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FRIDA did not want Merlin's help, but she came to accept that the silver arm ring left on the stone bench beneath the apple tree was from the Wizard. It was a thin cuff no wider than one of her fingers, decorated with a runic script and punched holes. She tucked it into her apron and didn't think much about its significance.

The library had a plethora of information about the mystical arts. Vortigern may have sought to be the sole warlock in the world, but he hoarded a wealth of knowledge about the magical arts in the library. That had been how Frida spent most of her time as of late. Especially after Merlin's visit.

She wished to learn how to control her abilities, but she would do so on her own terms. She would not go crawling back to the father that had deserted her as a child and was too cowardly to show himself once she was older.

Frida had read over the same page of a single manuscript a dozen times before she backed away from the book and to the pedestal on which a silver goblet sat. It had been filled with water. The books had told her water was free-flowing and the easiest element to manipulate.

With her hand hovering over the water goblet, Frida closed her eyes and tried to reach out. Silently willing the water to change. Arcanists were creators and shapers. That was the nature of the arcane art. It was not destructions. Nor was it manipulation.

A long minute passed. Nothing felt different. Ida looked into the goblet with dismay, it was still filled with clean, crisp water. Dejected but undeterred, she returned to the old script to reaffirm that she had at least done something right.

She returned to the pedestal and repeated the steps. Another trial. Another failure. Now growing frustrated, Frida dropped into one of the high-back chairs and sulked.

The arm ring in the pocket of her apron felt more like a chunk of lead. Something about the piece of silver called to her. Frida set the bracelet in the palm of her hand and eyed it. Curious and skeptical.

Taking a long, slow breath she decided to wear it. After all, it was a very pretty and well-crafted piece. Nothing extraordinary happened when she slipped it around her right wrist, though now it didn't feel as heavy as it had in her hand or pocket.

Rising from her seat, Frida returned to the open tome. She could only suffer one more failure for the day. Hand extended over the goblet, the Arcanist breathed in slipped into her state of silent focus. A chill ran down her spine. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel warmth in the tips of her fingers. A tingle sensation that was oddly familiar.

The water in the silver goblet was gone. In its place was ice. Frida reached forward and ran her fingertip around the metal. It was cold and solid, just as ice should be. Shocked at the success, she shrieked.

A moment later the doors of the library were thrown open. Arthur was out of breath, and worry had etched itself on his features. His hand rested uneasily on the hilt of Excalibur. "Arthur!" Frida exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her skin at his sudden entrance.

"What-?" He looked around the library but found there was no one else there. It was just the two of them. A bright shade of red rushed up to her cheeks. She hadn't meant to frighten him. Frida glanced back at the open book and silver goblet. "I was practicing," she admitted.

When her concentration had broken, the ice within the cup had returned to water. Arthur stepped around her and stood on the opposite side of the pedestal. "Show me?" He asked.

This time when Ida closed her eyes, she thought of the pale sand that sometimes lined the streets of Londinium after the sea merchants had come and unloaded their spoils. She kept her eyes shut and reached out with light budding at her fingertips. Before Art's eyes, the water turned to sand, but it didn't stop there.

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