“I did some reading,” she told him.
Radane pounced on that. “In this spellbook?”
“Cookbook,” Kiela corrected. “And no, back when I was a kid in school. I was born here, grew up here, and went to school in the village.” She left out the piece about how they’d left for Alyssium when she was nine. It wasn’t a lie to omit it, and the less Radane knew about Kiela’s background with spellbooks, the better. Let her think Kiela had lived here her whole life. “This cottage was my childhood home. My parents moved here when they first got married. They were born on Caltrey too. Met when they were kids on a fishing boat.” She remembered that story—her father had wanted to see the stars from out on the sea, but his parents worked in an orchard. They didn’t have their own boat, and they thought it silliness to borrow one for something as frivolous as stargazing, and so her mother had invited him on her parents’ boat. Her mother’s mother, whom Kiela remembered as a tiny, wrinkled woman with a terrible singing voice, had been a fisherman, and she’d been planning a night-fishing expedition—there was a particular kind of fish that was most active at night. Kiela’s mom and dad had both been eleven years old, and her dad had always claimed that that was when he’d fallen in love, under the stars while the fish jumped in the moonlight. Kiela couldn’t help but look at Larran as she remembered that story. She wondered if he ever rode his merhorse out under the night stars.
“Put another way,” Larran said, “go softer, and you’ll find that island folkwantto help out. Order them about, and they’ll bristle. I’ve known these people my whole life, and they’re good people. But we’ve our pride. Treat us like criminals, and we’ll push back.”
“You don’t push back against the Crescent Islands Empire,” Radane said. She slid the cookbook into a pouch at her waist, with who-knew-what-else that could stain or damage the pages.
Kiela ordered her fists to unclench.Say nothing. Do nothing. Think of Caz and Meep.
“When the rogue sorcerer is found, your property will be returned,” Radane said. “Unless it is determined that you aided the sorcerer. If you are concealing him or her, all of your property”—she gestured to the cottage, the shop, the garden—“will belong to the empire.”
As Radane strode out of the cottage, Kiela felt Larran’s hand on her shoulder. It was warm, heavy, and comforting, and it kept her from screaming or, worse, hurling a jar of jam at Radane’s retreating figure. Neither of them spoke as the imperial inspector walked into the greenery, and Radane did not look back.
“Thank you,” Kiela said.
“I couldn’t save your cookbook,” Larran said. “Not without making it worse.”
She shook her head. “You did right. There was nothing either of us could do. Imperial investigators have virtually unlimited power.” She didn’t need to consult a law book to know that. Once, an entire wing of the sixth floor of the Great Library was sealed by investigator order. No one, not even the assigned librarian, was allowed in the stacks for thirteen months. When the wing was at last unsealed, it was discovered that the investigators had torn pages from one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable books and burned them in a cauldron they’d brought for that exact purpose. No one ever discovered why the books had been condemned, but librarians spoke of it in hushed whispers ever since.
Feeling as if her heart were clenched inside a fist, Kiela leaned against Larran. He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s my fault she’s here,” Larran said.
“It’s no one’s fault. It’s sheer bad luck.”
But her being here meant that Kiela couldn’t be.We can’t stay.Everyone would be safer if she took all evidence of spellcasting far away from Caltrey. But where could she go? And when should she leave? If she left immediately, it would just cause suspicion to rain down on everyone who’d befriended her.
Like Larran.
Unsure what to do, she just stood still, within Larran’s arms, looking out at the greenery, and tried not to wish that Radane’s ship hadn’t sunk so close to home.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Without the spellbooks safe in their crates around her, Kiela couldn’t sleep. She tried valiantly, curled up in soft quilts made by her mother and her mother’s mother, but she woke at every hoot of an owl, every blast of wind through the chimney, and every creak of the shutters.
She hated that she was alone. In the library, she never was. Even if she didn’t speak to the other librarians, she’d hear them murmur, hear the whir of the lifts, hear the echo of distant footsteps from another floor. And always there was Caz, somewhere nearby, swinging himself between the shelves.
Lying awake in the darkness, she wished she could check on him and Meep, but she didn’t dare. Radane could be lurking in the forest beyond the garden, waiting for Kiela to make a rash move like that. She had no way of knowing how suspicious the imperial investigator was, and she didn’t fool herself into thinking she was safe just because Radane had walked away. Any second, she could return and have her arrested. The local police would obey her—they’d have no choice. Punishment would fall on them and all of Caltrey if they didn’t comply.
The revolutionaries must have failed.
If they’d won, they would have stripped the imperial investigators of their unchecked power, and they would have eliminated the laws against non-approved spellwork. Kiela wondered how bad it must be in the capital now. She’d read enough history to know that the retaliation for a failed revolution would be swift and brutal.
She wondered which noble or general had claimed the throne after the emperor’s death and then decided she didn’t care. All she cared about was how far she’d have to go for her and the plants and the books to be safe. Was any place safe anymore? Even an obscure outer island like Caltrey wasn’t far enough to escape the imperial reach.
Where could she go?
She didn’t know the other islands or anyone on them. She didn’t want to start again—where would she live? How would she eat? Where could she go where she could ensure that Caz, Meep, and the books were safe?
At some point, she must have slept, because she woke in a knot of quilts with all the same worries swirling through her mind.
The birds were barely awake, and the sun hadn’t peeked through the branches, but Kiela rose anyway. The early morning had a chill bite to it, with wisps of mist and dew thick around the cottage, and she put on a woven blouse and thick skirt that was as soft as a blanket. Once the sun was out, it would warm, but for now . . . She couldn’t stay in bed with her thoughts a second longer anyway. She had to go through the motions of an ordinary day, at least until she could be certain she could slip away to the painted cave.
Watching the woods for any hint of Radane, Kiela picked a basket of raspberries and wished she could stay. Oh, the things she’d do! First off, she’d begin by identifying other berries for new flavors of jam: strawberries, blackberries, boysenberries (and making sure none were poisonous). She’d buy apples from an orchard owner and try to make apple jam. Secretly or not secretly, she’d heal all the orchards on the island and restart all the magical springs. Eventually, hopefully, she’d find a way to help the merhorses bear their young again. Maybe even discover how to protect Caltrey from the worsening storms. And how to feed the winged cats. She’d spend more time with Bryn, Eadie, and Ulina. And Larran. There was so much she hadn’t said to Larran. He’d helped her without even knowing what was in the crates or what he risked or why. Who did that? Who was so kind, so trusting, so selfless? Only Larran.
She was crying as she stirred sugar into the raspberries. Tears fell into the bowl, and she quickly leaned back and wiped her cheeks. She didn’t want to add extra salt to the jam.
I can’t stay. No matter how much I want to.
