He’s good-looking, but is he a fire sign? Then again, can I just assume everyone here has a choleric nature given their sphere? Patience was examining one of her classmates on their Saturday off, taking an inventory. He had dark stubble along his jaw, something she knew she liked. He wasn’t taller than her, but that could be a plus in kissing—which, incidentally, was less weird to her now. She had her Mom’s generous curves, but he was heavier.

  But most notably of all, he’s holding a little pewter statue, while I am stuck with a festering egg. It’s actually an impressive little art piece, it looks like a strongman. One of the real ones, not the power fantasies you see on books. So does he, for that matter. Bladesedge must have a weight room somewhere.

  The man caught her gaze and grinned, hefting his statue and flexing a bicep. Oh, right. People are going to notice me staring at them. I wonder if anyone else is as socially-unaware as I am. Sigh. She pushed out of her chair and walked over to him. He looked faintly amused. “Hi. I’m Patience. Skarlefaxus, as though that means anything.”

  He offered her a hand roughly the size of her own, and she shook it as he said, “Hew. Fierce Hew. How can I help you?”

  Being deft is a lost cause. Acknowledging that I have no social graces is the first step towards acquiring some. “Show me how you hatched your egg.”

  “Just like that, eh?”

  “Show me how before I make you.”

  Hew’s eyebrows shot up. “And how do you propose to do that?” He projected a ward of confidence. Well sarx. He’s actually got a solid defense. It would probably get me in trouble to batter that down.

  “Uhm… by asking nicely?” Way to go, you totally didn’t get your bluff called.

  “That’s going to make me show you, hmm?”

  “Some boys like doing what pretty girls tell them to.”

  “I’m going to hold you up right there and say I am no boy, I am a man, and ask how you know I don’t like some pretty man telling me what to do?”

  Patience crossed her arms over her chest and glowered. “Gender is stupid. How do you know I’m not a particularly pretty man?”

  “Skarlefaxus, was it? You bring a fine foil to this battle of wits.” What is he… oh, that rotter. He’s trying to get past my ward. Except mine is architecture, while his he has to maintain. He’s not much of a fire sorcerer… but he got the metal to yield.

  “I can feel you in my ward, Hew. Want me to reciprocate?”

  Hew shrugged. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

  “I absolutely can blame you for trying!”

  “You threatened to first.” Patience deflated. He had a point. I don’t like that he has a point, but he has it just the same. I tried his ward before he tried mine. Unexpectedly, Hew kept talking to her. “You want to come firebursting with me?” She cocked her head. Uhm… oh, like what the upperclassmen did for attention. I don’t think I’ve ever worked that kind of sorcery. But he’s handsome, and he has answers I want, so why not?

  Out among the sedge of the marsh, they didn’t talk much. Hew would gesture and a burst of flame would appear in the sky like a firework. He could manage different oxide hues. I wonder if that’s why his last name sounds like hue. Maybe he comes from a line of fire sorcerers.

  He gestured for her to take a turn. She dug a sulfur out of her pocket, lit it, and tossed it in the air. With an exertion of will, she turned the small flame into a massive fireball. Which didn’t work out so well, when the match started to fall back down on them. Hew threw out his hand and burnt out the flame inches above their heads.

  “What was that?!” He seemed less alarmed than he might have, Fire being less intimidating to one who could control it, but he was combative. “I thought we were lighting firebursts!” What, I’m supposed to conjure flame out of nothing? I assumed the gesture he was making was throwing a reactant into the air. She stared at Hew, wide-eyed. “Can you not conjure flame?” Patience shook her head. “How on Orth did you get into Bladesedge, then?”

  “I’m an accomplished fire sorceress. I don’t normally throw my fire, but I could have lifted it off the match. But where I really excel is in fire’s domain. I’m not formally trained, I… may have enchanted my classmates. A lot.”

  Hew laughed. “So I should practice my ward architecture around you, or I’ll wind up falling in love?” I mean, been there, did that. It requires a lot of upkeep. Her pause sobered Hew. “Oh. You’re not joking. And my wards aren’t going to mean thing one to you, are they?”

  She pursed her lips and made eye contact with him before shaking her head. “Not really, no. They’re new, but I think I can do the work to overcome them. It’s kinda like what you did with my fireball. Create a burnout and then insinuate your own fire into the reaffirmed architecture. They’ll notice the incursion but not the… I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  “Probably not. But I’m not much of a domain user. So while I can’t count on how I feel about you, you can rest assured I haven’t enchanted you.” That… stings. “Well then, I guess… I can show you how to work the egg, if you’re having trouble.”

  “You’re still going to help me? Even knowing that you can’t know if I enchanted you?”

  He shook his head. “You said you thought you knew, not that you’d tried it. I’ll trust you for now. Besides, would I notice that you’re a touch awkward if you’d enchanted me?” Awkward?! You rotten thornseed, I’ll show you awkward when you’re too tongue-tied to—he said he’d help me. I should probably not provoke him. Yet. “You know how to reach for actual fire, right? You made your little matchstick bloom.” She nodded. “It’s the same thing, except it’s like all the muscles you’re using have been neglected so they’re all weak and clumsy. You just reach for the metal… and let it bloom.” He would use a muscle metaphor. Playing to type, I suppose.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Patience licked her lips and asked, “And faith? How does that factor in?”

  Hew laughed again, apparently at ease. “It factors in just as much as burning us alive in a matchstick fireball. Keep your eyes on the Savior and not on the ocean. Or flame. Or metal.” Yes, you’re very witty, shut up.

  ”But what’s the domain of metal do? Surely there’s more to it than that?”

  “You can’t even hatch your egg and you’re asking a fellow novice theory questions. That was your first mistake.” Smartalec.

  Eyes on the Savior. Patience closed her eyes and resisted the urge to center the egg over her heart. If it was the same as reaching for fire, something she hadn’t consciously done in years, it shouldn’t matter where the egg was. She mouthed the words of a prayer silently, and then pulled her hand out of her pocket. Twined around her fingers was a serpentine dragon figure. I did it! I did it! I—how do I get this thing off my fingers?! “Hew, help! Get it off my hand!” Hew obliged and straightened her dragon figure, leaving it in her grasp. She reached for the metal again, and formed it back into an egg for easy transport. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You may call me Fierce. Would you permit me to call you Patience?”

  “Anything but Patty. I’m not a Patty, I’m a Patience. Just like you’re a man.”

  Hew—Fierce laughed. “Fair enough! But practice with that egg. You’re not going to impress the instructors trapping your hand in whatever you mold it into.”

  Patience threw her arms around Fierce’s neck and kissed him, then felt him freeze. That’s not… right… oh sarx. Patience jumped back like he’d caught fire and put her hands behind her back. “I told you I enchanted my classmates. I’m not used to having to ask. I’m sorry.”

  Fierce was blushing. “It’s… I mean, it’s not great, but it’s not… don’t be sorry.”

  “Uh… would you mind a kiss?”

  “I would not. This time.” Okay, fair, I deserve the reminder of how consent works. “You’re interesting. And your command of your domain is impressive.” Oh, but no comment on whether I’m pretty? Patience wrapped her arms around Fierce’s shoulders again, and this time took a moment to appreciate the sturdy solidity of him. He was mere steps away from being a nephilim of stone. I wonder how hard he works out to maintain that. On top of classwork and being a fire sorcerer. Patience bit her lip and looked up, down, and generally any direction but Fierce’s eyes. I’m not used to the possibility I might be found wanting. But I guess there’s nothing for it but to try. Or test whether he thinks I’m pretty.

  “I, a pretty woman, am telling you to kiss me.” Fierce regarded her evenly. “…please?” When he brought his lips to hers, Patience cried internally, Yes! Pretty woman! Interesting and impressive and pretty! She felt his stubbled chin against hers, the warmth of his lips hoped for but nonetheless an unexpected delight. They kept it there, at the surface of touch, before separating.

  That was… unique. I don’t normally wonder how people are going to react to me kissing them. My Moms sent me here for more reasons than just metal sorcery, didn’t they. They knew more than they were letting on and knew I’d get myself into trouble. Not to mention, I’m probably picking up people skills I badly need.

  Sunday sermon, and then a full day reading Scripture. That will be on the test. I haven’t been this steeped in holiness since my Mom made a bath bomb zombie for me to drown in my tub of “holy water.” I shrieked with glee as the undead monstrosity dissolved into a pile of bubbles. Except then Mom said not to make more holy water, because I wanted to sell it and selling holy water was a sin. I’m not sure that’s true but it’s what she said. Moms are weird. Mom would totally lie to me about something if it resulted in right action. I think she’d admit that. Mother, on the other hand, would deny it vehemently and—I should be paying attention.

  “Faith is the greatest power of humanity,” Dean Blade said. “Yet even now, human faith has not recovered from its heights during the pre-Loss Ages. Scripture has preserved for us acts that we now call miracles, because they are so inconceivable as a manifestation of sorcery. You all know, or ought to know, of the three men who would not bow down before a golden idol. They were thrown into a blazing furnace, with white-hot flames, and yet they remained untouched.” Meanwhile, I nearly set myself on fire with my own sulfur. Then again, some upperclassmen had to siphon flame out of my fellow novices when they were teaching us how to keep ourselves warm, so maybe I’m not doing so badly at managing my element after all.

  “Such an event is patently sorcery, there is no mention of bloodletting, there are no declarations of their nephilim heritage. And once more, you all know, or ought to know, that early Scripture was fond of its lineages. That the Savior was born without the intercession of anything but the Holy Spirit was the greatest of miracles.” Wasn’t there an angel in there with them? Or some kind of fourth figure? I don’t remember. I’ll make that my study passage for today, I guess. But I’m not sure it counts as sorcery when the One God personally intervenes… wait, sarx, that’s literally the definition of sorcery. Sorcery is faith made manifest. Wow, I really do need to be paying attention.

  “But I roam from the topic at hand. A true fire sorcerer, strong in faith, could stand in a white-hot furnace and not be burned. They would not even have to will it, but have faith that it would be. Modern sorcery, with its mental tricks of convincing ourselves that the One God wants us to have supernatural abilities instead of acting in faith, living in constant prayer…” Dean Blade bowed her head. Should it be Bishop Blade, given she’s at the pulpit?

  “But what does that mean? Prayer has become a functional, habitual thing to us, but in the wrong way. When you pray—let me start again—as you pray, while you read, while you study, while you lay in your beds, as you tuck into a meal, as you practice your sorcery, you should be doing it for the good of all and the glory of the One God. And you should invite the One God into the deepest reaches of your mind, body, and soul.” Which part of the Lord goes to which part of the self? There’s always correlations like that. The Holy Spirit would be the body, because it impregnated the Mother of God… Christ Savior would be the mind then, because He is the Word, which makes sensibly enough Father Supreme the one to unify with the human soul.

  “I say to you, release your bitterness. I say to you, release your shame. I say to you, release your what ifs to ask the Lord ‘what next?’ You should always act with the intention of stepping out in faith, trusting that the Lord will make straight your paths. For the very angels themselves will lift your foot to make sure you do not stumble, when you walk in faith.

  I have to admit, my mind is wandering and my butt is numb. I realize cushions are flammable, but surely something beyond the bedsheets could have been made of something other than metal. But Patience straightened in her seat with a sigh, and listened to Bishop Blade deliver her sermon on proper faith, and proper prayer. If it makes me a more effective sorceress, I suppose it will have been worth it. Say, now there’s an interesting train of thought. Prayer being worth it. I haven’t thought about it… gosh, since before the foundation of the Church of Fief. I just knew that the One God wanted me to have what I wanted. I prayed for things I could get for myself. I prayed for my sorcery before I knew what sorcery was.

  Of course prayer is worth it. It’s inherently worth it. Which I guess is what Bishop Blade is trying to get across. Except now I think she’s meandered, subject-wise, into the proper formation of faith, which is way over my head and… sarx, is exactly the kind of thing that will end up on a test. Why did I have to wait for sorcerer’s college to learn study skills?!