From her hiding place, Tarsha Kaynin saw him smile and smiled back. It was a shared moment she would treasure always, no matter how this turned out. She had come a long way to find him, escaping one set of hardships at home only to encounter more on the road. But she was a determined sort and so certain of herself that she had not considered the possibility she would fail. Find Drisker Arc. Demonstrate her magic in a way that would impress him. Convince him to help her improve on and master her skills. Help her save her brother before it was too late.
She waited on him, thinking he would act quickly to find her. She was humming softly to herself, the sound no more than a whisper of breezes passing through the limbs of the trees surrounding her. It hid her from anyone seeking her out so completely that for all intents and purposes she was rendered invisible. It was her strongest magical skill—a skill she had mastered early on. She had never been a fighter, never big or strong enough to be physically capable of standing up for herself. But use of the magic let her escape the worst of what others would do to her as a result of being Tavo’s sister, and she had decided this was how she could best impress Drisker Arc and persuade him she was worth teaching.
Thus, this game. Thus, everything that would follow.
She remained where she was a moment longer before moving on. She was wearing loose-fitting forest clothing, fabrics colored in mottled greens and browns, material that made no sound and reflected no light. Her boots were soft leather, cut ankle length. She carried no weapons or jewelry—nothing that would clink or flash and give her away. Her white-blond hair was wrapped in a headscarf, tied up and tucked away. Her freckled features were blackened to hide her pale skin. She wore gloves. She had thought this through carefully. This was a game she needed to win.
The Druid was looking around now but only casually and not with any evident intentions in mind. She began moving left, hiding her movements and sounds, screening herself as she slipped among the black trunks of the old growth that warded the Druid’s small cottage. He did not turn with her, did not look her way. He took a step right and turned from her momentarily but nothing more.
She would say nothing more, she decided. She would cease taunting him. It was only important now that she be able to convince him of her promise. Anything else was a distraction.
Wind whistled hard through the upper branches of the trees, and she glanced skyward momentarily. Leaves shivered in a soft rustling, and limbs swayed. The sky overhead was a brilliant blue.
When she looked back, he was gone.
For a moment, she couldn’t believe it. Then she realized he was doing the same thing to her that she was doing to him. He, too, had the ability to fade.
She shifted to another place, moving more cautiously now, searching for him through the trees. Once, she thought she caught sight of him, a momentary glimpse of his dark-robed form. But then he was gone again, smoke in sunlight. She must trick him, then. She must force him to reveal himself so that she could win the game. Swiftly. The longer it went on, the more likely she was to make a mistake. With this man, as storied as his skills with magic were, she knew it would take only one wrong move for her to give herself away.
Then she saw him. He was standing at the edge of the clearing, just back in the trees, seemingly no more than another dark trunk at first glance. A closer look told her otherwise. He had positioned himself carefully so that he blended into the forest. He was unmoving, waiting on her. He would stay there until she gave herself away and then call her out. It was a clever ruse. He had waited for her to look away just for a moment—perhaps even caused her to look away—before shifting out of her sight lines and fading into the trees. It was what she would have done, had their positions been reversed.
But she had him now.
Tarsha forced herself to remain calm, to move so she was coming at him from behind. She waited for him to turn her way, but he did not. She continued to advance, taking her time, but moving steadily closer. She thought about causing a distraction that would keep him looking away, but then decided it was too risky and could easily have the opposite effect and bring him around to face her.
Slowly, she told herself. Slowly.
Time ground to a crawl. Wind rippled the Druid’s dark cloak, but still he did not turn. She was almost on top of him now, no more than ten feet away. She hesitated, wondering suddenly if this wasn’t too easy, if this might not be a trap to get her to reveal herself. But how could it be a trap? He was right there. All she needed to do was tap him on the shoulder and the game was over.
She moved up swiftly and reached out her hand.
But when she touched his shoulder, he wasn’t there. It was only an image of him, and her hand passed right through it.
She gasped in spite of herself and then felt his hand on her shoulder, tapping softly. “You lose.”
Disappointment and frustration flooded through her, but she turned to face him anyway, putting on a brave face. “That was very clever of you.”
He nodded, smiled. “Years of experience that you don’t have yet. How old are you?”
She thought about lying and decided against it. “Seventeen.”
“So skilled at such a young age. I’m impressed. What is your name?”
“Tarsha Kaynin.”
“Do you understand the nature of the magic you possess, Tarsha Kaynin? Do you know what it is called?”
“I don’t know anything about it. Do you?”
“Your magic is called the wishsong. You can trace it directly back to a family called Ohmsford. It was within their bloodline, centuries ago, that it first found life. Its power lies in your voice, does it not?”
She nodded. “It’s a sort of singing or humming. Sometimes just shouting or screaming is enough. As far as I know, I am the first in my family to possess the magic. Well, the second, actually. Tavo has it, too. He’s my brother. But my parents don’t and none of our family earlier did, either. Do you have the wishsong magic?”
He shook his head, a rueful expression on his face. “I wish I did. But it is magic passed on through genetics, and the Ohmsfords were not part of my lineage. No, my magic is of a different sort.”
“It was good enough to beat me and win the game.”
“It would have been embarrassing not to have beaten you. I am far more experienced than you, and much more skilled in magic’s use. You, I am guessing, have been self-taught.”
She nodded ruefully. “That’s what brought me here. I want to get better at using it.”
“So I gather.” His smile returned, surprisingly warm. “Well, even if you’ve lost our little contest, it doesn’t mean you have to leave right away. Would you like to come sit on my porch with me and share a cup of tea and some sweet cinnamon bread?”
She had not eaten in more than a day and been traveling for two weeks, so she was happy to agree. If he was still talking to her and not yet ready to dismiss her out of hand, perhaps there was still a chance. She had to hope so. Persuading him to teach her was all she had left. If he sent her away, there was nowhere else for her to go.
He took her into his cottage and directed her to a pump and basin so she could wash off her face and generally clean up a bit. As she worked on herself, he stood watching, speaking softly.
“You have considerable skill already,” he told her. “Few others could have done what you just did. Had I been a little less practiced, you might have won our game. But you failed to take into account the fact that I might have the same skill as you and be better at it. My image was made of stronger stuff than you expected or you wouldn’t have allowed yourself to be lured out of hiding. A good lesson there, Tarsha.”