to going with you. I wish it could have happened sooner.”
She gave him a look. “You do?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
She studied him a moment. “See you bright and early then.” She picked up her book and went back to reading. “You do have something of a silver tongue, don’t you? You just make my little heart beat with excitement.”
She was angry. Or, at the very least, irritated. He started to say something in response, but gave it up. Whatever retort he made, she would have another poised on the tip of her tongue.
“I meant what I said,” he threw back anyway.
She didn’t look up—just gave him a dismissive wave of her hand.
He was a dozen steps removed when something occurred to him. An Ard Rhys would never dispatch members of the Druid Order on a mission like the one they were embarking on without telling them exactly what they were up against. Not if he knew, and Isaturin did. It would be putting Druids at risk unnecessarily. And there was no good reason for him to so here.
He slowed, and then turned around. Avelene was still reading her book. Slowly, he walked back over to her and waited until she looked up at him.
“Forget something?” she asked.
“Common sense,” he answered. “The magic we’re looking for is the wishsong.”
Her smile was brilliant. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“You already knew?”
“Of course.”
“And you didn’t think you should tell me that?”
“Well, you’ve apparently known for some time, right? Shouldn’t you have been the one to tell me?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “That was what I just decided. If we’re traveling together to find what might be a wild magic, we need to trust each other.”
She nodded. “And now we do. I do, at least.”
“I do, too.”
“Then all is right with the world.” She resumed reading. “See you in the morning, Paxon.”
This time she sounded happy about it.
EIGHT
ARCANNEN FLEW WEST THROUGH THE REMAINDER OF THE DAY, losing himself in the piloting of his Sprint, enjoying the passing countryside below and the sweet smells of the summer day. He did not spend time thinking about what lay ahead; he had done enough of that already. Instead, he gave himself over to clearing his mind and letting his thoughts drift wherever they cared to go. Rest came with difficulty these days; the long comforting sleep of his time in Wayford had devolved into catnaps and guarded dozing. Being hunted did that to you. Being prey instead of predator required you always have one eye open.
Unbidden, his thoughts jumped to Leofur. He wondered how his daughter was, how her life was going. He had not had contact with her in five years—not since Paxon Leah had given him his freedom in exchange for the medication that would cure his sister of her hallucinations and nightmares and give her back her life. Leofur had no idea where he was, of course. Like the rest of the world, she had been left behind. Not that they had been close before; not that leaving her caused him any particular pain. It certainly couldn’t have mattered to her when he disappeared; she had been trying to kill him. Or at least trying to help the Highlander do the job. She had forsaken him a long time ago.
Wasn’t it odd then that he was wondering about her now, that he found himself thinking about her when there was so little reason? But there it was, an inescapable fact. He supposed he wondered about her in a generic sort of way and not with any real hopes or aspirations. He did wonder how she had ended up with Paxon Leah and what had become of that relationship. He had sensed at the end that it might be more than casual, that they might have cared about each other in a more serious way. But he couldn’t say why he felt this was so; he couldn’t explain it with reasoning or logic.
Eventually, his thoughts drifted on to other things. To the boy, waiting for him back in Portlow. He didn’t even know his name. Wasn’t that odd? He had such plans for him, such possibilities in mind, and he didn’t know who he was. It was his nature not to get too close to people, of course. People were there to be used, instruments to be applied to a task. The boy was no different. Not in that way. In the way in which he might serve, he was decidedly