Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 72: Precipice of a Miracle

Chapter 72: Precipice of a Miracle

Despite Daphne’s initial enthusiasm, she realized that magic was more difficult than expected. She could feel the heat of her flames just at her fingertips, teasing her, just barely beyond reach. Every time she reached for it, it would edge further away from her. Eventually, she realized that there was a mental barrier that prevented her from tapping into her powers.

"Take a deep breath. Picture the source of your magic as a ball inside you. Feel it course through your veins."

Daphne breathed in and tried to feel something that wasn’t the cold winter air that mercilessly nibbled at her nose. Maybe there was a slight pinching at her stomach?

No, that was just hunger. Darn it. She had taken too little food at the breakfast table due to the ungodly hours but now that she was tired and her energy was well-spent, she could only wish that she took a bite more than she did.

She closed her eyes and tried again as Jonah continued to lecture.

"Try to conjure up a tiny flame, small enough to be held in the palm of your hand," Jonah said, as though reciting his words from a book. "Picture a fire in the palm of your hand. Imagine the heat of this fire spreading."

Daphne glared at her palm intently, willing something to happen. Every time she thought she felt something heat up, the feeling would go away nearly immediately like a lucid dreamer tethering between the edges of dreams and reality.

Her hands slumped heavily down to her sides in defeat as she heaved loudly, leaning against the piles of snow.

"Maybe it was a fluke," she muttered under her breath. "Or maybe it wasn’t even me at all but someone else that had set the shed on fire and then ran off when they realized Atticus was coming."

"That’s impossible."

Both Daphne and Jonah’s head whipped in the direction of the new voice. Jonah looked relieved while Daphne smiled in pure joy. Atticus was a master of magic. Daphne had witnessed him perform feats that were so incredible, she had never thought humans were capable of such sorcery. If there was anyone that could help her, it would be him.

Even in the cold, Atticus was just dressed in a loose linen top, his usual get-up. If Daphne squinted hard enough, she could see the orange glow that emitted from the pocket of his trousers. His sunstone, Daphne guessed. That was the only way she could guess that was able to keep him warm in this weather with such little clothing.

"You sure took your time," Jonah said with a scoff. "We were only just freezing here all morning, no big deal."

"Oh, quit it with your sarcasm. Is there any progress yet?" Atticus demanded. He eyed the piles of unmelted snow. "Clearly someone needs more help."

"I’m not very good," Daphne admitted a little sheepishly. Atticus frowned at her words, his displeasure cutting her colder than the winter winds. She ran a hand up and down her other arm, hoping it would give her enough warmth, hopefully to create even the tiniest flame to impress Atticus.

Alas, even science failed her where magic did.

"It’s not a one-night thing, Atticus. Not everyone is like you," Sirona piped up from behind. It was only then did Daphne realize that the healer was also present. She yawned, stretching as she said, "Jonah could tell you that."

"Sirona, this better not be about―"

"He took a mighty long time to perfect his magic," Sirona said. "He discovered his abilities young but he was never good at it. Could only make a flower or two bloom and that’s about it. Pretty useless, if you ask me. It took him years of training and hard work to get this far."

"I wasn’t that bad―"

"I once planted you in the dirt by your request because you believed it would make you grow taller!" Atticus cut in, completely ignoring Jonah’s yells of protest. "Can’t believe you thought that just because you could control all floral life, you, too, could live like a plant in the dirt as long as you had enough water and sunshine."

"Hey, stop that!"

Atticus continued with a chuckle, "Sirona came by and even watered you."

"Oh yes, I remember that," said Sirona. The woman laughed, smirking broadly. "Jonah did succeed, to some extent. His face was indeed as purple as a turnip."

"Ugh." Jonah groaned, slapping the palm of his hand against his face, running it down until his features dragged. "Please stop talking, for the love of God."

"You were very cute back then," Sirona teased.

"Point is, you need a trigger." Atticus’s hands reached out, lightly touching the stones on Daphne’s earrings. The garnet stones were warm to the touch, enough to show that they were just at the precipice of a miracle. "What is your trigger?"

Daphne’s heart skipped a beat. There was something missing. She wasn’t sure what her trigger was. Just like her magic, it was at the tip of her tongue, waiting to be discovered. But she couldn’t quite grasp it.

"I don’t know yet," she honestly answered, her voice soft.

"Figure it out, then," Atticus replied curtly. He withdrew his hands, her earrings clinking as they dangled. It was as though he drew the warmth from the stones away, leaving nothing but two blocks of ice to hang on her ear. "Without a trigger, you will never be able to master and control your powers."

"Atticus," Jonah frowned disapprovingly, "it will take time."

"Time is not something we have to spare," Atticus harshly shot back. "Don’t forget, we leave for the hunt in two days. She needs to at least be able to conjure up a spark by then, or at least know when not to lest she burn our carriage down."

"What’s the worry?" Sirona waved the matter off. "You’ll be there anyway."

"Contrary to popular belief," Atticus said, "I won’t always be there to save the day. And sometimes, people don’t want to be saved."

With that final statement, Atticus left their training session, and Daphne could only stare at his back as he stormed away.