Or would have said, before recent events.
She remembered early in the revolution, a man—really, a boy; he couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old—had tried to liberate one of the spellbooks from the first floor of the Great Library. He’d said in his trial that he’d wanted to use it to end a drought on one of the eastern islands. As his punishment, he’d been forced to drink water until his body convulsed. She didn’t know if he’d survived or not. She did know that his image had been printed in the revolutionaries’ pamphlets the following week.
“That’s why some of the villagers aren’t so happy to see you,” Bryn said. “They blame all cityfolk for the emperor’s new policies, but don’t you worry—they’ll warm up to you once they open their eyes and realize you’re just another islander like them and not a Big Bad City Dweller who kept magic locked up away from them.”
That was . . . uncomfortably close to Kiela’s job description. She wanted to protest that it wasn’t a librarian’s choice who accessed the books, but it was easier to nod and agree.
“Now,” Bryn said with another of her enormous smiles, “what can I help you with?”
Kiela climbed the stairs up the cliff with a sack full of supplies, including a loaf of bread, a bag of sugar, a pot of honey, several bars of soap, and several packets of seeds. Also, she had a chicken under her arm. She hadn’t actually meant to buy a chicken—she’d been thinking of the eggs that her new neighbor Larran had left her and how nice it would be to have a regular supply of them when the word had come out of her mouth, and Bryn had insisted on it.
Thinking of the baker, Kiela smiled. The woman was a force to be reckoned with. Kiela didn’t know if the village had a mayor, but if so, they were clearly overshadowed by Bryn. Or at least overwhelmed by the flow of her words. She’d cajoled everyone until they’d produced everything that Kiela thought she needed: flour, sugar, salt, butter, seeds for her upcoming garden, as well as soap and candles. Also a loaf of Bryn’s bread. And, of course, the chicken. Kiela had used up the vast majority of the coin she’d brought with her to Caltrey, but she felt, with Bryn bargaining for her, that she’d gotten a good price. Even on the chicken.
The hen squirmed a bit under Kiela’s arm as she climbed, but once they were halfway up, the hen settled down, as if realizing she’d be in peril if Kiela dropped her, which at least showed some modicum of common sense.
She’d been gone longer than she’d intended—Bryn liked to talk, especially at high speeds, and it felt as if everyone in the village who was on shore wanted to meet the daughter of the nice, young, and foolish couple who’d left for the capital—but she thought that Caz would be proud of her. And she was looking forward tonothaving to talk to anyone but the spider plant for a nice long while.
As she made her way through the thick forest growth, following the trail hacked clear by the farmer, Kiela thought she heard voices ahead.Must be birds,she thought. Certainly no one was at the cottage besides Caz, and he didn’t have a history of talking to himself.
Closer, though, it sounded like words, not birdsong.
My imagination?She’d been part of more conversations today than in the past . . . well, in a very long time. The voices were still ringing in her head.
Except that sounded like Caz. And Larran?
He couldn’t be back again, could he? So soon? She’d just finished talking with people! Lots of people! She wanted to burrow into her house and not have to worry about what she’d say and what he’d say and all of that back-and-forth talking nonsense.
Stepping out of the woods, Kiela saw Larran up on her roof. He had a tool belt strapped around his waist, he was shirtless, and he was streaked with soot. Her brain caught on the shirtless detail for a moment, and she stared with her mouth open. She’d never seen quite so many muscles, and they all seemed to be in use as he worked on her chimney.No wonder I shrieked when he appeared so unexpectedly. He’s huge.In close quarters . . . those were alotof muscles.
Belatedly, she realized that Caz was perched on the roof with him, his tendrils sprawled on either side of the ridgepole to keep himself balanced. He was telling Larran about the time Kiela had accidentally lost her balance while at the top of one of the library ladders and instead of falling backward and merely injuring herself like a good little librarian, she’d grabbed the nearest books and somehow succeeded in knocking over the entire bookshelf. It had fallen onto the next and the next, cascading into the most humiliating moment of her professional life.
“Caz,” Kiela said sternly.
“What? It was funny.”
In hindsight, yes. Hilarious. But was that really the best anecdote to choose to tell their new neighbor? Especially since she’d been so careful to dance around the fact that she was a librarian in her very recent conversations with the other villagers?
How much did Larran know? Had he seen the crates?Calm down,she told herself. Caz wouldn’t have been foolish enough to have allowed that. He was even more of a worrier than she was. Still, it was a risk, having a stranger anywhere near the spellbooks.
Scowling at both of them, Kiela snapped, “What are you doing up there?”
“Your chimney was clogged,” Larran said. “Thought I’d fix it.”
And who had asked him to do that?Not me. And it’smychimney.Of course, it had needed fixing, and she’d had no idea how to fix it. But still. He hadn’t known that.
“You shouldn’t start a fire in a stove with a clogged chimney. You’ll get a lot of smoke.”
She’d noticed that. Between clenched teeth, she said, “Thanks.”
Caz said, “I tried to tell her.”
“You didn’t,” Kiela said. “You know less about chimneys than I do.” At that moment, the chicken let out a squawk and, with a concerted effort, spurted out of Kiela’s arm. “No!” She’d nearly gotten it all the way home!
Dropping her sack, she chased after the chicken.
The hen dodged left as she grabbed for it. She felt feathers as the chicken slid through her grasp. It dashed by with an indignant squawk.
She was aware of Larran and Caz both watching her as she zigzagged across the yard after the chicken. She lunged forward as it turned right—again, she nearly caught it. And then with a burst of speed, it plunged into the brambles.
