A Storm of Shadows (Shatterborn Book One)

Chapter XI, Discord

With that, she walked out of her bedroom and down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor.

Lucian was standing with his back to her, seemingly watching the door. Alandriel was seated on one of the wooden chairs, his head dipped to his chest. Emmaline considered ignoring them and looking for something to eat, but realized that there wouldn’t be anything to eat.

Emmaline hesitated and cleared her throat. “Lucian?”

Lucian stumbled upright in a flash, whirling toward her. Alandriel’s head shot up and spun to face her. Lucian’s face was a picture of shock. “How… How did you get in here?”

Emmaline cocked her head in puzzlement. “Er… I’m not sure. I just woke up in my room, so I assumed… Wait, then you didn’t come find me or bring me home?”

Alandriel raised himself up with a groan. “We were looking for you for a good few hours, but we never found you. Apparently Lucian isn’t as good a telepath as he claims to be.”

Lucian glared. “Huh. You blame me? You’re the soldier, you’re supposed to have the incredible tracking skills.”

“You boasted you could find her in half the time it would take me,” Alandriel shot back. “And yet you made even less progress than-“

“Enough!” Emmaline barked. “If neither of you brought me home, then how…?”

With a shrug, Lucian walked into the kitchen and pulled several coppers and steels out of a drawer. He flicked his hand and they vanished, replaced moments later by a tray of eggs, a bottle of milk, some butter and several potatoes. “There’re several possibilities, but none of them are particularly likely.”

He tugged on the air with his right hand – the silver hand – and pulled from the drawer a peeler. He gestured again, and the potatoes rose into the air and began to peel themselves. Emmaline watched on curiously.

Lucian turned to the stove and clicked his silver thumb and finger together. A spark flared, which he flicked onto the cooker. Gas flames flared up, which he spread to a second element. With a jerk, he opened a cupboard and pulled out a couple of pans. He set them down on the elements and left them to heat.

Emmaline frowned slightly. “Wouldn’t it be easier to do all that without the magic?”

A scoff from the kitchen. Knives flew through the air, slicing rapidly through the potatoes. Behind the blur of steel, Lucian smiled sardonically. “Are you serious? Do this without magic? Fat chance.”

For a moment, Emmaline found herself smiling at the remark. Then she remembered the reason why she’d left the house the day before in the first place, and her good humour vanished.

“As I was saying, the possibilities. For starters, you could have teleported yourself home. That’s pretty much impossible, given that you’re only a thaumaturgist.” He glanced up at Emmaline, as if expecting a reaction. She gave him none. “Or, as is more likely, you sleepwalked home. However, if you had, I would have sensed you – which I didn’t.” He added some butter to both pans. Into one, the chunks of potato floated. He cracked the eggs into a bowl and added milk, twirled his fingers for a few seconds and then poured the scrambled mix into the other pan. The scent of cooking food filled the air. Despite herself, Emmaline felt her mouth water and her stomach rumble emptily.

“Is it possible that I hid myself from you?” Emmaline asked the question with more than a hint of smug triumph.

Lucian scowled. He knew when he was beaten. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “I suppose it is.”