‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘Never better,’ Kinlear said, and offered her a small smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’ Ezer asked.
She couldn’t help but notice how hollow his breathing was, how he sniffled and ran a hand across his eyes again. How his cane rapped heavier than it normally did as they walked away.
‘For hope,’ he said. ‘Someday, they’ll sing songs about you. The Raphonminder who changed the fate of Lordach.’
And then he was silent.
She turned back only once to find that the raphon had scooted a bit closer to her cloak. And buried her scarred beak in the fabric, as if to breathe Ezer in.
17
Ezer spent the rest of the day alone, curled up in the corner of the library beside a flickering fire. Her body was bruised something fierce, but a bit of Izill’s salve took the pain away.
She had lunch on the third floor while she scribbled notes down in an old worn journal, the sound of the nib scratching on parchment like a balm to her soul.
Her pocket warmed suddenly.
She nearly yelped from the heat, like an ember had sparked to life on the Speaking stone. She grasped it, hoping that would settle the surge of runic power.
Arawn’s voice caressed her mind from far away.
Alive and well after today’s session?
She’d never get used to that feeling of a human voice in her mind. It wasn’t like the wind’s whisper, a delicate thing that commanded her verysoulto listen.
This was like he was well and truly here with her. She swore she could even smell his earthen scent.
I’m alive. But am I well?She thought back, then winced as a bit of ghostly pain echoed across her ribs.That remains to be seen. I could do with a bit of sugar to take the edge off.
He was quiet for a moment, and she wondered if he’d gone.
But then the stone warmed again, and his voice filled her mind.
I may die if this meeting with my father and the southern emissaries reaches its fourth hour. Should I survive … I’ll see what I can do.
The stone went cold, like he’d dropped his own hand from his.
She spoke to no one else over the next hour beyond the librarian, who was an older Sacred Scribe, bent at the back as he wheeled past, pushing carts of books. A small orange cat followed him, tail twitching in a very Six-like way.
‘Excuse me,’ Ezer said. ‘Excuse me?’
She’d never been very good at approaching people, always unsure of what their reaction would be when they saw her scars.
But the librarian did not balk at her.
In fact, he squinted at her, as if he could scarcely see. ‘If you’re looking for more literature on raphons, I’m afraid you’ll have to search a bit higher than I’ve time for these days,’ he said, glancing up. ‘Upper levels.’
‘Ah,’ Ezer said. ‘That’s … unfortunate.’
He didn’t ask why.
He just shrugged as the cat began to circle around his ankles, purring loudly.
‘May I?’ Ezer asked, holding a hand towards the cat as it yowled up at him.
