Then he put a weapon in his hands, a long knife, slender and deadly, and poised him for an attack.

Ready?

Crouching.

Now!

But when he opened his eyes to brace himself against the attack, the man was gone. Just as before. Just as it had happened every time. There was no one there. The image had died inside his mind. Whatever was real or might become real had been left there.

“I can’t do it!” he screamed in frustration.

Instantly Lariana was standing beside him, arms about his shoulders as she pulled his face close to hers and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Yes, you can, Reyn. You can.” She spoke the words with her mouth pressed against his, still kissing him, still holding him tight. “Look at me.”

She backed away and waited until he met her eyes. “I saw him that time. I did. But he wasn’t where you thought he was. He wasn’t in front of you. He was behind you. He was real. As real as you or I. He was there, and he was whole and complete. You did it, Reyn.”

“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t make it work. I would have known. I didn’t feel anything. You’re mistaken. There was no one there.”

“No one coming at you? Even now, behind you, where I can see him and you can’t? No one, you think? A man with a long knife, ready to plunge it into your back? Creeping closer?”

She took a slow breath and let it out slowly. “Better turn around, Reyn. He’s getting closer.” He didn’t move, staring at her as he might a crazy person, wondering what in the world she was talking about. “Reyn, turn around. Right now.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asked in disbelief.

“Reyn!” she screamed. “Turn around!”

A slash of fear ripped through him, and he whirled about in spite of himself—just in time to see his attacker coming for him in a rush, a big man carrying a long knife, all fury and brute force, his face crushed in on itself with unspoken rage. Reyn knew—and at the same time wasn’t sure—that he had done this. And while it wasn’t real, somehow it was, and he lashed out with his voice in defense, ripping into the man and exploding him so that nothing remained but a darkened swatch of air.

Gone, just like that. As if it was never there.

Which, in fact, was true. Yet he had seemed as real and certain as the rubble in which Reyn stood.

Lariana was holding him again, arms wrapped tightly about him. “You see?” she whispered in his ear. “You thought you couldn’t control your magic, but you did!”

“But it wasn’t … ,” he started to protest, wanting to be sure she understood his control over the creation wasn’t complete, but seriously lacking.

“Do it again,” she said quickly, not letting him finish. “Right now, while you remember. Don’t think about it. Just let it happen.”

So he did. He wasn’t sure how he had managed it the first time, what he had done to make it possible, and he wasn’t sure how to do it now. What he remembered at the end of it all was how when he opened his eyes nothing of what he thought he had envisioned was there and he just sort of let go of everything in his despair. So he approached it that way again, humming softly, making the man come alive in his mind until he was fully formed and then just opening his eyes.

Sure enough. Nothing. The image he had created wasn’t there. At least, not where he was looking. But when he turned upon hearing Lariana’s excited gasp, there his invented adversary was, behind him once more, coming for him again, a re-creation of the last one. He exploded this one, too, filled with euphoria and satisfaction at the result.

“Reyn!” Lariana screamed with glee.

Without waiting for her to say anything more, he closed his eyes and did it again, changing the look and feel of this new image, giving it a more animal-like appearance, a creature crooked and feral and hunched over. He let it wander through his mind for a moment until he had a feel for its movements, for its smell and taste—pungent and foul—all the while using his wishsong’s magic to animate and build on it. He could hear Lariana trying to speak to him, shouting something, dancing at the edges of his vision, but he blocked her out, concentrating on his creation.

Opening his eyes, he found it shambling toward him from just off to one side, jaws wide and slavering, claws digging into the earth. Lariana actually screamed in shock, and suddenly he felt her pressing up against him, seeking shelter. He wrapped her in his arms protectively, fully in control now, and exploded his creature, turning it into darkness and air.

He stopped then, panting for breath. All of a sudden he was weak from his efforts, the strength sufficiently drained from him that he felt he might collapse. He staggered, and abruptly it was Lariana who was holding him up and not the other way around. Dizziness swept through him, a rush of blackness enveloping him in the process.

“Too much,” he managed to gasp. “Too fast.”

Then he disappeared into the darkness.

When he came awake again, he was still exactly where he had been before. Lariana was right in front of him, holding tightly to his arms, making sounds, none of it intelligible.

Until suddenly it was.

“Reyn, look at me. Are you all right? What happened to you? Can you hear me at all?”

His gaze shifted to find her emerald eyes, and he nodded slowly. “I can hear you. I’m all right.” He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, to steady himself. “How long have I been standing here?”

“A couple of minutes, no more. You’ve been staring into space, seeing nothing, not speaking or anything. What happened?”

Her features tightened with concern, and he reached out and pulled her against him, cradling her head to his chest. What should he tell her? What could he tell her? The catatonia—he had forgotten all about it since he had stopped having to use the magic on impulse. He had thought maybe it was a thing of the past, an occurrence that would not result from his more controlled use of magic. But he should have known better. It was what always happened—what always would happen—no matter how the magic was used.

She backed him off abruptly. “Say something, please. Was it the magic that did this?”

He decided on a half-truth. “I think so. I think I got over-excited and used too much all at once. It felt like it overwhelmed me. The power is so great, Lariana. I couldn’t manage it there at the end. It made me black out.”

She studied him doubtfully. “You were conscious, but you were not able to respond to me at all. This is something more than blacking out. What’s going on?”

He experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. If he told her, she would feel obligated to tell Arcannen. That would be the end. Arcannen would send him away. If he knew Reyn couldn’t ever manage the magic adequately, he would lose interest.

“Can we not talk about it just now?” he begged.

She took his arm, led him over to a place where they could sit, and pulled him down next to her. He went docilely, his strength still sapped, his willingness to resist gone with it.

“You’re afraid of what Arcannen will do, aren’t you?”

Droplets of dampness glistened in her gold-streaked hair, and her deep green eyes glinted brightly. She stared at him directly, studying his face, her own mirroring such anguish and sadness that he could hardly bear to look at it. She seemed to want to help him, but he did not think she could. He felt her hands squeeze his arms as she continued to hold him in place, and there was a reassurance to their grip.

“He might not want to spend any more time helping me.”

There, it was out. He lowered his gaze, ashamed of himself. What was it about her that eroded his resolve so easily?

“Listen to me,” she said softly. “I will reveal nothing to him that will hurt you. That is my promise, and I will keep it. Now tell me the truth.”