The Spellshop by Sarah Beth Durst

Author:Sarah Beth Durst
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2024-08-05T20:22:59.655399+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

“You saved her life,” Kiela said.

She’d never seen anything that heroic. Or idiotic.

He hovered over the rescued woman, adding yet another quilt and then removing it and instead tucking the quilts she already had around her tighter. “She isn’t awake yet.”

“You could have died.”

“She would have died,” he pointed out. “Still could. Why isn’t she awake?”

Leaning over her, Kiela felt the woman’s forehead. Her skin had warmed from chilled-as-a-fish cold to tucked-into-bed toasty. She had pink in her previously pale cheeks and was breathing easily. Really, it was nothing short of miraculous that she was breathing at all. “I don’t think she has a fever.”

“She could develop one,” Larran said. “She could have internal injuries.”

Kiela kept picturing the moment when he’d disappeared from view, the waves too high for her to see beyond. She’d felt as if she’d drowned in that instant. She’d never felt so helpless. She knew she was going to be reliving that in her nightmares again and again. No one ever drowns in a library. And then she thought: No, they just burn. “Is there a healer on the island?”

Not taking his eyes off the rescued woman, Larran nodded. “Ivor. As soon as the storm ends, I’ll take her to him. Or have him come here. She shouldn’t be moved if she has internal injuries. There’s no way to know if she does, until she wakes. If she wakes.” He began to pace back and forth, between the bed and the window, alternating between checking on the woman and checking on the storm.

Kiela watched him fret. “Do you know her?”

He shook his head. “She’s not from Caltrey.”

“You know everyone on Caltrey?” She hadn’t known everyone in the library, though she supposed not all of them left their stacks, so she’d had no opportunity. She’d at least been able to recognize by sight the ones on her floor and . . . Okay, fine, she didn’t know even a quarter of the librarians. It hadn’t seemed necessary.

“It’s a small island. Plus, her fire hair is recognizable.”

“Not in Alyssium. It’s fashionable.” Nobles liked to have sorcerers spell their hair different colors. She’d seen hair that boasted all the colors of the rainbow, hair that gleamed silver as metal, and hair that sparkled as if fireflies were caught between curls. Kiela knew one library patron who not only changed her hair color weekly but would have it crafted into the silhouettes of animals, as if her hair were an elaborate topiary. With just a single color . . . this woman was most likely a lesser noble. Or a shopkeeper with extra spending money who wanted to socialize with the rich. Kiela hadn’t paid enough attention to fashion to know if it signified anything more, such as an allegiance to a particular family or cause, but she supposed it was possible. “She could have fled the city.”

“Fled?”

Immediately Kiela wished she’d chosen a different word. She hadn’t brought herself to explain to anyone why exactly she’d left. She didn’t know why it was so difficult to say.

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