Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,23

still having a conversation. Like last night, I mean. It’s rude.” Nelle slid the last flapcake on top of a stack, marched across the room, and plunked the plate down on the table. “Have a seat, sir,” she said, her words polite, her tone icy.

Silveri obeyed. The wyvern, which had stayed curled up in the middle of the alcove bed, rose, performed an impossible-looking stretch, then waddled across the room to curl up at its master’s feet. It whined piteously until Nelle set a stack of cakes in front of it as well. While it chomped and grunted noisily, Silveri, by contrast, didn’t touch his meal until Nelle had sat down opposite him and taken her first bite.

“They’re not poisoned or anything,” she said around a mouthful. “I ain’t that angry with you.”

He nodded and pinched off a small bite between finger and thumb. Before eating, however, he said, “I do beg your pardon. My behavior last night was indeed unbecoming. You are a guest in my home and deserve to be treated with courtesy. I am . . . somewhat out of practice.”

“Mmm hmmm.” Nelle took another bite. She watched him closely for several moments, even let him eat a whole flapcake before speaking again. “So. Sir.”

“Yes, Miss Beck?”

“When do we begin?”

He paused. His eyes flicked to meet hers. “Begin what?”

“You know what.” She chewed, swallowed. Then, turning her fork around, she mimed writing along the table with the blunt end.

His eyes widened. The next moment his brow pulled into a knot, and he dropped his chin. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that.” Nelle stabbed at a cake. “You said I have the spark. You said I can be taught. So why not teach me? Or at least give it a try. See if I’ve got a knack for it.”

“A knack for it?”

“You know. A bit of talent.”

He pressed his lips into a line, then opened them just enough to say, “The talent is there.”

“So why not then?” She set the fork down and laced her fingers over the plate, propping her chin. “It’s a miserable, cold, rainy day outside. I don’t want to go tramping about in it, and I doubt you do either. What else are we going to do with the time? I’m not saying I want you to train me to Miphates proficiency—”

“That would be impossible.”

“Yes. Fine. I get it.” Nelle scowled darkly. “I know I ain’t the stuff of mighty mages. But if you can teach me even a little, I might be able to help you.”

“In what way exactly do you propose to help me, Miss Beck?”

“Well, the worm, for one thing.” She waved a hand to indicate the wyvern, which had sat up on its haunches, belly swollen, and was now smacking its fleshless lips with glutted satisfaction. “I could help with that healing spell on his wing.”

Very slowly, Silveri nodded. “It is . . . possible.”

It was the first real acknowledgement of potential he’d uttered. Nelle’s heart jumped with surprise, and she couldn’t help the smile that burst across her face. “Really?”

Another nod. “Yes. Really.”

“In that case, what are we waiting for?” She leaped up, reached across the table, and snatched up his plate. “We should get started at once!”

His brow puckered. “I was still eating that.”

With a huff, Nelle slammed the plate down in front of him again. He picked up the last flapcake, using extreme delicacy despite the awkwardness of his hands, rolled it, and bit into the end. He continued to take small, precise bites, chewing thoughtfully and thoroughly each time, until Nelle thought she would go mad with impatience. Just when she was ready to explode in a torrent of invective, she spied a quirk to his mouth and a glimmer in his eye. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Bullspit!” she growled, stole the last two bites’ worth of flapcake out of his hand, and crammed it into her mouth, glaring ferociously at him. “Come on,” she said, her mouth still full. “Get your quills and inks while there’s still some daylight left in the sky!”

Silveri blinked up at her. Then, his scarred lips twisted back, revealing his strong white teeth as he tossed back his head and laughed.

It took rather more time than Nelle liked for the mage to fetch his supplies down from the tower. The armoire held a few spare quills and sheets of parchment, but all the ink was above stairs, along with the trimming knives, pumice stones, and other items the use of which