Brightly Woven(34)

“Read your letter and leave me alone,” I said, still unable to meet his eyes.

“Yes, my beautiful, beautiful darling!” he said. “As my beautiful, beautiful darling wishes.”

When I finally had the courage to look up again, North’s brows were drawn together.

“Bad news from Pascal?”

“He’s the same as always, the old grump,” he replied distractedly. “Still treats me like the seven-year-old he took in.”

“You only trained with him for seven years?” I knew only so much about wizarding education.

“Yes. I lived with him until I finished training at fourteen and was supposed to be ranked.” North glanced up from the letter. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You aren’t ranked?” I asked.

“I thought you knew,” he said. “Is that a problem?”

“But all of the other wizards are.”

“I’m nothing like the other wizards,” he said. “Nor do I intend to be. It…just wasn’t the right way for me.”

“I’m surprised you had a magister then,” I said, a page of the wizard book floating up in my memory. “Isn’t that the whole point of being trained—to be ranked and join the Wizard Guard? The unranked wizards are usually…like Dorwan, right?”

North narrowed his eyes, obviously offended. “Are you comparing me to the hedges?”

“No! Well, a little—but not really,” I finished lamely, watching the expression on his face darken.

“You aren’t ranked,” I tried again. “And you left, wandered, and…er, I’m sorry?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I suppose you’re forgiven—as long as you write a letter for me.”

“I’m sure you can write your own letter,” I said. “Or is it one of my duties as your assistant?”

“Actually, I only asked because your penmanship is much nicer than mine. Magister is fond of telling me that my handwriting looks like the scratches of a blind chicken.”

I sighed, pulling a small writing quill and a fresh sheet of paper from my bag.

“Dear Magister,” North dictated. “Thank you for your help. I do think you’re correct in supposing that the ingredient should work, but I’ve tried once to little effect. I don’t believe I will try again, not for lack of curiosity but for lack of propriety. Also, I’m quite glad that your wheat fields have finally picked up again. As if there was any doubt that you could fix them yourself—keeping up, Syd?”

I cursed under my breath and crossed out where I had written, Keeping up, Syd?

“Yes,” I said, sighing. “Keep going.”

“I have the information I need, though I’m not sure my very dear friend will hear me out,” North continued. “Yes, I am aware of what has been going on with Oliver, though I haven’t received a letter from him in quite some time.”

“What’s going on with Oliver?” I asked, looking up.

“Nosy today, aren’t we?” He smiled.

“Fine, fine,” I said. “Keep going.”

“I’ve sent him numerous messages, but he seems too enthralled with his newfound power to listen. I’ll try to write to him again, but I can’t trust the post with these things. Magister, I know you wanted to see us, but I won’t be coming to see you with my beautiful, beautiful darling—!”

“Stop it!” I said, crossing out the last three words I had written. “You are so ridiculous!”

“Here, I’ll finish it,” he said. He pulled the paper away before I could protest. I thought it was strange he didn’t want me to see what he was writing—and I did try to look, but his magister had been correct. He wrote like a blind chicken.

There was only enough time for him to seal the letter with wax before one of the village boys burst into the cabin.

“It’s here,” he said breathlessly. “We saw it through the schoolhouse windows—down by the stream.”

North and I stood at the same moment, but his arm lashed out, stalling me.

“Stay here!” he said. I took a step forward, but he would have none of it.

“Right here!” he said. “For once in your life, do as I say!”

The cabin door slammed shut behind him, but it didn’t stay that way for long. The last time North had gone off like this, he had come back with burns from a dragon. I wasn’t going to be left behind, not again.

The afternoon air cut through my thin dress as I ran, following North down the long hill. And when he and his cloaks finally got so far ahead that they were out of sight, I followed the trail his boot prints had left behind.

At the first sign of the specter the children had been drawn inside, and the bell inside the school’s small tower was still ringing. I was sure I heard someone call my name, once, maybe even twice, but I kept running. My hair flew around my face as I made a sharp turn straight into the forest.

The sound of the bell died slowly, just as I lost the trail of North’s boot prints in a clearing. I glanced around. He must have twisted—it was the only explanation. That, or he had climbed up into the trees.

I moved to the other edge of the clearing. Nothing. Not even a rabbit or bird.