Free Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3) by Jasmine Giacomo Page B

Balang who had been behind Imee’s front desk. “And you are?”
    The man offered a strong hand. “Dakila. Formerly of Pangusay. I hear you’re traveling with us.” He glanced up at a netted cluster of crates being lowered to the dock, then turned Eward’s hand so that his avatar tattoo faced upward. “You could get a head start by helping us with the unloading.”
    Is this how trade duelists feel after a score of years in the emperor’s service? Peppered with mundane requests that don’t live up to the glory of their magic? Or are Cavan and his vaunted arrogance actually rubbing off on me? Eward sighed. “Where should I set them down?”
     

A Generation of Hexmages
     
    Tala hunched against the cold, dry air that had settled in the bottom of the Temple bowl as she made her way across the decorated stone floor. Isn’t there a solo class somewhere that needs to practice their air-warming tunes?
    “Hail, Tala!” Tala hunched further at the sound of Graela’s voice. “Aren’t you tired yet of being the only student in the entire Temple who still has to be monitored at every class? And taking up the First Singer’s time like that, too! Too bad we can’t sing the stain of your existence out of the Temple. You’re a walking disaster.” Graela continued on with a small cluster of giggling friends toward their Trio class.
    I really should be in that Trio class with them. I’m better than all of them put together. Tala indulged her bitterness for a long moment. But what I’m really doing with the First Singer is much more important than fitting in with the popular singers .
    She entered the lower door in the tower where the First Singer had her office. Eschewing the curling staircase, Tala stepped into the high, smooth shaft and sang a burst of air beneath her feet, raising her to the top of the tower. Before the wind blast could fade, she hopped out onto a warm brown floor embedded with seashells.
    “See,” she said, smoothing back her hair, “I told you it would work. You really should try it sometime.”
    Liselot de Vosen, First Singer of the Temple of Ten Thousand Harmonies, looked up from her desk and arched a doubtful eyebrow. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to sing yourself a wind burst to save you from splattering at the bottom of that shaft while you’re falling?”
    “No, it’s never happened. Do you?”
    The First Singer raised her chin. “I have absolutely no intention of finding out. If you keep floating yourself everywhere, your muscles will lose their proper trim, and you won’t be able to sing properly. I want you to use the stairs.”
    Tala crossed her arms in defiance and met the First Singer’s stare.
    After a long moment, Liselot’s mouth softened. She let out a conciliatory breath, then gestured for Tala to sit. Tala slid into one of the sung wood chairs but kept her arms crossed. The First Singer leaned forward onto her elbows. “Tala. Don’t do this to yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”
    Tala’s lower lip trembled, and she tightened her jaw. “It was my fault. I picked Sanaala. I thought she was ready, but I was wrong.”
    The First Singer sat back again and sighed. “I suppose that makes it my fault, then, that your classmates despise you so. I’m sorry for that necessary deception.”
    “This was my idea. I came to you.”
    Liselot held her hands out helplessly. “And I agreed. You are my responsibility, as are all the singers in the temple. Sanaala is far more my responsibility than yours. I insist that you stop blaming yourself for what happened, Tala. We simply don’t have the time.”
    Tala shifted on the smooth, golden wood. It wasn’t the first time she and Liselot had clashed over who should take the blame for the death of the youngest coterie member, and it wouldn’t be the last. But she was right. Tala really couldn’t afford to mourn or question herself. Unfortunately, her mind continued to do both, even as she performed her duties. “Where am I