Brightly Woven(41)

I had things to do, but more important, things to think about.

Later that day, as I helped Lady Aphra mix elixirs and drafts, I tried to shake Pascal’s words from my mind. You are the wizard, and you can use that loom to shape the thread to create colors or shift patterns.

“I’m surprised you learned so many mixtures in so short a time,” Lady Aphra said. “What made you decide to learn?”

“In the beginning, it was because I wanted to know what North was hiding,” I admitted. “But I like it. It’s something I can do without him, something that comes easily to me.”

“I’m sure Wayland appreciates it,” Lady Aphra said. “He never was very good at mixing them. If you’re interested, I have a more in-depth book. It’s fairly old, but it’s served me well. I’m not sure there’s much else I can get from it.”

I nodded. “I would love it, if you’re sure you won’t need it.”

She tapped her forehead. “I have it all up here now. That’s what age does to you.”

Back outside for a walk, my feet had a miserable time against the patches of ice, and dirt caked the wet hem of my dress. I stayed out for only a short time and shut the door of Lady Aphra’s cottage behind me silently, feeling the warm air prick my frozen skin, a delicious relief.

“Does it matter?” North’s voice carried from the other room. “I told you I tried, but it didn’t have any effect—none whatsoever.”

“Did you try with a fresh sample?” Pascal asked. “I don’t think this will do anything. It’s lost its potency.”

“Once, and it was enough to realize the amount I needed would be fatal,” North said.

“This may be your only chance,” Pascal said. “You didn’t seem opposed to the idea when you first wrote to me about it.”

“Things have changed,” North said tightly. “I’m not so sure the journey to Provincia will be worth it now—if they find out about the jinx, it will all be over.”

“The choices will be death or subjugation,” Pascal said. “You might as well use it now.”

I stepped into the doorway, but the wizards didn’t look up. They were huddled close to the fire, bent over empty bottles, herbs, and North’s stained handkerchief.

“What are you talking about?” I asked at last. My voice sounded loud to my own ears. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” North said. “We’re leaving. Take your things.”

“Now?” I asked.

“This instant,” he said, casting a hard look in the direction of his magister. “We’ve wasted enough time here already. Owain will be waiting for us.”

“He won’t be the only one,” Pascal said as I carefully unstrung the cloak and took apart the frame of my loom. North waited by the door, holding my bag.

“Wayland,” Pascal said. “You must do it now, before Dorwan catches up to you, before the battle begins.”

I hastily tied the wood together, feeling North’s eyes burning into my back.

“There won’t be a battle if I can help it,” he said sharply. I came to stand beside him, gently prying his fingers from my bag. Pascal remained on the floor, kneeling by the fire.

“I won’t lose you like I lost your father!”

“If you really think I’m capable of such a thing,” North said, “then you already have.”

“Wayland!”

North pulled me in front of him, ushering me out of the small cottage and slamming the door shut behind us. We didn’t stop long enough to say good-bye to Lady Aphra. I tried to glance back, but he wouldn’t allow me to. He led me down the long hill, and I felt the familiar warmth of his fingers as they threaded through mine.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “What happened?”

His dark eyes were fixed solely on our joined hands. “I’m going to twist us as far as I can, but we’ll have to go by foot some of the way.”

“What were you fighting about?” I asked, gripping his arm with my free hand.

“Something that’s in the past now.”

He pulled the black cloak over us, and the mountains of Arcadia disappeared from sight.

CHAPTER EIGHT

For the first time, our landing was actually painful. We hit the ground too fast and at a strange angle, coming to rest in a tangled heap. I was still weak and sore from the illness, and North’s weight knocked all the air from my lungs.

“If you’re done getting comfortable,” I wheezed, “now would be a great time to let me breathe.”

In a single, fluid movement, North rolled off me and was on his feet.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he helped me up. He didn’t look back toward the mountains. “I thought I could go farther.”

I pulled the map from my bag and let North hover over my shoulder as I considered our options.

“We can pick up a wagon in Middleton,” I said, showing him on the map. “It’s a short distance by foot from here. If we can cut through the mountains near Sapienshire, we should be in Provincia in no time.”

North tugged on one of my loose curls, though his smile was somehow sad. “What would I do without you?”

“Are you worried about Dorwan following us?” I asked.