Page 31 of Sonnets and Serpents
She stared, aghast, at the traitor. Earthquakes were one thing,but did he not even care he was sharing a bed with a girl? If he thought himself a regular person, this was surely evidence to the contrary.
She realized the hypocrisy of that thought, sinceshewas the one who’d climbed into his bed uninvited, but it lingered with her all the same because she couldn’t believe he was not affected by herat allwhile she was hyperaware of his breath and his scent and his every tiny shift against the mattress and the way his lips looked impossibly soft for a monster.
Twice, she tried to leave the bed, but as long as the quakes continued, she could not convince herself. At least she didn’t have to attempt conversation in this awkward spot—although, perhaps that would have been better. Perhaps it would have distracted her, stopped her from letting her gaze sneak back repeatedly to his face, relaxed in sleep.
At last, the tremors ceased, and Eliza’s stress drained from her like a releasing flood. Her eyelids drooped. Her head rested heavy against the pillow, her entire body aware of how little sleep she’d managed during the night.
Yet that indignant part of her was still indignant.
“Silas?” she whispered, barely a breath.
He gave no response. No care. Sleeping as if she didn’t exist.
Eliza forced herself from the bed, sliding carefully to the floor, finding it cold and hard after the softness of the mattress. What was wrong with her? She could have stayed. If Silas didn’t care, she should at least take advantage of that apathy to prevent her own discomfort.
Then she thought of waking next to him, coming alert to find him staring at her with those dark eyes—or, worse, the red version—and she shivered.
After surveying the room, she pulled her cushion back to the desk, sitting with her legs tucked beneath her. For a while, she read her sonnets, finding comfort in the familiar pages.Then her mind returned to the task of finding Henry, and she remembered something Yvette had said about the Cast helping her learn Pravish.
If she could learn it on her own, she wouldn’t need Silas.
Eliza searched the desk, baffled when she could find plenty of parchment but neither quill nor inkpot. Silaswrote, didn’t he? A peek into his journal showed her pages of handwritten notes. So where was his—
Her attention caught on a reed-like object, rolled against a book. It had a wooden shaft and a pointed, metal nib, like a miniature spear. It was much heavier than a quill, and it felt awkward in her hand. Too thick. But when she tried it against a sheet of parchment, ink flowed from the tip like magic.
Itwasmagic, no doubt. This country was full of it, like the bracelet on her wrist.
Her father had been certain that magic left unchecked would overtake everything else—like the tremors from earlier, bringing down a building.
Except the building was still standing.
Focus!Eliza snapped her eyes back to the desk. She grabbed a sheet of parchment and began writing in Pravish, ignoring the awkwardness of the not-quill. She wrote the words she’d learned not to mix—seravatandseyahat,utamasandutanmas. She wrote the new words she’d learned.Araklfor Cast or Casting.Erkekfor never-to-be-said-about-any-boy-ever.
And when she filled the first sheet of parchment, she reached for another.
Silas woke aching and tense. The first thing his eyes did was locate the reckless princess, who, sure enough, had not popped out of existence to make his life easier. She was writing something at his desk.
“It’s a bit early for poetic composition,” he grumbled, sitting up in bed. He covered a yawn and swept one hand through his disheveled bangs, shoving them out of his eyes.
“Early?” Eliza scoffed without turning. “You’ve slept through a dozen earthquakes and half the morning. Are you certain you’re a snake and not a hibernating bear?”
He was surprised to hear a joke about his magic. Did that mean she was beginning to reevaluate her prejudices, or was she simply mocking?
Unfortunately, he found her impossible to read.
“Gunadin,” he said, testing something.
She frowned at him over her shoulder.
He waited.
“Good morning?” she finally said.
“Does the Cast make everything sound like Loegrian, or does it give you meanings while still letting you hear the language?”
“I can tell you’re speaking Pravish.”
Interesting. As irritating as the situation was, at least he was still learning new things. Warlockry was a difficult thing to study when so much of it changed in specific application.
