Caz turned to a fresh page in the notebook and dutifully wroteFruitas the title.
“Larran talked about the orchards,” Kiela said. “If we can find a way to restore the fruit trees to full health, that will have a lasting effect on the island. Much more impactful than a single-season tomato bush and much less thorny than a lot of berry brambles.”
If it works, it could even keep him from thinking he had to go to Alyssium.Maybe. She didn’t know if healing an orchard or two would be enough, but it would be a start.
“So we focus on trees.” He added the wordTreesbesideFruit.
They turned to the veritable mountain of books on vegetation.
“We need space to do this properly,” Caz said.
Kiela agreed.
Keeping the books in careful order, she returned the unrelated volumes to the crates—Caz noted which crate held which books. Until she had proper shelves and humidity control devices established in the cottage (which could be, she admitted to herself, a while away—those contraptions were expensive), as well as some kind of security system or at least a mechanism for hidden shelves, they were safest stored away in the crates. While she hated to make any book less accessible, it was for the best.Necessities first,she reminded herself yet again. She wasn’t trying to establish her own library; she was trying to create a jam shop, with a secret side business. And besides, there wasn’t much humidity on Caltrey; the books should be fine without fancy climate devices. She whispered an apology to the unchosen books as she closed up the crates and hid them beneath quilts.
She divvied up the remaining books, and the two of them dove in. As the evening deepened into night, Kiela brought in candles within lanterns. Every so often, one or the other would share what they’d found, and they’d swap books or Caz would add to the notes in the notebook. Otherwise, they read in companionable silence.
It was the most pleasant few hours she’d had since they’d fled Alyssium. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d missed this: sinking into the solace of words, letting the authors steer her toward answers or, at least, better questions. The books in her stack were written by scholars and sorcerers and, in the case of one heavily illustrated volume, a naturalist, and they each had a different perspective of how magic could be used to influence the natural world.
By the end of the night, they had a list of potential spells to try, with the tree-healing spell as the one with the most potential so far. None were momentous enough to keep Larran from going to Alyssium, but perhaps one would work for the shop? Or maybe another book would hold all the answers? Kiela wanted to keep going, but she’d reread the same paragraph three times and still wasn’t sure which verb paired with which noun—it was time to sleep.
She pulled on her sleep clothes and cleaned her teeth. Ignoring her daybed, she wrapped herself in a quilt and crawled onto her parents’ bed between the spellbooks. Caz extinguished the candles in the lanterns and curled up on a pillow.
With the moonlight spilling into the room and across the crates of precious books, they slept, and for the first time since fleeing the library, Kiela didn’t dream of fire. Instead her dreams were filled with apple trees.
At dawn, Kiela untangled herself from the quilt, stretched between the books, and opened her eyes to see Caz looming over her, perched on top of one of the stacks. “Are you ready to do magic today?” he asked.
She let out a shriek.
Startled, he tumbled off the books and landed in apoofof loose soil.
“Oops,” Kiela said. “Sorry. Are you okay?”
He rolled upright and dusted himself off with his leaves. Collecting his dignity (and lost dirt) around him, he said, “I’ve been reviewing the list of spells we compiled, and I recommend we begin with the third variant of Ylindar’s spell for strengthening deciduous trees.”
Sitting up, she reached for the notebook with their preliminary index and located the reference. She’d remembered reading that—Ylindar had been from an island with a dry climate, very little rainfall, where deciduous trees had a difficult time due to the inhospitable soil. “That’s in her third compendium.” Her mouth felt woolly, and her eyes were sticky. She was fairly certain her hair poked out at all angles, but she didn’t care. There was magic to do!
Caz nudged the relevant spellbook toward her, and she flipped through the pages to the one he’d noted. It was one of the handwritten spellbooks, which was unfortunate because Ylindar liked to swoop her letters, making them tricky to read. “All the ingredients are local,” Caz said, pointing at the list with the tip of a leaf. “Except—”
“Mola sap,” she read.
“But according to Venik . . .” He flipped through another book.
She glanced at it. “Have you been up all night reading?”
“I have excellent night vision.”
“Still not entirely sure how you have any vision, given your lack of eyes,” Kiela commented, but she read the passage he was pointing to. “ ‘In some instances, pine sap serves as a reasonable substitute for mola sap.’”
He read over her shoulder. “That’s clear enough, but how do we know if this qualifies as one of the ‘some instances’?”
“Experimentation?” she suggested.
“Careful experimentation,” he said. “And I don’t know how I have vision either, which could be a problem if I ever become farsighted. No one has invented glasses for eyeless plants.”
“If the need ever arises, we’ll figure it out,” Kiela promised.
“Thank you. I worry about that.” He shuddered, and every single leaf shook. “I can’t lose books; I’d loseme.”
