Malachi looked at Ava. “I don’t want—”

“I’m offering.” Ava stepped forward. “I want this, Malachi. I’ve always wanted it. I didn’t like you giving me your power to begin with.”

“It was necessary.” According to Rhys, she wouldn’t have survived the battle in the cistern without his strength. Malachi had no regrets, even if it had cost him his life and his memories.

Ava turned away from him. “Teach me what to do.”

Malachi crossed his arms again. “Not at the expense of your defensive spellwork.”

“I can teach her both,” Orsala said. “Have no fear, Scribe. Your woman will be protected from all sides. And now can we depend on your help to finish this lesson?”

Malachi looked between Ava and Orsala, knowing that at some point he’d lost the upper hand. He just couldn’t figure out when. “Fine.”

“Cool!” Ava said.

She grinned and Malachi couldn’t be annoyed anymore. She looked too happy. He’d promised to attack her during her lesson, and she was thrilled.

“Gabriel’s bloody fist,” he muttered, bracing himself for the lesson ahead.

“I’M sorry!” She knelt over him, his hand clutched between hers. She might have said she was sorry, but she didn’t look it. She looked thrilled.

Malachi wiped the trickle of blood from his lip and grinned. “Very good, Ava.”

Without warning, he grabbed her by the shoulders and hooked his ankle around her knee, rolling them over so he was straddling her.

“Vashahuul,” she whispered, freezing him for a split second. In that moment, she lifted her knees up between his legs and pressed up, throwing him off-balance. “Vashaman!” she shouted, amplifying the spell. He froze again. It didn’t last long, but the split second he was paralyzed gave her an edge.

“Don’t forget ‘fasham,’ Ava!” Orsala shouted from the side of the room.

“Ya fasham,” she hissed, and Malachi felt the wave of dizziness hit him immediately. The ground tilted between his feet.

Fasham. A simple word in the Old Language meaning “to tilt or unbalance” but in the mouth of an Irina, ya fasham was the command to fall.

He fell. Flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

“Now the staff. And remember, any spell can be amplified with man.”

“Got it,” Ava said, panting. She rolled to the side and grabbed the short staff that all Irina trained with. Malachi could remember his mother’s. Always propped in a corner of the kitchen, it looked more like a broom handle than a weapon. But in the hands of a trained Irina—

“Ha!” It came down at the side of his head.

Narrowing his eyes, he reached out and snatched the staff from beside his head, giving it a swift tug and kicking his foot out to catch her ankle.

“Shit!” Ava yelled, losing her grip on the staff. Malachi spun it around and used it to vault himself to his feet.

“Did you mean to give this to me?” he said, taunting her. “Thank you so much. My mother had one of these. I felt it on my backside more than once.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So you’re used to taking a beating? Good. I won’t feel too bad then.”

“Ha!” He didn’t try to stop her when she ran for the row of weapons on the wall. She grabbed another staff and pounced, wasting no time before raining down a flurry of blows. She’d been taught well—by Mala, he was guessing—but her inexperience showed. He easily parried her blows, pushing just hard enough to challenge her without frustrating her. He allowed her to land a few blows before he took control.

“I thought we were practicing your defensive spells,” he said.

“Seems a little unfair since I was beating you every time.”

He laughed and brought the staff down, tapping her ankle and forcing her to the corner of the mat. She feinted right, and the end of his staff bounced up, striking her right in the stomach. She went down with a sharp groan.

“Oof.” She rolled on the ground, clutching her belly.

“Ava!” He tossed his weapon to the side and fell to his knees. “Ava, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect—”

“Vashahuulman,” she whispered, tensing under his hand. “Ya fashaman. Aman!”

The wave of dizziness swamped him, and when his eyes cleared, Ava was the one straddling him, a staff held over his neck and a smile on her lips.

“Did I ever tell you I went to acting camp?” she said. “We spent a whole week on how to take a fake punch.”

Malachi grinned. “You are evil, and I am very proud of you.”

“Thanks!”

THEY shared a shower later that afternoon before they went down to dinner. Ava was drying her hair and chattering about another spell Orsala had introduced to her that was supposed to cause instant nausea in any attacker. Messy, but effective. Malachi was listening with one ear but was distracted by examining the recovered talesm on his left arm.

“—for the spell. But that depends on me getting stronger, because that spell can only be used once I develop the ability to fly. Know what I mean?”

“Mmmhmm,” he muttered.

She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hey, handsome.”

He looked up. “Yes?”

“So you’re cool with that, right? You can help me learn how to fly?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about? The myths about angels having wings are simply that. Myths. Ancient people had to rationalize angelic abilities somehow, thus the artistic depiction of… What are you smiling about?”