A swirl of magic, silver shifting to green to blue to purple,
spun through the air over the heads of the people dancing in the fountain
square several streets away from the palace. Ambrose caught his breath at the
sight and turned to follow it. He took five steps before realizing Dylon had
continued moving through the dancing, laughing, rejoicing people. Shaking his
head, feeling more excited and awed than foolish, Ambrose hurried after the boy
and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to guide him out of the square. He
watched his grandson, a knot of worry and hope in his chest, until the boy’s
eyes widened and he turned his head, visibly following the swirl of magic
overhead. Good. The boy saw the magic as well.
He hadn’t given much thought to who he would Gift his healing magic to, when the day came to lay down the burden and blessing Yeshen had placed on him. Not until he saw Glynna Gift her duty and magic and years of experience to the little princess. His son, Dylon’s father, had inherited his late wife’s gift for words rather than healing, and chose a life of scholarship, serving the Repository, a vast complex of caverns full of scholars and scrolls and the histories of every kingdom on the continent. Silver sparks had appeared when Dylon was born, indicating he had the potential for healing, but Ambrose had seen no further proof of magic. Until now.
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