Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,31

hesitated, almost afraid to learn the answer to his next question but unable to resist asking. “How would you go about fixing it?”

“Oh! Well.” Nelle studied the air before the stone again, not seeming to see the stone itself at all anymore, concentrating instead on the invisible magic. “If I could catch ’em, I’d just tie them together. That should fix ’em well enough, at least for the time being.”

Soran nodded slowly. He had brought a small healing spell with him in the book he’d tucked into the front of his robes. He’d thought to use it to mend the stone, to repair the crack splitting the words. The result would be basically the same as the girl proposed.

But it was strange—so strange and so fascinating—that she should propose fixing the magic threads themselves and not even consider the physical stone. Soran could only see the threads if he concentrated hard. How expanded was her magic sight already, after a single morning of study?

And how far might he take her, given time?

Drawing the book out from under his robes, he quickly turned to the spell he sought, near the back of the book. “Miss Beck,” he said, “I am going to read this out. I want you to watch and tell me if you can see the spell taking shape. Will you do that?”

She nodded solemnly, pushing hair out of her wind-whipped face.

“Very good then.” Soran raised the book and began to read off the Old Araneli script. It was more than simple reading, of course. It was rather a form of connection—a drawing of his mind into the words, and the words themselves drawing his mind beyond into the unseen and yet ever-present realm of the quinsatra, making it perceptible and revealing the magic he sought to grasp and pull into his own reality. He read off the words and, using his mind, scooped up the magic and drew it out.

A little shimmering ball appeared in the air above the pages of the book. It had a liquid-like quality to it as it churned and bubbled slightly. The color was not one that could be named in any mortal language and was almost beyond Soran’s range of perception.

When he finished the reading, the little sphere hovered in place above his book, more solid now the spell was complete. Soran returned his gaze to the girl. “Can you see it, Miss Beck?”

Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes wide and rapt. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, I do see it. And . . . and I think . . .”

“Do you think you know what to do with it?”

She nodded. Then she closed her mouth into a firm line and nodded again with more conviction.

“In that case, be my guest.” Closing the book, Soran took a step back and indicated the sphere with a wave of his hand. Her eyes swiveled to meet his, but only briefly, as though she feared to look away from the ball, feared it would vanish if she did so. The muscles in her jaw tightened.

She stepped forward and caught the sphere in both hands. It immediately began to run and dribble, but she didn’t seem startled by this. With a few quick flicks of her wrist, she spread the liquid across each finger until they shimmered with the same magical brightness.

She turned back to the stone. Soran watched closely, wondering what she would do. He would touch the crack and begin the healing process from the physical side of reality.

But the girl had different ideas. She reached into the air, reached for the broken strands of magic. One by one she caught each little strand, the spell on her fingers enabling her to do so. She took the broken pieces and tied them together, securing the knots fast. It was ugly, awkward work. Certainly not polished magic.

A grinding sound filled the air. Soran wrenched his attention from the girl to the stone and saw that, while she worked, the crack in the stone was healing as well, closing as neatly as a sewn seam. She may have gone about the thing backwards . . . but she got it right. By the seven secret names of the gods, she got it right.

Nelle stepped back, her hands shaking. A little series of flashes like glints of sunlight on water appeared as the last of the spell evaporated, the magic returning to its own realm. The girl continued to stand there, staring at her hands, staring