Rael popped over to the hospital to check on Ryol again, and this time found her sister and parents in attendance. Black Horse Guards all over the place.
Scar grinned at her. “You missed Madam Raod and Madam Koyl double teaming, Isakson, at high volume, about the advisability of not injuring children, nor damaging buildings. Ox, mind you, got there first and said something about the inadvisability of you and Isakson being allowed in the same hemisphere as each other.”
Rael nodded. “I . . . don’t know whether to hope this batch of kids is a sign of the future, or just a random blip of very strong magic users.”
Her father must have heard her voice. He stepped out of the door behind Scar, and closed it behind him. He took a deep breathe, then released it. And spoke almost calmly. “The main reason we never broke and told you was that we were concerned about your ability to parent. Congratulations on not killing your daughter.” A toothy non-smile. “Dare I ask where Exzy is?”
Rael reached into her inner jacket pocket and produced the bubble handles.
“How nice. Go. Away. We will deliver Ryol to her classes tomorrow, if her proper, Oner, doctors says she’s ready.”
Rael nodded and walked away. I can’t even be indignant . . . because it’s true.
She walked through the corridor to the beach, and walked around the glassy pits . . . noted the size of the area where the melted sand globs had impacted. Two power explosions.
And then with more control they attacked the sand dunes. She noted the depth of the melted holes in the sand dunes.
Rael stood beside one circle of footprints and pulled in the heat of the sun, the heat radiating off the sands. Looked at the sand dune thirty meters away. Started with small diameter punches. Larger. Then slice. Not impressive on a sand dune, but what it would do to buildings, vehicles . . . people. She rolled up as much power as she could hold, compacted all the power into a fireball and threw it. A football sized hole melted and blasted into the dune. Half the size of the older holes.
Right. I’m not a dangerous as a newly formed Compass of Trainee Warriors. But I’m damn close. And I’d better do some practicing myself.
And be careful. Because I really don’t want to kill one of these kids.
Then she headed back to the campus to repair the practice field.
“Relax. You will not be doing anything even close to that near-disaster.” Rael grinned ruefully at the level one kids. “And in fact, neither will the level three kids.”
“Ooo! Professor Rael! Did you get in trouble?”
“Yep. From the Police, from Chancellor Urfa, from Residential Director Ox, from the families of the kids injured . . . and there’s plenty of people who no doubt will be bringing it up as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”
By eleven, she’s had her fill of the spectators; frowning police, senior faculty members, and newsies with their vidcams on their shoulders.
The newsies had even intercepted students and asked “if they weren’t frightened.”
Her students has just grinned and talked about striving to reach their full potential. Too many other students had taken the prompt and carried on about being frightened to walk near the practice field.
In Advanced Martial Arts the grinning seniors had wanted to hear all about it.
Wave was grinning. “We were just heading that way for our session when this huge fireball climbs into the sky.”
Ijjy laughed. “Too bad it was during the day. It would have been even better in the dark.”
Rael winced. “I think it’s very lucky that there were so few students in their rooms at two forty-five.”
A laugh from the back of the dojo. A younger student held up his arm, sleeve pulled back to display a new red scar. “Princess Paer fixed it! Ha! I got a jot of Joy Juice, too! Woot! And all the sympathetic women! What a great night!”
Rael pinched the bridge of her nose. I am a bad influence. I think.
She retreated for lunch, into the double fast room and curled up in bed with a book.
The biography of Madam Haig Withione Paris. So it’s sort of work. If I don’t fall asleep over her early childhood, traumatic older childhood as her pushy control freak parents were verbally abusive over her late blossoming. Frustrated trying to force it, two suicide attempts, and finally an explosive blooming that started a house fire . . .
“Oh. Good. Grief.” Rael thumped her head on the reader, for lack of a better hard surface.
“Oops, lost my place . . .” She sat up suddenly, and enlarged the picture she’d accidentally wound up on.
Madam Haig, her husband, Minister Igly, two children . . . and the minister’s assigned princess, Jues.