She’d fled for her own safety, because of the violence in the city.
What violence?the townspeople asked.
“Have you not heard about the revolution?” Radane said. In her polished accent, she told them everything: the riots, the coup, the murder of the emperor, the burning of the palace and the government building . . . When the revolutionaries lost control of the revolution and the carefully constructed coup exploded into chaos, they even burned the library.
Kiela couldn’t listen anymore. All she could hear was screams of people dying in the streets, the clash of weapons within the stacks, and all she could smell was the stench of smoke. As Bryn bustled out of the back room with a tray full of slightly soggy muffins, Kiela said, “I’m so sorry. I can’t—I have to go.”
Abandoning the half-steeped tea, Kiela bolted out of the bakery and past the customers clustering around Larran and the new arrival. She half heard Larran call her name, or perhaps she imagined it. She didn’t linger to see which it was. Driven by the memory of screams and flames, she fled back to the beach, up the stairs, and into the green.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kiela decided to bury herself in research. She’d promised Halio, her customer with the whispery voice, that she’d find a remedy for her waterless spring, but between the cloud bears, the storm, and the merbaby . . . Well, she had work to do, and the rescued woman—Radane, she reminded herself—was fine, as was Larran.
She flipped the sign on her shop door to “Open” and asked Caz to watch for customers, while she barricaded herself in the back room. Sitting on the bed, she began with the index they’d created to identify the relevant tomes.
But she kept thinking about Larran.
And Radane.
And Larran again.
And about the way she’d run out of the bakery, after offering to help Bryn, and hadn’t given any kind of reason. How was she going to explain that?
Usually, when she sank into research mode, she blocked out the rest of the world. It faded away until all that existed was books. Sequestered within the library, she’d lose track of time and would work through meals, through sleep, with little awareness of whether it was day or night. But this time it was near impossible to focus. Maybe it was because the heavy scent of sea left behind by the mermaid still lingered in the air, which made her think of fleeing to Larran’s house as the rain fell. Or maybe it was because the soft cotton of the quilt reminded her of the feel of Larran’s shirt after she’d changed out of her wet clothes. She thought of how close he’d been as they gazed out at the storm, how she’d almost kissed him. And then how everything had changed in an instant.
She was sorting haphazardly through books on water magic when she discovered a slim book with cramped and faded writing inside, simply titledOn Storms.Setting aside the problem of Halio’s waterless spring and the dry town fountain, Kiela picked up a notebook and began studying the work of a master sorcerer who had made it her life’s mission to understand the taming of storms.
It was only after reading the book three times that Kiela conceded that it was impossible. One lone librarian-turned-shopkeeper couldn’t tame a storm. It required a wind-speaker, a sorcerer who was specially trained in weather magic. Wind spells were so carefully guarded that only wind-speakers knew them. In other words, the spell wasn’t written down. The book only alluded to it.
And even if she was a wind-speaker, she couldn’t cast it. It was a feat that could only be accomplished by a group of sorcerers, executing the spell in unison. Even if Caz joined her, even if the cactus learned to speak, it wouldn’t be enough. Such magic required a chorus.
Regretfully, Kiela set the storm book aside and returned to the smaller, more possible task of causing water to flow again. Two hours later, she’d made significant progress. She was copying the syllables for the spell, as well as a list of ingredients, into her notebook when she heard voices from the shop. Concentrating on her penmanship, she ignored them. Caz could handle this sale without her.
And then the voices came closer to the bedroom door.
Springing off the bed, she covered her books and notes with a quilt before she realized she knew the voices: Caz, of course, and Larran. She froze for only a second before rushing out the door and closing it quickly behind her.
Larran was inches in front of her, his hand already raised to knock on the bedroom door. Her speedy appearance had clearly startled him—his eyes were wide, and he forgot to lower his hand. She looked up at him and said eloquently, “Hi.”
“Uh, hi? Sorry to interrupt your nap? Caz said you could help.”
She glanced at Caz, and he waved his leaves. She wasn’t certain what he was trying to say, but he ducked out into the garden. Perhaps to give them privacy? Or to check on Meep? Looking up at Larran again, she blurted out, “Sure, yes, maybe, probably? With what?” Kiela winced at herself for that mess of words. “Oh! I still have your shirt!” She hadn’t washed it yet, but she also hadn’t worn it long. Crossing to the kitchen chair where she’d left it draped over the back, she picked it up and sniffed it. It smelled a lot like Larran.
“Caz said you helped a merbaby with storm sickness.”
Caz really needs to watch what he says.“Old family remedy.” She immediately wished she’d thought of another excuse, since Larran had actually known her family. She didn’t think either of her parents had ever dabbled in healing, nor had any contact with merfolk. Until the mermaid spoke, she didn’t even know merfolk could speak to land people—according to everything she’d read, they communicated with one another in trills and songs, like whales and dolphins. “Why? Is Radane all right? Are you?”
“It’s Sian. She hasn’t been herself since the storm. I thought her favorite treat, tomatoes, would help. That’s why I came, to see if you had more ripened tomatoes. But then Caz said—”
A whole day had passed since the storm. If Sian had been sick all this time . . . Kiela thought of the merbaby and how close he had come to dying. “Do you think she has storm sickness?”
Larran spread his hands. “I don’t know. Maybe? I haven’t encountered it before with one of my merhorses. Usually they dive beneath the waves for the duration of the storm, but Sian . . .”
He’d ridden her out to rescue the woman on the boat, and she’d been directly exposed to the storm. Kiela burst into motion.I need the spell.She could take just the page to hide the fact that it came from a spellbook, though everything in her quailed at the idea of damaging a book.I’ll copy it onto a fresh sheet.But what about the ingredients, especially the verisad leaves? She’d used all of them for the mermaid. How was she going to find more—
Caz tumbled back in through the garden. He had a wad of leaves pressed between his tendrils.What a brilliant plant.She’d just need the lightning bark and soil. As she scurried back and forth assembling the ingredients, she realized Larran was watching her.
How was she going to explain all of this to him? It looked like a spell. It sounded like a spell. She didn’t have time to figure out how to modify it so that it didn’t. “Can Sian swim to my cove? It’ll be easier to treat her there.”
