Constantine Blackmire's Arc

Chapter 3 of 1

The weeks changed all four of them. Arthien lifted branches with the thornvine wand now, quick and sure. Edric held a flame past ten seconds and grinned when it caught. Lowena still lifted too much, but she stopped less often. Constantine worked with each of them alone, one at a time, in the grove where nothing could go wrong. He kept records in their spellbooks. He kept none for himself. He did not want to write down what happened when he worked with Morwenna. She still refused a wand. She leaned on her quarterstaff and moved things with her eyes, saying nothing. He had stopped asking her to explain. Instead he stood near and watched her work. The labradorite stone on her staff shifted color when she cast, like fire under water. He found himself waiting for that color. He found himself wanting the lessons to run long. He knew the shape of this. His old teacher had built need in people, then filled it. Constantine had sworn never to do that. So he kept his hands to himself and his voice level. But she was young and he was her teacher, and the feeling would not leave. One evening the others had gone to the tower. Only Morwenna stayed. She set down her staff. She looked at the shrine, not at him. "My mother had a stone like this," she said. "Someone took her. I don't know who. I don't know if she's alive." Her voice held flat, then broke. Her shoulders shook. She pressed a hand to her mouth. Constantine had comforted no one in years. He stepped forward before he chose to. He put his arms around her. She did not pull back. She cried into his shoulder while the grove went dark around them. He held her and said the only true thing he knew. "You carry it because it was hers. That is not weakness. That is the strongest thing about you." She pulled back and wiped her face. She looked lighter, as if a stone had come off her chest. "You're the first person I've told," she said. Then she smiled at him, small and real, and he saw what it meant. She trusted him. More than trusted him. Constantine walked her back to the tower and said goodnight. He stood at his window afterward and did not sleep. He had crossed something tonight and could not cross back. She looked at him now the way students look at the one who saves them. He had felt it too, and worse, he had wanted to. He had come here to teach four children magic before he died. Now one of them had opened her heart to him, and he did not know if he could keep teaching her without ruining them both. The lessons would go on tomorrow. He no longer knew what he was teaching her.