nodded shortly, wrapping her arms around her body, pressing the folds of Soran’s robes tight. “Tell Mage Gaspard I’ll get what he sent me for. And find my papa, Sam. Please. Make sure he’s all right.”
“I will.” With a nod, Sam gave the boat a final heave, leaped nimbly inside, and settled on the rowing bench. Sharp sea breezes played through his hair and the thin fabric of the borrowed shirt as he looked back over his shoulder, checking the angle of the prow, making certain he pointed for the Evenspire. Then Sam set to rowing with a will that would soon drive off any cold.
Nelle stood on the shore and watched until the hazy veil surrounding Roseward abruptly swallowed him from sight.
Nelle slowly climbed the cliff path up to the lighthouse. She was so tired, so very tired that several times she stopped, leaned her shoulder against the stones, and closed her eyes, breathing deep. But the air of Roseward had a reviving effect, and by the time she reached the top of the path, she felt better. Better than she reasonably ought to, under the circumstances.
Was Soran watching her? Lifting her face, she shaded her eyes to peer up at the gaping windows of the tower above. He had to know that she’d not left with Sam. How would he respond to her stubborn disobedience?
A thousand questions tried to pile into her brain at once as she walked the short distance from the cliff’s edge to the door. The Rose Book . . . She’d now seen the Rose Book, held it in her hands, and even worked some of the bullspitting spell it contained! Would it last much longer? Would she be able to get it away from Roseward and into Gaspard’s keeping before it fell to pieces?
Then there was Gaspard to consider. He was a powerful Miphato. He had studied forbidden magicks alongside Soran back in the day. Could he create the fresh binding required to restrain the Noswraith? He would know how, if anyone could.
She had to do it. For Papa. For Soran.
She pressed her hand against the fabric of the mage’s robe, over the boning of her uncomfortable, corseted garment where the golden locket lay hidden, pressed against her skin. One last dose remained. She couldn’t be squeamish now. If she had to grab Soran by the ears and take him utterly by surprise, the same way she surprised Gaspard on that dark night that felt so long ago, so be it.
And sooner rather than later.
She reached the door, touched the latch, and found it unlocked, to her surprise. The instant she pushed it open, a raucous, rattling bray greeted her, and a bundle of scales and wings threw itself at her knees, nearly knocking her flat. The blue wyvern leaped on its haunches, snapping its jaws and lashing its tongue. It should have seemed ferocious . . . only she couldn’t help comparing it to an overgrown and overly enthusiastic puppy.
“Hullo, worm,” Nelle growled, trying at first to nudge the beast out of her way. She soon gave up and knelt on the threshold as the wyvern flung itself joyfully into her arms, nuzzling her with its great rigid nostrils and whimpering with joy. “I know, I know. You want porridge, don’t you? Well, I can’t say but that I could use a little stick-to-the-ribs sustenance myself. Now if you’ll just let me through the door . . .”
She tried several times to rise but was obliged to accept the wyvern’s somewhat painful demonstrations of affection for several minutes before it finally relented enough for her to climb to her feet. Even then it pressed against her shins, rolled adoring eyes up at her, rattled its tongue, and generally contrived to get under her feet.
Soran was nowhere in sight, but then, she hadn’t expected him to be. Had he heard the wyvern’s ear-shattering greeting from up in his tower? Was he ignoring her?
Nelle moved to her alcove bed and slipped her arms out of the mage’s robes, leaving it in a pile on the floor. Looking down at the copious amounts of bare skin on display, she shuddered. Tomorrow she’d have to pillage the wardrobes at Dornrise again. If she didn’t freeze to death first.
“Bullspitting sister-wives,” she growled, heading for the armoire. Soran’s stash of shirts and trousers would serve until she had a chance to—
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Nelle turned sharply, one hand on the armoire door, just as the mage