Send Me Their Souls (Bring Me Their Hearts #3) - Sara Wolf Page 0,95
about that title,” he murmurs when we part.
“And I warned you about kissing girls,” I whisper conspiratorially back. “Who knows what’s going to happen after this. I might even fall in love with you.”
“Here we go again.” Malachite rolls his eyes to the ceiling. On their way down they catch on Yorl. “Who’s this?”
“Yorl,” I pull myself out of the intimate spell of Lucien and motion to the celeon. “He’s my friend. And, by some stroke of luck, he works here.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Yorl snorts, then realizes everyone’s looking at him. He makes a quick, polite bow. “Yorl Farspear-Ashwalker, Adjutant of the Black Archives. I was—” He shakes his mane. “I am the one who aided Varia in getting the Bone Tree.”
“Ah!” Malachite muses. “I knew you looked familiar. You’re the guy I helped catch the valkerax for.”
“One and the same,” Yorl agrees. “Thank you again for your aid.”
“Psh.” The beneather waves his hand. “That was nothing. I could capture valkerax in my sleep. With eleven other beneathers also sleeping,” he adds.
Yorl goes stiff upon seeing Lucien, and I remember their flash of a confrontation, back before the Bone Tree was found. But this time, Lucien nods at him, and Yorl eases into a nod back.
“You’re all right then, Zera?” Fione’s frown crumples her heart-shaped face.
“Right as rain, Your Grace.” I tap my cheek. “You can kiss me too, if you want.”
Her expression lightens minutely. “No, thank you. I’m saving them for someone.”
It goes unsaid, but it makes both of us smile. Varia. The Varia we’ll get back when we translate the book. The Varia who’s this much closer now that I’ve returned and given the Black Archives what they want.
Fione turns to Yorl, then, and puts on her best Vetrisian smile.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I’ve heard much of you from Varia, and more from Zera. Both of them seemed to insist we’d get along.”
Fione, shier than I’ve seen her in months, pulls the dagger out and unsheathes it before Yorl. He leans in eagerly, whiskers twitching.
“It took a little reconfiguring of the mathematics,” she admits sheepishly. “My uncle thought it was the metal’s ratio to the mercury from which the common base had to be built, but in actuality, it was the gradual introduction of the ore compound through acid—”
“Through acidic methods,” Yorl finishes for her, and as he looks up at her from the dagger, his eyes widen. “How did you realize that?”
“I had help,” she assures him, a blush on her cheeks from all the attention.
“From whom? Who else would know? The smithing methods have never been recorded. Which means…you discovered it on your own. You’re—” He pauses. “You’re incredible.”
“Oh.” Fione makes a high, wavering laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far—”
I lean in and elbow her with a wicked grin. “I’ve never once heard him use the word ‘incredible.’ I didn’t even think compliments were in his dictionary. Live it up.”
Fione pauses, Yorl’s eyes shining at her, and when she looks up this time, all the sheepish modesty is gone. Her face is set, ready.
“Will you help me, Sir Farspear-Ashwalker?”
“Just Yorl is fine,” he hurriedly insists. “Help you with what, Your Grace?”
She holds up the green-bound book in one hand, and our kingsmedal in the other. “This. Seven hundred pages of Old Vetrisian, some of it mixed with Qessen, and half of it near-illegible.”
“We’ll have to wait for the results of Zera’s testing, but…yes. Gladly. It sounds a true challenge.” Yorl laughs. Really laughs, a soft growl-purr under his breath. Fione looks equally pleased, eagerness beneath all her iron willpower. The celeon looks back at me, at Mal and Lucien and me, and nods.
“This may take a while. Let me show you to the beach.”
21
THE LITTLE
ROOM BY
THE SEA
The island of the Black Archives—Rel’donas, Yorl calls it—is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. But I said that about Vetris once upon a time, didn’t I? Maybe I’m just the sort of person to be easily impressed by shiny new places. Even taking that into consideration, Rel’donas does nothing but impress; Yorl leads us out through a door of the Archives that guards a staircase cut straight into the side of the black volcanic-rock mountain, zigzagging and switchbacking until it reaches a black sand beach at the very bottom, the emerald