ash.
“There you are!” he said triumphantly, taking a step back.
Hesitantly, Cynthia reached out and grasped the cup. To her surprise and delight, the thick porcelain was ice cold, as was the beverage within. “Now that’s a handy trick!” she said as she pressed the cup’s moisture-beaded surface against her forehead. “Lovely. Thank you.”
“The least I could do!” He poured a cup for himself, fortified it from a silver hip flask, and took a seat across from her. “I originally designed the spell to stabilize fulminating mercury, but that didn’t work out quite like I’d planned. Took a month to rebuild my laboratory! Ha! What a mess!”
“That’s…very interesting,” she said, sipping the chilled blackbrew. It was bitter without cream to lighten it, but right then she would have welcomed a glass of rigging tar if it had been cold. Mouse came back out and sniffed the rim of the cup, muttered a quizzical string of chirps and resumed fanning her neck. “And the reason you asked me to come; you wrote that it was important, and that it had to do with magic. Elemental magic?”
“That I did, that I did!” He sipped noisily and leaned back. “This really started a very long time ago, years before you came into your own powers, and I thought the matter was settled. Then you, my dear, broke the rules!”
“Broke the rules? You mean by becoming a seamage so late?”
“Quite, quite! Now he won’t shut up about it, and the convergence draws nigh, so I thought…Well, I see I’m not making much sense, am I? I suppose it would be much easier if I simply introduced you.”
“Introduced me to—”
“Edan!” he shouted, startling her. “Edan, come meet Mistress Flaxal!”
The door to the study opened so quickly that it was obvious the young man with short orange-red hair had been standing right behind it. Cynthia deduced instantly that he was apprenticed to the lightkeeper; his scorched and burned clothing, as well as the tiny firesprite that hovered over his shoulder at the end of a golden chain, were dead giveaways. He bowed to the lightkeeper, while the firesprite tugged at the end of her chain and emitted a petulant chirp.
Mouse’s wings suddenly stopped fluttering and he fell into Cynthia’s lap, almost landing in her cup of chilled blackbrew. The firesprite noticed him, and her flaming hair fluttered and flickered. She flew to the end of her chain and smiled, her tiny flaming eyebrows arching speculatively.
“This is Edan, my long-time apprentice,” the lightkeeper said, waving the young man forward. “He had the misfortune to fail his rites of ascension some five years before you inexplicably managed yours. Edan, say hello to Mistress Cynthia Flaxal, Seamage of the Shattered Isles.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Edan said, his voice deeper than his boyish features had led her to expect. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m…uh…” Her mind whirled ahead, finally comprehending the lightkeeper’s previous remarks. “I’m sure you have. Most of it probably utter fancy.” She turned to the lightkeeper and nodded in acknowledgement. “Edan wishes to become a pyromage, I assume?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am! More than anything!” Edan stepped forward, his hands clenched together in eagerness. With his advance, the firesprite fluttered to the length of the gold chain, coming within a foot of Cynthia’s knee, her eyes fixed on Mouse like two blazing rubies. Cynthia felt the innate heat of the tiny creature even through her dress.
“Edan! Your manners!” The lightkeeper’s tone was harsh; obviously he was a stern master. “Sit down and keep Flicker away from our guest. We can’t have her catching the lady’s dress on fire.”
“Thank you,” Cynthia said, in full agreement. Edan shortened the chain, earning a chirp of annoyance from the firesprite. Mouse managed to get his wings working again and fluttered aloft. Although he feared the firemage, he seemed
“There you are!” he said triumphantly, taking a step back.
Hesitantly, Cynthia reached out and grasped the cup. To her surprise and delight, the thick porcelain was ice cold, as was the beverage within. “Now that’s a handy trick!” she said as she pressed the cup’s moisture-beaded surface against her forehead. “Lovely. Thank you.”
“The least I could do!” He poured a cup for himself, fortified it from a silver hip flask, and took a seat across from her. “I originally designed the spell to stabilize fulminating mercury, but that didn’t work out quite like I’d planned. Took a month to rebuild my laboratory! Ha! What a mess!”
“That’s…very interesting,” she said, sipping the chilled blackbrew. It was bitter without cream to lighten it, but right then she would have welcomed a glass of rigging tar if it had been cold. Mouse came back out and sniffed the rim of the cup, muttered a quizzical string of chirps and resumed fanning her neck. “And the reason you asked me to come; you wrote that it was important, and that it had to do with magic. Elemental magic?”
“That I did, that I did!” He sipped noisily and leaned back. “This really started a very long time ago, years before you came into your own powers, and I thought the matter was settled. Then you, my dear, broke the rules!”
“Broke the rules? You mean by becoming a seamage so late?”
“Quite, quite! Now he won’t shut up about it, and the convergence draws nigh, so I thought…Well, I see I’m not making much sense, am I? I suppose it would be much easier if I simply introduced you.”
“Introduced me to—”
“Edan!” he shouted, startling her. “Edan, come meet Mistress Flaxal!”
The door to the study opened so quickly that it was obvious the young man with short orange-red hair had been standing right behind it. Cynthia deduced instantly that he was apprenticed to the lightkeeper; his scorched and burned clothing, as well as the tiny firesprite that hovered over his shoulder at the end of a golden chain, were dead giveaways. He bowed to the lightkeeper, while the firesprite tugged at the end of her chain and emitted a petulant chirp.
Mouse’s wings suddenly stopped fluttering and he fell into Cynthia’s lap, almost landing in her cup of chilled blackbrew. The firesprite noticed him, and her flaming hair fluttered and flickered. She flew to the end of her chain and smiled, her tiny flaming eyebrows arching speculatively.
“This is Edan, my long-time apprentice,” the lightkeeper said, waving the young man forward. “He had the misfortune to fail his rites of ascension some five years before you inexplicably managed yours. Edan, say hello to Mistress Cynthia Flaxal, Seamage of the Shattered Isles.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Edan said, his voice deeper than his boyish features had led her to expect. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m…uh…” Her mind whirled ahead, finally comprehending the lightkeeper’s previous remarks. “I’m sure you have. Most of it probably utter fancy.” She turned to the lightkeeper and nodded in acknowledgement. “Edan wishes to become a pyromage, I assume?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am! More than anything!” Edan stepped forward, his hands clenched together in eagerness. With his advance, the firesprite fluttered to the length of the gold chain, coming within a foot of Cynthia’s knee, her eyes fixed on Mouse like two blazing rubies. Cynthia felt the innate heat of the tiny creature even through her dress.
“Edan! Your manners!” The lightkeeper’s tone was harsh; obviously he was a stern master. “Sit down and keep Flicker away from our guest. We can’t have her catching the lady’s dress on fire.”
“Thank you,” Cynthia said, in full agreement. Edan shortened the chain, earning a chirp of annoyance from the firesprite. Mouse managed to get his wings working again and fluttered aloft. Although he feared the firemage, he seemed
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