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Gazing at the image, he could smell the shisha smoke in the room and hear the tinkling of the woman’s coins on their dresses as their arms and bodies curved in snakelike rhythms. The chiseled profile of Roland haunted Letitia’s dreams. She couldn’t sleep so she got up from her bed, threw on her night coat, and decided a walk through the herb gardens at the back of the chateau would give her relief. Her breath became steadier out in the garden, the scents of peony and bleeding hearts were sweet and fragrant. Lavender and wild chives tickled her nose. The moon hung low in the sky and Letitia felt she could almost touch it when she looked up. It illuminated the labyrinth of shrubs that grew in crooked shapes and uneven sizes at the back of the mansion. The cool wind blowing through her hair was like a cold refreshing draught and she went up the stairs to her writing chamber with a renewed sense of purpose. Coming closer to her door, she noticed it was ajar. The light from a candle. Melkin said that it wasn't lost to him, he just wasn't motivated enough to use it again. But with time and practice he would be able to do that and many other things unknown to him.The other thing he learned was that exhausting his magic as a Battlemage was dangerous.A normal mage would just run out of power and be forced to find other means to fight. But if he exhausted his he would pass out, and how long it was for depended upon how much he over extended himself and how much needed to be replenished.Also during that time he would be completely defenseless. The best thing he could do would be to find capable companions to watch over him if that time ever arose.Magic was tied to the core of who he was, and there was a balance to be maintained if he wanted to use it. It was a form of forcing his body to borrow against future power for a short while, but it would demand heavy repayment every time.Dusty always felt that there was also something else that Melkin wanted to tell him, but.
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