Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,8

than nothing.

While Nelle watched the sizzling eggs, Silveri muttered more magic, using yet another spell to repair the broken chair leg. That task complete, he set the chair upright by the table, took a seat, and folded his arms deep into the sleeves of his robe, watching Nelle silently as she fetched two wooden plates and served up their meal.

Strange, Nelle thought, how comfortable she’d become with this little morning routine. Not the monster attacks and mayhem so much, but the somewhat odd and stilted yet undeniable companionship of sharing a meal with the stern mage. She liked to think that he had grown accustomed to her presence as well, that he might even welcome the change from his long solitude.

Fifteen years of exile Soran had endured alone here on Roseward Isle. Exile from his own world, cut adrift to float on the currents of the Hinter Sea between the many realms of Faerieland. That was a long time for any man to be totally alone. Small wonder, really, that he was such a brooding sort! All things considered, he’d been remarkably kind and gracious to his unwanted invader, agreeing to give her shelter and enduring all her teasing and her nosy questions with dignified grace.

And every night he battled for her protection. Battled to keep the Thorn Maiden from breaking through into her dreams and slaughtering her in her sleep.

Nelle shuddered as she served up the eggs. After she placed one plate before Silveri and took the other for herself, they ate in silence, Nelle using the one fork available while Soran daintily picked at his food with his fingers. His hands, while not wholly useless for basic tasks, were too clumsy to wield smaller utensils.

“What will you do with your day, Miss Beck?”

Startled by the question, Nelle looked up. It wasn’t like the mage to make small talk over a meal. A warm glow of pleasure at this unexpected attention bloomed in her breast. “I thought I’d go up to Dornrise again,” she said. “Fetch a few things from the larder.”

“While you’re there, perhaps you ought to find yourself a fresh gown.”

The warm glow dimmed as Nelle looked ruefully down at her dress. Only a few days ago it had been a lovely dusty blue, fresh and clean and by far the nicest thing she’d worn in years, since Mother died. Now the original color could hardly be discerned beneath all the mud and grime and pulls and tears. Not to mention the newly added smear of oatmeal.

“You know what, sir,” she said around a bite of egg, “perhaps I will.”

Something must be wrong. Very wrong indeed if a harpen had gotten through the protective barrier of the ward stones.

His face grim, his mouth turned down in a hard line, Soran marched along the south coastline near the edge of the high sea cliffs. It was bad enough that a unicorn had made its way to Roseward’s shores. But the Hinter currents always did draw Roseward near to the edges of the Dawn Kingdom where unicorns dwelt. And unicorns were such powerful beings, they could generally work their way through stronger wards than his.

Harpens, however . . . Soran shook his head, grinding his teeth. Even when flocked they didn’t generate particularly powerful magic. If a single harpen got through on its own, that meant one of the island’s wards must have failed.

“And if so,” he muttered, “what can I possibly do about it?”

The wards had been a gift from Queen Dasyra of Aurelis at the time of Soran’s cursing. King Lodírhal had wanted to set Soran adrift with no shield against all the horrors of the Hinter Sea, but his wife—a lovely mortal woman who’d taken pity on the mage—had insisted on providing him some form of protection. Lodírhal never officially gave his consent, but Queen Dasyra didn’t need permission to do what she believed right.

And so, ward stones had been set in place around the circumference of Roseward Isle, the ancestral estate of the Silveri family. Dasyra herself had written powerful spells directly into the stones. In the mortal world, they would have lasted a hundred years or more.

But Roseward no longer existed in the mortal world. Not wholly, at least.

Soran approached the first ward stone. It was a large, naturally shaped pillar of basalt, weathered by the elements. The written spell spiraled from the top of the stone to its base, and Soran felt its emanating magic before he came within five feet of the