Sonder drew in a breath, and she did as she had done more often recently.
She called on fire.
For a moment, Thiliel's eyes sharpened, a glint breaking her stony composure. But as quickly as it came, it dulled.
"Fire," she said, unimpressed. "It's still just fire, no matter how brightly it burns. Show me something more."
The flame winked out in Sonder's hand. Usually it was enough to impress those who looked on it.
Sonder lowered her hand. She was not here to amuse.
The air rippled around her as she reached again, no movement, no incantation, and Thiliel's chair quivered. Slowly, it rose, hanging weightless in the air with the Thole still seated upon it.
"Telekinesis," Thiliel murmured. The faintest crease formed between her brows, though her tone remained flat. "Better. What else?"
Sonder let the chair down.
The air about her shimmered faintly as she called another spell. A thin veil stretched between her and the red elf, a barrier that bent the drifting light and made her figure blur.
She could make it as thick as the walls of Gloam, or thinner, almost like glass.
Thiliel tilted her head, circling slightly. "A ward."
Lacuna, wide-eyed, muttered, "She's not even breaking a sweat."
Thiliel ignored him. Her gaze stayed on Sonder, sharp and cutting. "Is that the limit of your road, outlander? Fire, floating chairs, wards?"
Sonder's lips pressed thin. What else could she show?
"I can sense things," she said.
"From far away?"
That stumped her. "Not that far. Around myself for some distance."
Thiliel put a hand on her chin, then pointed at the wall to her right. "Can you tell me what's beyond that wall?"
Sonder looked at the wall and spread her awareness beyond it. She focused just past it, not bothering to reach behind her.
"A person stands there," Sonder said.
The shape was tall, taller than her by far, like all the Thole she had seen.
"Man or woman?" Thiliel asked.
It was easier to find out than she thought. From the top of the figure, she sensed something jutting upward: a mohawk. From what she had gathered in Gloam, the men usually wore that style.
"It's a man."
Thiliel's head tilted slightly. Her eyes flicked toward the wall as if to confirm, though her expression gave nothing away.
"Correct. That's where I told my nephew to wait." She stepped closer. "You see beyond the eye. That's good. But tell me, can you do more than watch? Can you strike? Can you destroy?"
Sonder hesitated. She had never liked that part of magic. But she could see in Thiliel's eyes that it might be the one thing that decided her worth.
She chose the quickest, and most extreme, method. No elemental blasts. No mana bursts.
Her senses spread again, this time focused entirely on Thiliel herself.
There were threads in and over the woman, the strands that made her.
Sonder raised her hand, palm open. With effort, she caught one thread, thin but taut, and tugged.
The magic resisted, fighting to hold. Then it threatened to unravel.
The Thole woman staggered. For an instant her composure cracked and her throat seized. She turned sharply aside, braid whipping, and retched onto the floor.
Lacuna's eyes widened. He half-raised a hand, then froze, as though even helping her would be dangerous.
Sonder stood rigid.
Thiliel's breath came harsh and ragged. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then straightened, her pale red face glistening with sweat. Her eyes cut back to Sonder, not furious, but alive, sharp, gleaming with something fierce.
"Destruction," she rasped. Her voice trembled once, then steadied, gravel grinding in her throat. "You could have split me open if you wished. That was but a taste, wasn't it?"
Thiliel laughed once, a rough, ugly sound that turned into a cough. Still, she smiled. "No movements. No words."
She circled Sonder, then stopped. "That, outlander, is no child's trick. That is a weapon."