Félix held out his hands for the book. Night snapped it shut then tossed it to him, like it was just any book. If it was bound in dragon hide, it was ancient and exorbitantly expensive.
Félix leafed through several pages before whistling under his breath. “I can’t believe I’m seeing it. I’d never seen it before, and I’m?—”
“Old as dirt?” Night supplied with a menacing-sounding rumble that was apparently meant to be jestful ribbing.
Félix chortled. “Not quite that old, my brother, and not as old as dragons either. But I recognize it: the language of the fuerdlings. Acolytes to the Dragon Mother herself.”
Félix closed the book with a gentle reverence my dragon-loving self approved of, and glided fingers along the hide cover—thankfully not extending down the spine. For now, that remained my secret—well, and Baz’s. Scorch him and his Rillis rope.
“They wrote in an invented tongue,” Félix said, “so no one but those loyal to the death to the Dragon Mother would learn her secrets.”
“Wow,” I said, before knowing I would, or that I could properly pronounce consonants again.
All attention, even Baz’s, shifted to me. His eyes were still that terrifying black. Holding them as long as I could, I dragged myself across the floor and up the couch. Right next to Edwidge, I leaned back onto the armrest.
“I’m fine, really,” I said with minimal slurring. “No need for help, thanks so much.”
Aziza snorted. “I see that new scar on your face hasn’t fixed your attitude.”
I sighed, plunking my head back against the armrest. The world spun again, but only for a few seconds before it slowly came to a stop.
So three or four days, however many had remained of the sorcerer’s spell, had elapsed.
“Time distortion,” I said, with little enough garbling that everyone appeared to understand.
Night, Edwidge, and Aziza looked to Baz. Félix was studying me.
“How long did you think had passed?” Edwidge asked.
Baz lifted a hand to rub his face, I guessed, based on how many times he did it when frustrated, but didn’t get that far. Instead, he tossed the end of a braid, beaded through with copper and turquoise, then let his hand fall heavily.
“Hours,” he said. “A lot of hours, but not so many that they’d turned into days. Where are Lev and Moncho?”
Aziza and Edwidge looked at each other.
Night said, “In trouble.”
“Did you find the emperor?” Edwidge asked.
“No,” Baz said. “How are they in trouble?”
“It’s Terencia,” Night said. “Being Terencia.”
“Shit.”
“Yup.”
“Give me a moment to recover and we’ll go.”
Which meant I would be going too. I supposed the Rillis rope wasn’t all bad. At least he couldn’t leave me behind when it suited him.
Night said, “Your eyes.”
“I figured.”
So what Baz had done with the specter wasn’t new? That … was telling … but telling of what, exactly?
“Your arm?” Night asked.
