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the manner in which the Autarch uses his power only strengthened her belief in the truth of the falsehoods the Autarch has spread to maintain his leech-like attachment to his sources of magic.”
    The words seemed to wash over Mara like a wave from the ocean. “I don’t understand,” she said.
    â€œCome, sit with me,” the Lady said. She moved over, and after a moment’s hesitation, Mara sat beside her on the red cushions of the folding bench, her hip pressed close to the Lady’s, warmer than Mara would have expected, as though the Lady burned with some hidden internal flame. The Lady put her hand on Mara’s knee. “Child,” she said. “The Autarch has lied, and those lies came to you through Ethelda. There is nothing evil about the power I have—the power
you
have. You
can
draw magic from living creatures without harming them, or yourself.” She pointed at Whiteblaze. “Does he not look healthy?”
    â€œBut when I do it,” Mara said stubbornly, “when I draw magic from other people . . . it hurts. Every time. As if it’s wrong. As if it’s . . . bad for me. And Keltan . . .” She glanced at the tent flap, already regretting her words turning him away. “He collapsed. He wasn’t the same for . . . days. I did something to him . . .”
    The Lady put an arm around her shoulder and pressed her too-warm cheek against hers. “That wasn’t because what you were doing was wrong, child,” she said, an indulgent chuckle in her voice. “It was simply because you were doing it badly. Because you lacked knowledge, and experience, and training.”
    Mara didn’t know what to think. She wished she could talk to Ethelda, but Ethelda was dead, slain by the Watchers who had attacked them on the beach, her body blown away into white dust by the Lady’s cleansing fire. The Lady had saved everyone who survived by drawing magic from her villagers before she reached the beach, and from the wolves and from the Watchers themselves once she was there. How could that be evil?
    â€œHow can magic be evil?” the Lady said, her words echoing Mara’s thoughts so exactly that Mara pulled away and shot her a startled look. “It’s simply something that exists, like clay or wood. It’s something that some people can use, and some cannot, just as some people can shape clay or wood to make beautiful objects, and others cannot, no matter how hard they try. Something that some Gifted people—people like you and me—can use much more effectively than others, just as some potters or carpenters are more skilled than others.
Things
aren’t evil. Only
people
can be evil. And that evil is revealed by their actions. The Autarch uses magic in an evil fashion, but it’s not the magic that is evil—it’s
him
.” She smiled at Mara. “When you contained the explosion at the mining camp, you saved scores of lives. How could that be evil?”
    â€œIt hurt Keltan,” Mara said. “It may have hurt others. There were many who were weak and sick in the camp. I’ve feared . . . I may have killed others . . .”
    The Lady shook her head. “Unlikely,” she said. “You would have felt it.”
    â€œBut still—”
    â€œYou weren’t doing anything wrong, Mara,” the Lady said forcefully. “You acted as you had to. Taking their magic hurt those people because you took it clumsily from at best unwitting, and at worst unwilling, donors. The magic I take—
skillfully
—from my followers is given
willingly
. They do not fight me, and so I can draw from them painlessly and at will. The wolves, too, are devoted to me . . . and this one, now, to you.” She reached down and scratched Whiteblaze behind his ears.
    Mara looked down at the animal. “He is?”
    â€œI have given him to