“Fair.”
She stood against the stacks and motioned to the floor in front of her. “Okay, so I think if you start with your back on the ground,” she began as I lay down in front of her. “Yes, so now give me your feet and kind of walk?—”
“Ow!” she yelped as I scooted my feet up the side of the stacks, knocking down books and shoving my heel in her gut. She grappled for my ankles and raised them above her shoulders. I grunted as I tried to hold my weight above myself, my shoulders and wrists barking under the strain.
“Yes.” She struggled, holding my feet up in the air.
My back leaned against her knees and thighs, and she wiggled herself behind me, trying to line up.
“Yes, so I think if he is behind you like this…”
“There’s no way,” I grunted through ragged breath. “Look at the angle! He would break!”
A cackle burst from Isla’s lips, and she dropped my feet. I tumbled over myself and onto the books I’d kicked down.
“Ow! You brat!” I yelled.
She doubled over. Laughter bubbled from my mouth as I shoved her to the side, trying to get up.
“I told you it was impossible.” I laughed.
“Maybe this is supposed to be for two men?” she asked, craning her neck to look at the page in the book.
“Definitely still impossible!”
“You’re right. Maybe we elves have devolved since writing this.” She flipped to the front of the crimson tome, eyeing the date. “The elves that lived three thousand years ago must have had more flexible cocks.”
Laughter cackled from my lips and tears formed in the corners of my eyes. Moments later, footsteps shuffled down the hall. Isla turned to me with wide eyes, and we scurried from the aisle to meet the master of spells.
Vienah’sstrawberry blonde waves bounced as the wooden basket soared through the center of the massive tree. I’d grown fond of the young woman I’d met in Odessa, one of the few magically gifted in the Rising. A spattering of freckles dotted the human water witch’s light cheeks, making my heart ache as my thoughts drifted to Morwyn. Was it possible she had a little Votruvian in her blood?
A shudder ran through me as Lord Astraeus’s face flashed through my mind’s eye. After the Battle of Odessa, he’d sailed off on theHydrawith what remained of his crew to reconvene with the rest of his fleet of pirates from Votruvia. The Lord of Marisarma might have aided the Rising, but his motives were still unclear. I was glad to be far, far away from the pirate.
Vienah offered a small smile to Drystan, her brown eyes soft in the warm light of the rotunda. Drystan’s tan cheeks deepened as a tinge of red rushed to them. He offered the water witch a close-mouthed smile before his almond eyes darted away. The gesture was not lost on Isla as her lips quirked to the side, eyes bright as she delighted in Drystan’s awkwardness.
Isla led us through the stacks until we came upon a door off an alcove at the outer edge of the level. She knocked softly, and the vines twisting around the handle of the door unwound. We stepped into the brightly lit room, where a small man hunched over a table littered with scrolls.
Dark, slightly pointed ears poked out from beneath long, gray hair. His brown eyes raised up above his round spectacles and landed on me as he motioned for us to enter.
“Welcome.” He motioned with his hand, and a warm breeze laced with cardamom and spice sent four chairs smoothly sliding over from the corner of the room.
“Thank you for seeing us,” I said, leading our small group to the table.
“Khato, Master of Spells.” Isla motioned to the mystic hunched over the table and offered a low bow before introducing the three of us.
“Isla said you had some questions for me,” he began, his gray eyebrows raising as he motioned us to sit.
The fresh ache of loss swarmed my chest as Drystan found a seat across from me. He caught my gaze as he adjusted his glasses, a flash of pain sparking in his crystal eyes. We’d spent years in a similar place of learning together, looking to the older and wiser for guidance. This was familiar. It was as if we were back in the Temple of the Sky in Aedrialis, in Father Marcus’s scholar room. Guilt raked at my chest. Was Father Marcus even still alive? We’d left him behind…
I blinked, finding the rest of the eyes in the room on my face, waiting.
“I’m most concerned about the rings on the bones,” I said after divulging the details of my examination. “Have you ever come across this type of damage? Whether it be from injuries or illness?”
“I have not. Though there are scrolls here I’ve not had the time to examine,” he replied.
My hands kept moving, translating for Drystan without thinking.
“What if she suffered the same illness years later?” I asked, finally voicing the ridiculous conclusion I’d come to. The other trauma to her bones…the breaks, the fractures, they’d all happened again. “Would that cause the circular wounds to appear in the same way?”
