“I am,” Alara admitted, wincing at the admission.
“Dancers lean towards close combat,” he said.
“My uncle is the Stormcaller,” Alara said, a bit of her temper slipping in the declaration. “I think I am well acquainted with what it is that dancers do.”
“Well, Mrs. Moritt, if you can call storm clouds and lightning down on whatever they put in front of you during these trials, then I don’t think that there is a whole lot that I can do other than give you the books you are to study. Can you do those things?”
“No.” She felt the urge to avert her eyes, but she kept them firm on the man’s grinning face despite the anger that was building. In just a few short words, he had managed to reduce her emotional barricades to rubble and set her mind to thinking like the nineteen-year-old girl she s
