Free Sorceress of Faith by Robin D. Owens

sat
cross-legged, palms up on his knees and sent her a quizzical glance.
    She
squared her shoulders. There was nothing she could do this minute except scream
and fight for her life if he meant her harm. So she sank down across from him.
To her amazement, her gown needed no adjusting: it flowed out of her way when
she sat.
    “First
we’ll determine how strong your Power is and whether you will be a good
apprentice for me,” he said, lifting his arms shoulder height, hands angled up
as if pressing against an invisible wall. “Do as I do.”
    Marian
mimicked him, putting her hands up. There was enough space between them that
they had a few inches between their hands and didn’t touch.
    Bossgond
hummed, and invisible pressure against her palms snapped Marian’s hands back to
her shoulders. He smiled, but kept the pressure steady.
    Magical
arm wrestling? Marian narrowed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath. She felt her
own will, and something else—Power?—surge through her body, tingle through her
hands, leave the hollow of her palms to push against his, be stopped against a
barrier.
    She
concentrated, found a pool of energy within herself, drew it up and sent it out
in a ragged stream against his Power. His hands trembled. Marian set her teeth,
visualized a river of force inside her, welling up from the deep pool, turning
into a torrent pouring from her hands to crash against Bossgond’s wall. His
hands snapped back to his shoulders.
    Looking
surprised, he frowned, then pushed back at her. She kept the Power steady
against the strong force of his for what seemed an eternity that drained her
and started her panting—perhaps only a minute. Then she slumped back against
the pillow. Bossgond’s Power followed her, taking her breath, then vanished.
    “Extraordinaire,”
he said.
    She
heard his voice around buzzing in her ears. Gentle, inexorable fingers clamped
around her wrists and brought her upright again. Her lungs pumped and the dress
seemed to soak up her sweat and release a floral scent. Huh. Wriggling her legs
and bottom, shifting her shoulders, she stared at the man from under lowered
lashes.
    He
was inscrutable. Like a certain little green, pointy-eared Master of the Force.
    Her
own personal taskmaster. Great. She knew now that she hadn’t given the green
guy’s students the sympathy they had deserved.
    “Next
test,” Bossgond said, raising his hands, palms vertical again.
    Marian
didn’t think she could twitch a finger, but managed to tilt her hands up from
her wrists.
    “To
see how well we will do as Circlet and Apprentice,” Bossgond said.
    Marian
suppressed a grimace. She knew the word “apprentice.” It made her feel like she
was ten again—maybe younger, just starting elementary school—though, she was a beginner at magic.
    She
didn’t even have the basic socialization of any child brought up in this
culture—what constituted rules of magic?
    But
Alexa seemed to have managed a position of high status, and in a relatively
short a time, if Marian’s recollection of the coat Alexa had worn in the vision
was right. It was last winter’s jacket, so she would have purchased it no
earlier than the fall….
    A
sting against her palms brought her back to find her teacher frowning at her
from under silver eyebrows. Her cheeks flamed. She’d let her attention wander!
Oh yes, just like a kindergartner. Heat flushed her neck, too. She’d
disappointed a prof—not good. She prided herself on being an exceptional
student.
    So
she dipped her head in apology. “Excusez moi.”
    Bossgond
nodded solemnly. “Attencion,” he said.
    She
nodded again, kept her gaze fastened on his face, her mind on what would come
next. Her stomach tightened. She hated pop quizzes. How could you get a perfect
score without practice?
    “Follow
me,” Bossgond said. He moved his hands far apart, cocked his head.
    Intent
on him, she moved her hands apart, too. Then he began gesturing, doing odd
things with his hands, arms,