Bethany had loved it, loved trailing sparks between her fingers, loved cupping her hands together and pretending there were glowbugs inside, never mind that the light was too orange for the things. She’d been afraid of the dark. She always had been. That was why their father had taught Bethy fire first, so that she’d never have to be alone in the dark. Marian is thankful for that. Even after she’d died, Bethy would never be alone in the dark. Not with Father there to make jokes and magic with her.
But Marian – she knows the spells, of course she does, her father made sure of that. Really, nothing works as well as a fireball for dealing with a swarm of undead or a flock of dragonlings, and it does constantly amaze and amuse her just how many people will reconsider fighting with her if she arches an eyebrow just so and lets the tiniest bit of flame sizzle over her fist. But when it comes down to intimidation, she’d much rather have electricity crackling through her short hair, or send frost spiraling down her arms and legs. …show more content…
And maybe part of that is the memories of her father’s laughter and Bethany’s cheering as Marian shaped birds out of flame, and it is easier to just avoid thinking about that, but – part of lightning magic is her remembering Carver, calm for once, as a baby in her arms as they watched the rain pour down and the lightning crawling across the clouds, their father next to them with Bethany asleep in his. That memory hurts just as bad if she dwells on