he pressed a small book into her hand as well as her newly magicked quill. This surprised her more than a little. While it wasn’t unusual for the mage to carry one of his spellbooks with him on his rambles across the island, he’d never entrusted one to Nelle. What spells did it contain? And why did he think she would need them?
“What’s the good of me taking this?” Nelle asked, twirling the quill in her fingers. “Or am I to stick a bottle of ink in my pocket everywhere I go?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Part of the quill-binding includes a temporary spell that enables your quill to write without ink. It will fade over time but may be reestablished at need.”
More questions rose to Nelle’s lips, but he gave her no chance to ask them. Scarcely allowing her time to don her cloak, he escorted her across the room and over the threshold, then shut the door behind her with a final-sounding thud. She stood on the step for some moments, staring at the latch, willing it to turn, willing the mage to open the door and speak again. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted him to say. Something. Anything.
But the latch did not turn.
Nelle whirled around and faced the afternoon before her. With a little growl and a muttered, “Bullspit!” she set off walking.
She didn’t go far. Just far enough that if Silveri watched from his tower window he would think she had taken the path toward Dornrise. She waited half an hour for the ruse to be convincing before creeping back to the tower again. There she crouched behind a shielding grove of trees, tucked the folds of her cloak tightly against the chill wind, and settled in to wait.
Minutes slowly slipped away, measured only by her heartbeat. At last, face numb and legs sore from sitting in an awkward position, she pulled out the book Silveri had given her. Was it one of his early spellbooks? Did he expect her to read through some of his old work while she wandered the island? It wouldn’t be such a terrible way to pass the time. At least she could further familiarize herself with the Old Araneli characters.
But when she opened the book, she found blank pages. Frowning, she leafed through from beginning to end. Blank, blank, blank. Nothing but blank.
“What in the boggarts?” she whispered. Her frown deepening, she pulled out the quill, studied it from every angle, then looked at the book again. Was she supposed to . . . practice?
“This is ridiculous.” She slammed the book shut and tucked both items back under her cloak. Just as she did so, she heard the door creak. Breath quickening, she peered out from her hiding place.
Silveri appeared on the doorstep, his hood up over his head. Pulling the door fast behind him—and no doubt triggering the locking spell—he set off down the cliff path to the beach below. Nelle watched until his hood vanished from sight.
Then, with another emphatic “Bullspit,” she staggered to her prickling feet, gathered her skirts, and set off after him.
Eleven days. Eleven days she had spent on Roseward. That was all. Yet it felt so much longer. She tramped down the path, keeping well enough back to avoid attracting Silveri’s attention. Just eleven days ago she’d tried to land on that beach down below and been chased off by the very wyverns even now wheeling overhead. She’d been terrified nearly out of her wits, barely able to grasp the fact that such creatures really could exist. Now she accepted their presence as easily as she would accept seagulls or pelicans soaring on the air currents above the waves.
And that hooded figure picking his way across the pebbly beach . . . How could a mere eleven days have changed her entire perspective on this man? This scarred, broken, murderous, arrogant, condescending, fascinating man.
She reached the end of the path and stepped onto the hard stones of the beach strip, still trailing well behind Silveri. He walked close to the cliff, and the wyverns flocked around him. They chortled and sang, and some of them pulled at his robes. One knocked his hood back, and his long fair hair flowed free. He turned, and Nelle caught in profile the flash of his smile as he laughed at the high-spirited wyvern.
Her heart caught in her throat. It was so strange. So impossible. But undeniable.
When he smiled like that, she couldn’t even see