—From Treatise on Ascension, Philippe Reynard CHAPTER 11 The next morning, Parisa stood on a semicircle of pavers in front of the villa, the place where Havily had taught her to fly. Now she was trying to learn something new, but what Antony wanted her to do had her stomach tied up in knots. Jean-Pierre and Havily stood a good distance away, maybe twenty feet or so, giving her space as if they, too, sensed her struggle. Jean-Pierre had agreed to help with the training, and Havily, against Marcus’s wishes, had insisted on being part of the lesson. Havily held a sword in her hand. “The only way you can do this,” Antony said gently, “is if you lower your mental shields.” She shook her head. Her gaze seemed permanently fixed to his black tee just below the ribbing around the neck. She couldn’t seem to look at him; nor could she explain why. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered. “I know I asked you to help me so that I could learn really fast, but I’m kind of stuck here.” Only then did she lift her gaze to his.
