"Splendid," Cynthia said, surprised. "As if I had a good night's sleep, but I was awake. At least, I think I was."

"You were in a light trance, not asleep. That let you see the world in different ways." Lily grinned impishly, looking too young to have two well-grown offspring. "Now to see what you can do with your power. Mrs. Brewster, do you need any water heated?"

"That would be right handy for the washing up." The cook brought over a sizable pot of cool water and set it on the hearth in front of Cynthia.

"Put your hand in and see if you can warm it up," Lily ordered.

Cynthia dipped her hand into the pot, then visualized heat from that deep power flowing into the water....

With a small shriek, she yanked her hand back as the water began boiling around her. She rubbed at her reddened fingers. "I could have burned my hand off!"

"A few burns are part of the learning process." Lily regarded the steaming water thoughtfully. "You certainly mastered heat faster than any hearth witch I've ever taught. There is much more to learn, of course, but that's enough for one day."

Cynthia flicked her fingers at the fire, imagining the flames leaping higher. They increased in size a little, but nothing like what Lily Rainford had done. "This is a really useful power. Why do mages usually speak of hearth witchery so dismissively?"

"Because it's usually women's magic, and what women do is never taken so seriously," Lily said dryly.

Sadly true. If Cynthia had been born male, she would be a marquess like Allarde and she might have been able to escape Lackland. "Tell me more about the different forms of hearth witchery. Can I heat large amounts of air? Or the water in a hip bath?"

"Perhaps. It will take time and practice to learn the extent of your ability." Lily smiled reminiscently. "When I was first married, I would heat a small pond in the woods so my husband and I could swim by moonlight."

"Is Jack like his father?" Cynthia asked hesitantly.

"Very." Lily gave a small shake of her head and returned to her teaching. "To heat air, imagine walls of invisible energy around what you want to heat. Then fill the area inside with warmth."

Cynthia visualized a sphere a foot in width on her lap. When it was clear in her mind, she filled the interior with heat. Too hot for comfort! She hastily cooled it down to a more comfortable temperature. "I never have to have cold feet again! You do this with your house, don't you?"

Lily nodded. "When I first came here as a bride, I created an energy domain the size and shape of Swallow Grange. Within, I can adjust the temperature as I wish. Warm in winter, cool in the heat of summer. I never have to think about it because it became an automatic process that runs even when I'm sleeping."

Cynthia pursed her lips. "I wonder if I can do that with my room at the school?"

"It will take far more power there because of the suppression spell," Lily warned. "Experiment. You probably can't warm the whole room without using more energy than you can afford, but you should be able to warm your bed."

A cat appeared at Cynthia's feet. Naturally it was an ugly cat, a battle-scarred ginger tom with half his tail missing. The cat gave her a fixed stare before abruptly leaping onto Cynthia's lap in the middle of the ball of warmth.

She stiffened, tempted to shove the ugly thing off her lap, but it had large, strong claws. Dogs were all very well, but she'd never touched a cat in her life.

Lily laughed. "Cats are rather magical, I think. They often come when Rachel or I create warm spots. Caesar here is the ruler of all the Swallow Grange cats and gets first choice of all the best places."

Hoping he'd go away, Cynthia released the ball of warmth. It vanished like a small puff of warm wind. Caesar, alas, remained. Warily she stroked his neck and back.

The cat began to purr with rumbling intensity. The thick orange fur was very soft and pleasant to touch. She scratched his neck lightly. He purred even louder.

"Caesar likes you. He's a very good lap warmer, and you won't have to use any of your magic." Lily studied Cynthia. "When we were seeking your hearth magic, I sensed that you also have an automatic process running like the one I use on this house. I couldn't determine the nature. Perhaps something to do with your appearance?"

The faint lift in her voice made it a question. Cynthia felt the blood drain from her face. She stood so abruptly that Caesar had to jump for the floor. He gave her an irritated glance, then stalked off. "Jack said something about having luncheon here? I'm very hungry after all that magic."

"Sorry, I should have realized that you'd be ravenous after burning so much energy," Lily said apologetically. "I'll get you some bread and cheese. Would you like oxtail soup as well? That's good for rebuilding strength."

Heavy magical use did create a fierce appetite. But even more than food, Cynthia wanted to escape the topic of automatic magical processes and appearance.

CHAPTER 14.

By the time Cynthia and Jack started back to the abbey along the cliffs, the storm was blowing in from the sea in short, fierce gusts. No rain fell on them, but power danced along her skin, speaking to her in the language of wind and rain.

"I love these winter gales," Jack said as he gazed out over the channel. "So much weather energy to enjoy."

Cynthia glanced at the clouds racing overhead. "You're keeping the rain away from us, aren't you?"

"It would be a pity to ruin that pretty riding habit of yours," he explained.

Cynthia smoothed a hand over the heavy blue fabric of her skirt. "Your mother said that she'd teach me the hearth-witch tricks of cleaning fabrics later, but for now, it's easier to prevent damage in the first place."

"She told me that you're the most powerful student she's ever had for hearth magic. Coming from my mum, that's high praise."

"She's a good teacher." Cynthia would have liked to say more, such as the fact that Lily Rainford was also a good woman and lovely to be around, but the words seemed too sentimental, so she held her tongue. "The waves are really crashing down there."

Jack grinned. "Perfect for a new trick that I've learned. Would you like to see it?"

"Weather magic?" Cynthia asked with interest. She'd learned a great deal from Jack during their Dunkirk days, and was ready to learn more.

He nodded. "We should dismount for this. We can tether the horses in that stone shed on the headland so they won't get chilled."

Cynthia nodded, in no hurry to get back to the school. Jack was good company today. Her friend, no more and no less. Just the way she liked him.

The shed was open on one side, but the sturdy stone walls provided protection for the horses, who were less enthusiastic about the stormy weather than the weather mages. Catching up her skirts so they wouldn't trail on the ground, Cynthia followed Jack out onto the headland.

Pitching his voice above the wind, he said, "If you hadn't tied the strings tightly, your bonnet would be halfway to Dover!"

She grinned back. "Show me your newest trick, weather mage. I'm not easy to impress."

"I've noticed!" They halted above a small cove. The famous white cliffs of the Kentish coast were only medium high here, but the headland still loomed well above the clashing waves.

Jack gestured at a path that slanted down to a narrow beach. "In summer, this is a good place to swim and fish. I keep a small boat in a cave. But today, weather magic."

Cynthia waited with anticipation. Was Jack going to part the clouds and surround them with sunshine? That wasn't really new and exciting, but under these conditions, it would be a major challenge. This smashing gale had Arctic power behind it.

Jack extended a hand toward the sea, his brow furrowed with concentration. "Watch this."

Cynthia watched. To her amazement, after Jack had concentrated for several minutes, the water at the mouth of the cove began to rise in a column while a tendril of cloud spun down from overhead.

"A waterspout!" she exclaimed as the top of the column rose to the height of their headland. "I've only heard of them. You're drawing the energy from the storm?"

He nodded, his brow furrowed with effort. "It gets easier with practice, but a lot of power is required. Try it."

She concentrated on the churning waves. Draw the waves up, pull energy from the wind, from the clouds. Raise the sea....

Slowly, a smaller column wavered out of the water not far from Jack's. Though not as tall as his, she thought it quite decent for a first attempt.

"Well done, Cynthia!" Jack exclaimed, forgetting her title in his enthusiasm. "Can we run them together and make an even bigger waterspout?"

"We can try." Cynthia frowned as she moved her column of water sideways toward Jack's. This was tiring work.

The columns came together. Instead of making a larger column, both collapsed into huge roiling waves. Jack laughed. "Better luck next time. That's enough for one day. I need to get you back to the abbey."

Cynthia was about to turn away when something caught her attention in the churning gray seas. She narrowed her eyes to see better. "Dear God, Jack! Is that a boat out there?"

He followed her gaze. His gasp of horror matched hers. "A sailboat! It must have been caught up in the waterspouts and crashed on the rocks outside the cove."

Cynthia squinted through the gray storm light as she tried to see how much damage the small boat had sustained. It was jammed onto a jutting rock with waves battering the hull. Dark shapes clung to the wreckage as the sea tried to tear them away.

Feeling sick, she said, "There are at least three people in the wreckage. Jack, two of them are children!"

"The boat might have made it to the beach if we hadn't been playing with the water." He swore under his breath. "I'll have to go after them."

Cynthia stared at the waves. "Can you control the water enough to row out there without getting wrecked? It must be freezing! You'll be drenched and unable to row after the first wave goes over you."

"I have to try," he said grimly. "I can't let them die because I wanted to show off for you." He headed toward the path that led down to the beach.

He was trying to impress her? Not sure whether to be pleased or alarmed, Cynthia raced after him. "I'm going with you! Together, we have a better chance of controlling the waves and getting out there and back safely."

He stopped in his tracks and glared at her. "No! I forbid it! I'm not going to have your life on my conscience."

She glared back. "You do not tell a daughter of the Duke of Branston what to do!" she snapped. "I'm going with you, and that's final. We have a much better chance together."

He hesitated, his expression torn. "A better chance. But still not a good one."

"Stop arguing, you stupid boy!" Catching up her skirts, she darted down the path. "If we don't act now, it will be too late!"

She could feel anger rolling off him, but he stopped arguing and followed. Luckily the path was fairly wide, or they might have been blown off. Cynthia clutched her skirts, not caring that Jack could see her ankles and more. She didn't much like children, but they deserved a chance to grow up.

The beach was narrow with waves pounding only a few feet away. Jack bolted past Cynthia and ran to a small opening in the cliff a yard or so above the dense sand. She didn't notice the hole until he reached inside to drag out a small rowboat.

The rowboat smacked onto the beach, sending wet sand flying. It looked very small to be braving such stormy seas. Jack dragged the boat to the water's edge and set the oars into the locks.

Guessing he might try to take off without her, Cynthia caught up with him. "Can I climb in now?"

"Yes," he said shortly, realizing he couldn't escape her. "Concentrate on smoothing the water where we're going in."

She obeyed, clutching the side of the boat. The gunwales, she thought the edges were called. Strictly speaking, weather magic wasn't power over water, but in a storm, calming the air could be extended to calming the waves. She focused all her power on the area around the boat.

After a brief struggle with the elements, she managed to create a zone of still air and still water that allowed Jack to launch the boat. Though not before a wave splashed over her. Every inch of her beautiful habit was saturated and the dashing shako bonnet was torn from her head and lost in the water.

The sea was icy cold, chilling her to the bone. Since the outfit was already ruined, she used her numb fingers to rip the lower section of her skirt away so she could move more freely. There would also be less heavy fabric to pull her down if she fell into the water. Though she'd probably drown anyhow since she couldn't swim.

She was shivering in the bitter wind when Jack barked, "Use your hearth-witch magic!"

Exasperated that she hadn't thought of that, Cynthia created a zone of warmth around her. It was tricky to operate that in addition to her weather magic, but the blessed warmth kept her from freezing. Hoping she could continue to wield both magics at once, she extended the warm field around Jack.

"Thanks!" he said as he pulled on the oars. "We might survive after all!"

They cut through the water with surprising speed. Jack must have developed those broad shoulders from years of rowing.

"Guide me!" he ordered. "The waves out there could push us into the rocks. Link into my magic. We'll need all we can get."

She obeyed, reaching out until their power blended in a familiar, comforting rush of energy. Feeling stronger and more centered, she peered into the heaving seas, hoping the wrecked boat hadn't completely shattered.

Her heart constricted when she finally caught a clear sight of the vessel. Its bow was jammed into a cleft in the rocks while the stern was mostly torn away. Shredded sails rattled in the wind. A man clung to the wreckage with one arm, his other arm locked around two young children. Only their heads and shoulders were above water.

As she watched, another wave swept over the wreck, almost tearing the survivors from what was left of the boat. Cynthia focused their joined magic to calm the area around the rock. When it was as clear as she could manage, she called back, "Can you bring this boat close to the rock without our getting wrecked, too?"

"Watch me," Jack said grimly. "If you can keep the water around them calm, I think I can do it. Don't waste hearth-witch magic on me if you need more power to control the water."

She didn't point out that freezing would weaken him critically, but she did reduce the warmth for both of them. She daren't risk burning out all her magic before they'd rescued the shipwreck victims and were all safely ashore.

Jack sculled the oars as he looked over his shoulder to study the wreckage. "I'll draw up on the right of the wreck, but I have to stay at the oars to keep us steady. Do you think you can help them into the rowboat?"

"I don't suppose I have much choice," she said, not quite able to keep the tremor from her voice. She was painfully aware that the sea was more powerful and dangerous than she'd ever truly realized. All that protected them was this fragile boat and the magic they were both using up at an alarming rate.

Incredibly, Jack laughed. "When I first saw you, I never would have believed what a game girl you are!"

She wasn't sure whether to be pleased or insulted, so she turned her back on him, her hands clenching the gunwales as Jack eased the boat closer to the wreck. "We're almost there! A little more to the left."

Jack obeyed and the boat slid alongside the remains of the sailboat to hover a yard away. The man had closed his eyes, his face worn with desperate exhaustion. The smaller child, a girl, was so white and pale that Cynthia feared she was already gone. Only the boy, a little older, saw them.

"Et vous etes qui?" the boy asked in raspy French.

Cynthia answered in the same language. "We are your saviors. Take my hand!"

She reached across the gap. The boy broke out of his father's grasp and leaned forward to catch Cynthia's hand. His fingers were like ice.

Taking a firm grip, she pulled hard. He lurched forward into the water. Even with weather magic controlling the worst of the waves, the rowboat was rolling back and forth. Cynthia waited till the gunwale was tilted in the boy's direction, then dragged him into the rowboat. Gasping and shivering, he tumbled into the bottom, his face barely above the water that had sloshed inside.

Cynthia wasn't sure if the man was aware of his surroundings, so she called sharply, "Give me your daughter, monsieur!"

When he didn't stir, she pitched her voice to command. "Give her to me now!"

The Frenchman's dull eyes opened and he stared at her as if she were an illusion. She held out her hands. "Monsieur, if you value her life, pass her to me!"

Stiffly he released his death grip on the wreck and wrapped both hands around the child. When he leaned forward to pass her to Cynthia, he almost slid away from the remains of the boat, but he managed to grab on again.

She was hardly more than a baby, and cold, so cold. Cold as death. Cynthia wrapped the little girl in her arms, pouring waves of warmth into the limp body.