Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,29

gives one an appetite, don’t it? Eat up.”

Soran looked down and around into a plate of sliced bread and cold cured meats. The girl looked up at him through loose strands of red hair and offered a little smile.

He accepted the plate and somewhat unwillingly stepped back inside, leaving the door open. He noted with satisfaction that the girl had taken time to set paperweights atop all the loose parchment sheets; no stray breeze could send them flying. She’d also pulled the chairs closer to the hearth so the two of them could enjoy the fire’s warmth while they ate.

For once she seemed happy to let silence linger. They took their seats, tore off small pieces of bread and meat to pop into their mouths, and chewed quietly. The few times Soran dared to glance her way, he found her studying the fire intently without really seeing it. Her eyes held a light, dancing and bright, that may have been a mere reflection of the flames. But he doubted it.

They finished eating in silence. Nelle took Soran’s empty plate and carried their dishes across the room to the washbasin. Soran watched her go, watched the way the firelight played on fiery strands of her hair. The way the soft folds of her skirt fell from her narrow waist. The way her hips swayed with unconscious grace at her every step.

How could one so dainty, so lovely, be simultaneously so lethal? The strange contrast was utterly captivating.

Nelle turned. Soran quickly looked away, staring into the fire. But he knew she’d caught him watching her. For a minute she stood near the basin, silent and hesitant. Had he made her uncomfortable? Frightened her? Gods, what a beast he was! He couldn’t go offering the girl shelter one moment, then eye her up like a choice piece of fruit the next.

She returned to her chair at last and perched on the edge of the seat. “So,” she said.

He waited, afraid he might somehow betray his thoughts if he spoke.

“What’s next?” she continued at last. “We going to try another spell?”

Soran cleared his throat and quickly shook his head. “No, Miss Beck. That was enough magic study for one morning. We . . . we both of us need time to clear our heads so we can return with fresh focus.”

“Ah.” She nodded slowly. He felt her eyes watching him. “A walk then?”

Was she suggesting they take a stroll together? Soran cast her a sideward glance. Surely she didn’t desire his company!

“I . . .” He cleared his throat again. Why was his jaw so tight? “I must inspect the ward stones,” he said and rose abruptly. With a quick nod he indicated the door. “You may go where you please, Miss Beck. Only return before sundown.”

She remained in her seat for some moments, watching him from beneath her eyelashes. Slowly she stood, her mouth set in a line. “Very well, Mage Silveri,” she said and moved to her alcove, where she’d left her new cloak folded neatly atop the fur rugs. She wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling the fur-trimmed hood up over her head, and walked to the door, all without another look his way.

The moment she crossed the threshold and moved beyond his sight, Soran breathed more easily. Gods above, what a fool he was! He shouldn’t have agreed to these lessons in the first place, shouldn’t have agreed to any scenario that obliged him to spend time in her presence. Had the encounter with the Thorn Maiden last night taught him nothing?

“You’re a danger to her,” he whispered. The words echoed dully inside his head like the toll of a distant dolorous bell.

Setting his jaw, he moved to the armoire and bent to rummage among the spellbooks inside. Finding the volume he sought, he tucked it into the front of his robes. The wyvern, which had spent its morning dozing in a basket by the fire, chirruped lazily at him as he straightened.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Soran said, pulling his hood up and adjusting the folds of his long robes. “I know better, believe me. She’s safe here for as long as she stays. I’ll protect her. From myself if need be.”

The wyvern blinked and dropped its head, utterly uncaring. Soran muttered a curse in the creature’s general direction and strode swiftly across the room. He stepped out into the morning light, pulled the door shut behind him, and hastily secured the secret latch spell. Then he turned to face