“Damp and chilly in here,” Glenna commented. “Why don’t you light the fire?”
“Oh, of course.” But when Moira started across to the wide stone hearth, Glenna laughed and grabbed her hand.
“No, not like that. Fire. It’s elemental, one of the basic skills. To practice magic, we utilize the elements, nature. We respect them. Light the fire from here, with me.”
“I wouldn’t know how to begin.”
“With yourself. Mind, heart, belly, bone and blood. See the fire, its colors and shapes. Feel the heat of it, smell the smoke and burning turf. Take that from your mind, from inside you, and put it in the hearth.”
Moira did as she was told, and though she felt something ripple along her skin, the turf remained quiet and cold.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. It takes time, energy and focus. And it takes faith. You don’t remember taking your first steps, pulling yourself up with your mother’s skirts or on a table, or how many times you fell before you stood. Take your first step, Moira. Hold out your right hand. Imagine the fire lighting inside you, hot, bright. It flows out, up from your belly, through your heart, down your arm to your fingertips. See it, feel it. Send it where you will.”
It was almost a trance, Glenna’s quiet voice and that building of heat. A stronger ripple now, under her skin, over it. And a weak tongue of flame spurted along a brick of turf.
“Oh! It was a flash inside my head. But you did most of it.”
“A little of it,” Glenna corrected. “Just a little push.”
Moira blew out a long breath. “I feel I’ve run up a mountain.”
“It’ll get easier.”
Watching the fire catch hold, Moira nodded. “Teach me.”
By the end of two hours, Moira felt as though she’d not only climbed a mountain, but had fallen off one—on her head. But she’d learned to call and somewhat control two of the four elements. Glenna had given her a list of simple spells and charms to practice on her own.
Homework, Glenna had called it, and the scholar in Moira was eager to apply herself to it.
But there were other matters to be seen to. She changed to more formal attire, fixed the mitre of her office on her head, and went to meet with her uncle regarding finance.
Wars cost coin.
“Many had to leave their crops unharvested,” Riddock told her. “Their flocks and herds untended. Some will surely lose their homes.”
“We’ll help them rebuild. There will be no tax or levy imposed for two years.”
“Moira—”
“The treasury will stand it, Uncle. I can’t sit on gold and jewels, no matter what their history, while our people sacrifice. I would melt the royal crown of Geall first. When this is done, I will plant crops. Fifty acres. Another fifty for grazing. What comes from it will be given back to those who fought, the families of any who perished or were injured serving Geall.”
He rubbed his own aching head. “And how will you know who has served and who has hidden themselves away?”
“We’ll believe. You think I’m naive and softhearted. Perhaps I am. Some of that will be needed from a queen when this is done. I can’t be naive and softhearted now, and I must push and prod and ask my people to give and give. I ask a great deal of you. You’re here, while strangers turn your home into a barracks.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s very much, and won’t be the last I ask of you. Oran marches tomorrow.”
“He’s spoken to me.” There was pride in Riddock’s voice, though his eyes were heavy with sorrow. “My younger son is a man, and must be a man.”
“Being yours he could be no less. For now, even as troops begin to march, work has to contin
ued here. Weapons must be forged, people must be fed and housed. Trained. Whatever is required you have leave to spend. But…” She smiled now, thinly. “If any merchant or craftsman seeks too heavy a profit, he will have an audience with the queen.”
Riddock returned her smile. “Very well. Your mother would be proud of you.”