I ran a single finger over the yellowing pages of my family’s old spellbook. I leaned in close to decipher the Efryan words, but the light provided was very minimal. I’d stuck a candle in the dirt and tilted it slightly to the right. It was close enough to reveal what was in the book, but far enough so the wax wouldn’t soil the pages.
I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips in an attempt to read the next line. I mouthed the words until I felt I had the pronunciation, then moved onto the next line.
I’d resorted to using the night to practice. Phoenix wasn’t overly impressed with the progress I was making in our training sessions—that is, if I was making any. I couldn’t manage to pull through and cast one spell he’d tried to teach me. We used the same type of magic—he and I came from a family of mages—but, despite his efforts, I wasn’t learning. He told me that soon he would be teaching me how to fight with swords and maces,