Ysabel looked up, face filled with skepticism. “Oh? Then why are you with the…kitsune?” She said kitsune like it was a dirty word. Dorian often did too, though he did it mostly to irritate me. I think Ysabel legitimately looked down on Kiyo. “If you really are a queen…” She looked skeptical over this as well. “…then why lower yourself by taking him as a consort? The only reason you would have is in the hopes of him fathering a child on you, just as he did Maiwenn. Clearly, he’s proven his virility…which might be of particular concern to you. You claim you’re trying not to conceive, but perhaps that’s a lie to hide the fact that you can’t.”

“What? That’s insane!”

“Whereas I…” She ran her hands proudly along the sides of her hips. “…have already bore two children.”

Whoa. That was startling-and a point of pride for her, no doubt, considering the gentry fertility issue. “To whom?” For some reason, the thought that it might be Dorian bothered me.

“My husband. He was killed years ago in battle.” She frowned slightly, the first sign of soft emotion I’d seen on her. In a flash, her normal bitchy expression returned. “They live with my parents right now and are healthy and strong. My lord Dorian knows I can undoubtedly have more. That’s why he cast you aside for me, forcing you to turn to the kitsune for your fleeting chances of offspring.”

“That’s not what Dorian and I-never mind. Look, for the last time, I’m not with Kiyo to get pregnant, okay? I’m with him because I love him.”

She sniffed. “I find that unlikely. If you just wanted a lover for pleasure, you would pine for my lord. No other man can match his skills in the bedroom. When he binds my hands in ropes or paints my flesh, I find no greater ecstasy than-”

“Whoa, just stop,” I said, holding up both hands. This entire conversation was grating on my last nerve. “I do not want to hear any details about your sex life with Dorian, okay? That is not part of this deal. No part at all. I don’t want to-wait. Did you say something about painting?”

A sly smile lit her features. “My lord has a great appreciation for art. Often, before we make love, I’ll lie naked before him and let him use my body as a canvas. He will spend hours adorning my flesh with color and design, often using the paintbrush as a means to pleasure me and-”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I asked.”

As the words left my lips, though, it shocked me that I could envision what she was describing perfectly. Dorian’s magic lessons had often involved tying me up-the necessity of which I was never 100 percent certain of-and he would spend a large amount of that time weaving the silken cords that bound me. He’d arrange them in interesting patterns and color formations, consumed by the process itself. Somehow, I imagined him being the same with paint. I could see his face lost in thought as he painted flowers or suns or whatever, his clever, sensual hands taking their time as they lightly touched my body….

No, not my body. Ysabel’s. I had no part of this.

“Let’s get this done with,” I said gruffly, hoping she wouldn’t guess my thoughts. “Then we can both go home.”

“Very well then. So, you need my help because you’re weak.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Jesus Christ. It was all going to be like this, wasn’t it? “I have a lot of power. I know how to control and use water magic-though I guess I could be better. Everyone assumes I must have inherited wind magic too, but so far…well, I’ve only been able to use it once.”

“You may simply be deficient,” she said lightly. Her eyes flicked to my chest. “Like in so many other ways. But we shall see.”

It kind of went on like that for a while. Every other sentence of hers was a barb. Yet, a lot of what she explained to me sounded similar to what Dorian had said, which at least gave me some confidence that she wasn’t bullshitting me. In particular, she kept trying to describe how I could reach out and feel different types of air-just as Dorian used to encourage me to do with water. Unfortunately, it had taken a very long time to do that with water, and I felt a little pessimistic about history repeating itself.

“There are different types,” she kept saying. “Don’t try to sense them all. Focus small.”

“What do you mean different types of air?” About an hour had gone by at that point, and I was growing weary and longing for Tucson. “Air is air,” I argued.

“Spoken like a savage,” she remarked. “Perhaps we should just end this and tell my lord we fulfilled our promise to try.”

I gritted my teeth. “Just explain it one more time.”

She shrugged. “There are different types of air.”

When she offered no more, I began to agree with her. It might be best to abandon this after all. A few moments later, though, she elaborated.

“There is different air around plants. Different air after we exhale. Different air when the land is foggy. Not that you’d understand that in this wretched place.”

My eyes widened. “Gas. Molecules. That’s what you mean.”

Now she was the one wearing the confused expression.

“The different types of air,” I continued, excited in spite of myself. “You’re saying the magic depends on feeling each kind…oxygen, hydrogen, carbon dioxide….”

I was speaking a foreign language. Ysabel seemed as confused as ever, but by this point, I was running away without her. It made sense. Dorian’s entire teaching method had been built on baby steps. It had started with me sensing a bucket of water and culminated in me using the water in Aeson’s body to blow him apart. Starting at the molecular level with air seemed daunting, but the human in me clung to the science.

And as I sat there, I began to expand my mind out, much as I did when preparing to use water magic. Air had always remained blank and untouchable, yet as I began to simply focus on a tiny part of it, it became more manageable. I thought about Ysabel’s breathing-oxygen in, carbon dioxide out. The world slowed down to a heartbeat, one breath at a time….

I’m not sure how long I sat like that. I lost track of where I was or even if she said anything else to me. Only her breathing mattered. At last, I could sense the differences, the changes in the air coming in and coming out. As she exhaled, my mind scooped up the air-the carbon dioxide-leaving her lips and flung it as I would a ball. My control was imprecise; I had no real target. The air brushed past her shoulder, ruffling her hair.

“You…you touched it,” she said grudgingly, clearly surprised.

I was alive and burning with energy now, too consumed by what I was doing to answer her. Using magic always set my senses ablaze, made the world seem more vibrant and real. I wanted to do the trick again but decided to see if I could work it the opposite way and exert control over a different type of air-oxygen. I waited again to get a feel for her breathing, letting my mind actually sense the different particles in the air. When I felt certain I could grasp the oxygen, I did-just as she was about to inhale.

Ysabel began to cough, her hands going to her throat as she tried to draw breath. Sucking the oxygen away meant, well, that she couldn’t inhale it. I froze in my surprise at the obvious yet not entirely unreasonable consequences-so much so that I couldn’t stop what I did. I was just…stunned. I was controlling air. The magic burned through me, and her oxygen just kept flowing away and away. It obeyed my commands, and I didn’t have the coherent reasoning to cut it off.

After several seconds that felt like years, the realization of what I was doing suddenly penetrated my higher reasoning. I finally cut off the magic, letting go of my hold on her oxygen. By then, Ysabel had fallen to her knees in a desperate attempt to get air-and probably because she was starting to lose consciousness too. At last, free of the magic, she drew a large, shaking breath, face pale and terrified. A few moments later, when she’d recovered herself, she looked at me accusingly.