Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,45
floor, but she paid it no heed. Her eyes, bleary with sleep, blinked across the room to see Silveri outlined by daylight as he stepped through the door.
His pale eyes met hers across the room. “Ah,” he said. “You’re awake.”
“Did you . . .” Nelle choked on her own voice and quickly coughed to clear her throat. “Did you go outside? What about the harpens?”
He closed the door, crossed the room to the table, and took a seat, pulling a spellbook from the front of his shredded robes. He dropped it on the tabletop. “The harpens are dealt with,” he said grimly. “Every last one of them.”
Nelle swallowed hard, a little shudder running down her spine. The mage must have used a great portion of his precious spell supply to do away with that flock.
She threw back the blanket and climbed from the alcove, straightening her skirts as she staggered to the table and took her seat opposite him. Only then did she realize: He’d left her alone in the lighthouse. For the very first time, she’d been inside unsupervised. And she’d slept right through it! She could curse herself for her own exhaustion. Who knew when such an opportunity would come around again?
Feeling the mage’s eyes upon her, she quickly shook her head. She couldn’t very well let him guess what she was thinking. “I suppose this means we’re floating in a harpen migration route,” she said hastily. “Think we’re gonna see more of the spitters?”
“It is likely, yes.” The mage’s voice was heavy, dark. “I will attend to the ward stones again to make certain they are strengthened, but . . .” He shook his head. The hood slipped back down over his shoulders, exposing his face to her view. The wounds from the harpen talons had closed, but dried blood streaked his pale skin. The effect was ghastly.
He turned away from her and studied the shimmering embers in the fireplace. There was a certain hardness to the line of his jaw. As though he knew something he didn’t want to speak aloud.
“Out with it,” Nelle said at last. “No use in keeping secrets from me. We’re in this together now. Something worse than harpens is out there, ain’t it.”
The muscles of his throat constricted as he swallowed hard. “The Hinter currents have taken us dangerously close to the coast of Noxaur. The Kingdom of Night, as it is called in your world.”
A pit formed in Nelle’s gut. She had heard many tales of the Kingdom of Night; it featured in every scary story told to every young child of Wimborne City, be they high-born or low. Tales of a realm where the sun never rose but for three days out of the year. Tales of deadly beings born of night and shadow—demons and skin-walkers and vampires. And worse.
She drew a shaky breath and expelled it slowly. “Figures,” she said. “Harpens definitely belong in a place like that.” She rubbed a hand down her face. Her body was still weak after the exertion of spellcasting, but this subtle thrill of dread filled her with a nervous energy. “I’m guessing you’ve never come so close to . . . to this nasty place before?”
Silveri shook his head. “As the ties binding Roseward to the mortal world loosen, we drift further out into the Hinter where the stranger realms of Eledria lie.” He swallowed again, and Nelle watched one of his hands clench slowly into a fist. “I should never have let you stay.”
Nelle frowned, a dart of irritation interrupting the steady thrum of fear in her veins. “No use in fretting about that now. I’m here.”
“Yes. Yes, you are.” Silveri turned to her, fixing her with the full force of his stare. Firelight reflected in the depths of his dark pupils. “It will be several days at least until you can safely set out for the mortal world again. The Evenspire is beyond sight, and without it to serve as a guidepost, you would be in danger of ending up on dark shores. You must remain here. A little longer.”
“Well, good.” Nelle crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “I wasn’t planning on going nowhere yet in any case.”
When he looked as though he might argue, she set her face in a determined scowl, daring him to do his worst. His eyes moved across her face, contemplative and stern. He seemed to think better of pushing an altercation, however, and turned back to the fireplace.