Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,119
let him lead her to the boat and away from here. Away from all the terror and frustration and hurt and sorrow that Roseward and this strange, awful, beautiful world had come to mean to her. She didn’t belong here. Regardless of any deadly whispers or lies Kyriakos may have spoken about her heritage. None of that changed reality.
She was just Nelle. Peronelle Beck of Draggs Street. She wasn’t fit for this world of magic and frighteningly enormous possibility. She belonged with ordinary people—the worst, the roughest, the most degraded, the most altogether human of people. She belonged in a world where possibilities were as narrow as the next fetid alley, where magic was the stuff of stories and unlived dreams. Although there was a certain deadness in her heart at the prospect of returning, there was craving as well.
She was like a songbird suddenly liberated from its cage, discovering that the sky is just too huge and full of hawks.
“Nelle?” Sam said softly, taking another half step toward her.
“I can’t.”
Papa.
Amid everything else, the fear, the darkness, the mad frenzy of fight and flight and despair, she’d almost forgotten. Papa still needed her, still depended on her. How could she go back without accomplishing what she had set out to do? If, after all this time, she returned to Wimborne empty-handed, Gaspard would be swift to unleash his vengeance.
She might deserve Master Shard’s ax blade, but Papa did not.
“I can’t,” she repeated more firmly and drew away from Sam, pulling her shoulders back to face him without blinking or hesitation. “I’ve still got a job to do.”
“Then, let me help,” Sam said at once. In that moment he looked exactly like the old Sam, the boy for whom she had harbored such a passion. Her partner in rebellion and madcap scheming. He smiled at her, his teeth flashing in the roguish expression she knew too well. “We’ll do it together. Between the two of us we can steal anything. We can outsmart one old mage.”
“No.” The word came out as a sharp bark. Nelle quickly shook her head, softening her tone. “It’s too dangerous. I won’t put your life at risk.”
“If it’s dangerous, then surely you need—”
“Soran . . . that is, Mage Silveri won’t stand for you to stay. There’s nowhere you can hide on an island this small. No, Sam. No.” She shook her head again, her jaw tight. “You’ve got to go.”
“What about you?” Sam reached for her hand, but she retreated. “I heard what he said. He told you to go as well.”
“He’s told me as much before. I’ll manage.”
“Ginger—”
“I’ve got options. I’ve got powers at my disposal you haven’t got. It’s just a matter of opportunity.”
His eyes flared. She could see at once what powers he thought she meant, having nothing to do with magic. His face went grim, and he looked suddenly much older.
“I don’t like it,” he stated.
“Yeah, well, you don’t gotta like it, do you?” Nelle folded her arms and, with a toss of her head, indicated the boat on the shore. “You taking this one, or are we dragging your boat back out of that cave? I ain’t got all day, so decide fast.”
She could see further protests simmering in his eyes. But he did not voice them, and after a brief discussion they agreed that, as the two boats were practically identical, he would take the one near at hand.
He was fearful to return to the open waters of the Hinter, and Nelle couldn’t blame him. But she pointed out the Evenspire and explained in a garbled fashion about the bridge connecting Roseward to the mortal world. She could tell he understood not a word of it, but when she said, “If you just follow the Evenspire, you’ll get there before you know it. It’s closer than it looks, I promise,” he seemed to accept her authority on the subject. She hoped she was right.
As soon as they maneuvered the boat back into the water, Nelle backed up on the shore, wary of Sam, half afraid he would try to drag her off to Wimborne, bound or unconscious. He regarded her sadly from the far side of the boat, grasping the gunwale with steadying hands.
“Well, Ginger,” he said, his voice almost too soft to be heard over the wyverns’ chortling songs. “I . . .” He swallowed, dropped his gaze, then looked up to flash her one of his bright, careless smiles. “Take care of yourself. And come home soon.”