closed, quickly wrapping the leather strap around and around. I ignored the flush that crept up my neck, hoping to gods he hadn't seen what I'd been working on. I didn't share my drawings with anyone...ever.

I held my journal in my lap and glanced at him. Where'd he come from? Had I been so oblivious to have missed his approach? Looking away, I slipped the sketchbook in Jarrow's saddle bags and faced forward again, tucking my pencil behind my ear for later.