her with tenderness unlike anything she’d ever felt before?
It wouldn’t take much to find out. She could rise on her toes, place her mouth against his, and discover the answers to all these questions here and now.
Don’t be stupid, girl!
She jerked back, pulling her chin out of his hand, wrenching her wrist against his hold. He let go at once, and she staggered several paces away from him, nearly tripping over the hem of her skirt. “Well?” she demanded, shaking her head. Several curls escaped from pins and fell across her shoulders. “What did you see?”
Silveri’s hands dropped to his sides. He opened his mouth, closed it.
Then he turned from her. In a single swift motion, he scooped the wyvern from the table in a bundle of wings and limbs and tail and deposited it on the floor. He set to work corking the bottles, wiping and capping the quill, then placed all his tools into a satchel and slung it over his shoulder. Without a word he strode for the stair, the wyvern scuttling at his heels.
“No!” Nelle barked, surprising herself.
He paused, one foot on the lowest tread. He didn’t look her way.
“No, no, no,” Nelle said quickly, folding her arms and taking three steps toward him. “No, sir, you can’t just go through all that and leave me with nothing! What did you see? Do I have the spark? The inspiration?”
Slowly he turned his head, meeting her gaze across the firelit room. “There . . . may be something there.”
The words, though spoken softly, rang out in the air between them.
But before Nelle could think of a response, Silveri ducked his head and marched up the stairs. He vanished into the shadows above the ceiling, leaving her where she stood, her mouth ajar, her head spinning.
“It’s crazy. You know it is. Just crazy talk, nothing to take seriously.”
Again and again, Nelle firmly muttered the words. As she sliced bread and cold meats for herself and the wyvern. While she sat before the fire, chewing thoughtfully and listening to the wyvern’s grunting gorging. As she cleaned and tidied the kitchen, storing away the goods she’d brought from Dornrise. With each new task she tried to focus her attention, to concentrate, to not let her mind spin off on this new and exciting idea.
But it was there anyway, burning in her head like a newly lit fire.
Something there. You have . . . something there.
Outside, the storm finally broke in earnest. Thunder growled like a host of dragons, and rain drove against the stone walls and pounded at the door. Overhead, the great lighthouse tower groaned, and Nelle couldn’t help looking up now and then, wondering if the whole thing would come toppling down.
And still Silveri did not return.
“Not hungry enough to face me again, are you?” she muttered and put away the plate of food she’d prepared for him. Well, fine. If he’d had enough of her presumption and pestering, she’d had more than enough of his superiority and condescension. Let him brood up in his lonely tower with nothing but a wild storm for company. She’d had a long day. She’d just as happily turn in early.
But first she had a final task to accomplish.
While wind and rain rattled the door in its frame, Nelle plucked a small jar from among the other jars and packets of larder supplies arranged on the small shelf. She lifted the lid. Pungent vapors rose to burn her nostrils, and she had to turn her face away quickly. Once the first wave passed, she peered inside.
Only two doses remained of the Sweet Dreams ointment.
“Stupid,” Nelle whispered. She’d often told Mother she thought the Sweet Dreams the most ridiculous poison imaginable. What was the good of a drug requiring a kiss to activate it?
But Mother always smiled and said that for a lady in their profession, it was terribly useful. She herself had made free with the kisses when she went out on snatching nights.
Nelle sighed, rolling her eyes to the rafters. The wyvern perched up there, sitting fat with its full stomach distended, and watched her through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.
Nelle shook her head ruefully. “It’d be much simpler if I could add this to his porridge in the morning and have done with it.”
The wyvern burped. Which was about as intelligent a response as one could expect from a wyvern.
“Wretched worm,” Nelle muttered and brought the jar to the table with her. She set it down and took a seat. For several