With the drapes and shutters secured, Adhemar returns to Johanna's side amid the wreckage of her furniture and fixates his attention upon those little candles on the far wall. There is much kindling for a house fire around them, he realizes, and nerves could fray her control, and so as she focuses, he flexes a hand subtly by his side. Just enough to wake his senses, to reach out and touch the water in the air and remind it whose will it must obey, should the need arise.

"I am no deft hand with fire."

Then two the candles flicker to life and send shadows leaping and dancing across the walls and floor--

"It is not my gift."

"Nor mine," Adhemar replies, "but as Saint Agnes says in scripture, perseverance in the face of adversity is a holy virtue." Then he reaches out a hand towards the singed wick and gives his wrist an elegant twist, and a small tongue of flame gutters back to life.