Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,60

wind, watching the boats sail back across the channel toward the darkened shore. The rising sun gleamed bright on his head, making his hair seem whiter than ever, but Nelle could not catch a glimpse of his expression from her current position.

“Who is that?” Sam asked after a little while. He was shifting and stamping uneasily, his boots splashing in the shallow water on the cave floor. “Is it the cursed fellow? The crazy Miphato everyone says lives here?”

Nelle grunted, feeling strangely reluctant to say anything more. Sam was not supposed to be part of her mission or her dealings with Mage Silveri. His question, though perfectly natural, felt intrusive.

Besides, Soran wasn’t crazy. Taciturn, yes. Temperamental, undoubtedly. But not crazy. At least, not particularly so.

“He certainly sent those sinister fellows packing, didn’t he?” Sam continued. “Must be one powerful magician, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

“Yes,” Nelle hissed. “And he’ll send you packing just as fast, so if you don’t want to row back out into that”—she waved a hand to indicate the shadowed water of the Hinter Sea—“you’ll shut your mouth.”

Sam obliged her and held his peace. He also continued holding onto her shoulder, his fingers pinching harder than she liked. But she was so cold, she lacked the will to shrug him off.

They remained in that attitude until, at long last, Soran turned from the sea and walked to the cliff path leading up to the lighthouse.

“Spitting heavens, I thought he’d never leave!” Nelle breathed and sank back against the cave wall, out of Sam’s grasp. She ran her hands down her face, then pushed wild locks of hair back over her shoulders. “We’ve got to wait a bit. The island’s not that big, and I don’t want to run into him as we go.”

“As we go where?” Sam asked. “I hope you’ve got someplace with a fire in mind. And maybe a little something that’ll fill an empty stomach.”

Nelle peered up at his face by the light coming through the cave mouth. His tone was easier than it had been, but the hollow circles ringing his haunted eyes were still deep. They stood close together, the upturned boat taking up most of the narrow space, and Nelle felt the sudden urge to wrap protective arms around him as though he were a child. It was a strange sensation and one she quickly fought back.

She glanced around the cave, wishing she dared leave Sam here for the time being. It wouldn’t be that hard to fetch food and maybe a couple of blankets from Dornrise, make him a sort of camp.

But what if Roseward remained close to Noxaur’s shores for days on end? Sam couldn’t stay here, exposed to that darkness. She had to spirit him away to somewhere he could hunker down until they passed back into safe waters.

She would have to take him to Dornrise.

Every cold, shivering step of their trek across the island, Nelle expected to run into Mage Silveri. She was as jumpy at the prospect of meeting him as she would be of meeting another harpen massacre or even the dark fae lord from the beach.

The most frightening moment was reaching the top of the cliff path, where she knew they stood in full view of the tower windows. If Soran was up there, one chance glimpse would be their undoing.

“Come on,” Nelle urged, grasping Sam’s hand. He panted from the exertion of the climb and didn’t move as fast as she wanted him too. Where was the spry and boundlessly energetic Sam of the old days? His journey across the Hinter Sea had drained him.

She didn’t dare take the cliffside path she ordinarily used when traveling to and from the great house. Instead, she cut into the same grove of pines where Soran had sought shelter from the harpens the day before. The moment they were under the sheltering branches, Nelle breathed more easily. Maybe they would make it after all.

Roseward wasn’t big enough for her to worry about getting lost. Neither Nelle nor Sam, Wimborne children born and bred, was comfortable in forests, but they were both snatchers by training and knew how to move silently when necessary.

Only once did Nelle stop short, her heart in her throat. She tightened her grip on Sam’s hand as her ears strained, listening again for the sound she had half heard: “Miss Beck? Miss Beck, can you hear me?”

She felt Sam’s eyes on her and glanced up quickly to meet his gaze. He raised