Vane pushed off the wall and wandered closer, peering at her hands. "That was more than 'barely anything,'" he said. "First time Dante taught me blood control I nearly ripped his arm off."
"You didn't get that close," Dante said.
"I got close enough to make you swear," Vane shot back.
"Anyone would swear if you were hurtling at their face," Dante said.
Elissa's lips quirked despite everything.
Dante pointed at the circle under her feet. "Step out," he said.
She obliged, boots scuffing the edge of the chalk.
He drew another, smaller ring just in front of her with the tip of his boot. "Stand here," he said.
She moved again. "What now?" she asked, wary.
"Now," Dante said, "we teach you not to unravel when it fails."
Her stomach dipped. "You think I unravel?"
"I think," he said evenly, "you treat every missed spark like proof that you were a mistake to send here. That is not useful."
She stiffened. "I—"
"We can't afford you curling in on yourself every time something doesn't work," he went on, voice calm but firm. "Hollow will not give you a clean, obedient magic. You need to practice missing and staying anyway."
The echo of last night's nightmare rose up suddenly: You can't even stand. How will you stand when I come?
Her throat felt tight. "How do you…practice missing?" she asked.
"For the next few minutes," Dante said, "I'll tell you to call it. Sometimes, you try. Sometimes, you don't. No pattern. When you fail—because you will—you breathe. You stay. You do not look at anyone else for permission to keep standing. Especially not him."
He flicked his chin, almost imperceptibly, toward Alistair.
Heat flared under her skin. "I wasn't—" she began.
"You were," Dante said, not unkindly. "Every time. It's an old habit. Break it."
She wanted the ground to open and swallow her.
From the edge of the yard, Alistair's voice floated over, quiet and cool. "He's right."
Three small words, but they landed heavy. Elissa resisted the instinct to whip her head toward him.
She focused on Dante instead. "Fine," she said. "I'll…try."
"Good," he said. "Hands up again."
She obeyed, fingers shaking more than before.
"Close your eyes."
The darkness came again. This time, it felt less like falling and more like holding her breath.
"Now," Dante said.
She reached. Nothing came. The familiar twist of shame tried to claw up her spine.
"Breathe," Dante said softly. "In. Out. Good. Again. Now."
She pulled. A thin spark flickered. Held. Died.
Relief rushed through her, bright and dizzy. She nearly sagged with it.
"That," Dante said, "is the same as the last one. Do not treat it like a miracle."
Her cheeks burned. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize for succeeding," he said. "Or for failing. Just note it. Next. Now."
They went on like that—sometimes she tried and nothing answered. Sometimes she tried and a tiny light came. Sometimes he said "now" and she stood still, doing nothing, heart hammering at the choice to let the moment go.
Those were the worst. Choosing to fail, even in practice, made everything inside her scream.
They will see the size of your magic and think that is all you are, her grandmother's voice murmured. You must not make the same mistake.
By the time Dante lifted his hand to stop, Elissa's head throbbed behind her eyes. Her hands felt raw, even though there were no marks on them.
"You're done," he said. "For today."
She opened her eyes slowly. The yard swam for a second before settling. Vane was watching her with an expression she'd never seen on him before—half respect, half worry.
"You did well," Vane said. "Better than I did at anything the first day. Dante can verify."
Dante inclined his head a fraction. "You called it. You missed. You stayed. That's progress."
"Progress," she echoed, voice thin. "In becoming a very impressive…sparkler."
"If you think sparks are harmless," Dante said quietly, "you don't understand kindling."
Her gaze slipped, inevitably, to Alistair.
He hadn't come closer. He stood where he'd been the whole time, posture perfect, cloak unmoved by fidget or shift. But his eyes—those sharp, pale eyes—were locked on her like he was weighing her on invisible scales.
No hint of softening. No smile. No approval. Just that hard intensity chewing at the edges of his control.
He looks furious, she thought, stomach dropping. Or worse. He looks disappointed.
Maybe he'd expected her to surprise them all, to suddenly blaze bright and make this entire alliance feel less fragile. Instead, he'd watched her scrape and strain for sparks that barely lived long enough to matter.
He held her gaze for a heartbeat that felt much too long.
Then he turned away.
"Keep at it," he said to Dante, not sparing her a glance now. "We don't have much time."
He walked off the yard, cloak cutting a dark line against the winter light.
Elissa's chest went strangely hollow.
To anyone else, it might have just looked like a prince leaving a training session. To her, it felt like a verdict.
Vane exhaled sharply. "For the record," he said, watching Alistair's back, "that look he has? That's not about you."
Her laugh came out brittle. "It certainly feels like it."
"He's angry at Hollow. At the situation. At the bond. At everything," Vane said. "He just…forgets his face is terrifying."
"Vane," Dante warned quietly.
Vane held up his hands. "What? It's true."
Dante turned back to Elissa. "Go rest," he said. "Your head will hurt worse later if you don't. Eat something. Drink water. No more magic today."
She nodded, throat tight. "All right."
"And Elissa," Dante added, as she stepped out of the circle.
She paused. "Yes?"
His eyes were steady on her. "You are not nothing," he said simply. "Don't talk to yourself like you are. Sparks are not nothing."
The words hit like an unexpected hand catching her elbow when she'd been sure she was about to fall.
She swallowed hard. "I'll…try to remember that," she said.
Vane gave her a small, lopsided smile. "And if you forget, we'll annoy you until you remember."
She managed a real, if tired, huff of breath at that.
As she left the yard, the cold air felt sharper on her hot cheeks. Her fingers still shook. Her head ached. Alistair's unreadable gaze burned like a brand between her shoulders.