“We talked about a lot of things.”

“Why don’t you tell me a little of what you told her? When did you first find out about your magic? About what your singing could do? Tell me that, and I’ll tell you what you don’t know about both.”

So Reyn told him of his past, relating pretty much the same details he had revealed to Lariana. He wanted to discover what Arcannen knew about his magic, thinking that this might be his one chance to learn something useful about its origins. He took his time, pausing now and then to see if the other had questions. But the sorcerer said nothing, letting him do the talking.

“Have you tried using this magic in other ways?” he asked when Reyn finished. “Besides singing? Have you attempted to do other things with it? Experimented with it?”

Reyn was confused. “No. What sorts of other things?”

The sorcerer ignored him. “Has anyone ever instructed you on how to use your magic? Have you been taught by anyone?”

“Is that what you want to do? Teach me to use my magic? Is that why you’ve been after me?”

Arcannen looked at him as if he were an idiot. “I would be interested in teaching you to use magic, yes. But I am much more interested in finding a way to help you stay alive. Or did you miss that part?”

Reyn flushed. “I know what you did for me. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening.”

“All right.” Arcannen gave him long look. “Let me keep my part of the bargain and tell you what I know about your magic. Then you can decide for yourself what you want to do about it. But first we need to leave this airfield. I’ve been here too long already.”

He signaled to Lariana, who was just finishing up with loading their supplies, and she moved immediately to begin the process of attaching the radian draws and raising the light sheaths. Because the Sprint was small, the work went quickly, and within short minutes they were lifting off, turning east from Sterne. Arcannen was at the helm with Lariana left sitting aft with Reyn. Sprints were small; the three of them pretty much filled up the cockpit.

Reyn, left to his own devices for the moment, began conversing with the girl once more. “Do you know where we are going?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t say. Why don’t you ask him?”

But Reyn didn’t want to do that. He didn’t care where they were going; he just wanted an excuse to talk to her. “I can wait,” he said.

The wind swept back her caramel hair, and the streaks of gold that ran through it flashed brightly in the sun. She lifted her head and closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of it. She was, in that moment, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

“I love flying,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

He smiled. “I’ll tell you a secret, if you want.”

She opened her eyes again and looked over. “Of course I want. Tell me.”

“Until last night and now, I had never flown in an airship. Not once.”

She held his gaze. “Aren’t you glad your first time was with me?”

Finding the right words to answer her proved impossible.

Farther north, within the ragged cradle of the Dragon’s Teeth, Paxon and the Rock Trolls who had accompanied him to Portlow in search of the bearer of the wishsong bore the black cylinder in which Avelene was imprisoned down off the clipper and into the recesses of Paranor. There were other members of the Druid Guard there to meet them, and within minutes Isaturin had come down from his tower quarters for a look.

It was nearing midday by now, the journey home again having taken the travelers the remainder of the night and most of the following morning. Paxon had managed a few hours sleep aboard ship, but had spent most of his time keeping watch over Avelene. It wasn’t as if he could do anything further to help her, but with the edge of the Sword of Leah placed against the hard side of her prison, he could banish the darkness long enough to look inside and let her look out at him and know that he was there.

In truth, she seemed calmed by his presence, aware that he was taking her somewhere, trying to do something to help. They could not hear each other—though they had both tried speaking through the cylinder walls—but they could find reassurance in knowing that there was a link between them and both were handling the situation in the best way they could.

Isaturin examined the cylinder, spent a few minutes touching it and bending close to listen, then used his own magic to turn the enclosure clear enough to see his Druid inside and to give her a few quick signs with his fingers that she seemed to understand.

When the cylinder went dark again, he had it picked up and carried to one of the workrooms. “It’s magic-generated,” he told Paxon as they followed in the cylinder’s wake. “Likely this is Arcannen’s work. It is sophisticated and, as you had assumed, a trap. Any forcible effort to free Avelene would cause the walls imprisoning her to collapse, crushing and suffocating her.”

“He would have been counting on that,” Paxon said angrily. “He would see tricking me into killing one of the Druids I am sworn to protect as a fitting punishment for what I did to him five years ago.”

Isaturin smiled. “But his plan didn’t work. You’ve grown less impulsive over the years. Now let’s see about getting Avelene free without harming her.”

The big man moved ahead, speaking now to another pair of Druids he had summoned, presumably to help with the unlocking of the cylinder. Paxon hung back, content to let them take the lead. Isaturin appeared to know what he was doing, and since Paxon’s fears about using his sword were confirmed, it was best to let the Ard Rhys find a way through Arcannen’s magic.

Once within the work area, the door was closed and barred by Druid Guards. Isaturin had the cylinder placed on a workbench. Stationing the two Druids who had accompanied him on the far side of the bench, he stood across from them. Together, the three began to weave separate spells, using fingers and voices, each deep in concentration. Paxon stood back, watching carefully. The air began to thicken, turning misty and dark, taking on a substantive appearance. Streaks of color emerged and then vanished again. Smells were emitted—some like burning, some like oiled metal. The cylinder began to pulse softly, its opaque appearance lessening, Avelene’s frightened face coming into sharper focus within.

It took them a long time to accomplish what they were attempting, and at more than one point Paxon began to worry that they couldn’t manage it. But finally the surface of the cylinder began to split apart, a jagged seam opening vertically down its middle. A rush of foul air exploded from within, turning black as it did so, morphing into dozens of insects. Isaturin sprang backward, warding his face and gesturing heatedly. One of the other Druids collapsed into the arms of the second. For a few moments, everything was in chaos.

Then Isaturin’s countermagic took hold of Arcannen’s, scooping it up and shrinking it down to nothing. The insects disappeared, the air cleared, and the black cylinder melted away, leaving Avelene lying wide-eyed and shaking atop the workbench.

Without being asked, Paxon rushed forward and covered her with his cloak. He lifted her off the bench, cradling her in his arms. He could feel her trembling.

“I thought I was dead,” she whispered, clutching him to her. “I was certain of it.”

“Paxon,” Isaturin said, coming up beside him. “Carry her to her room and put her to bed. She needs rest. Give her as much liquid as she can hold before you leave her. Just water, nothing stronger—nothing to stimulate her system. Wrap her in blankets. She’s shaking as much from the cold she’s feeling as from what she’s been through. Hurry now.”

Without a word, Paxon carried the young woman from the room and down the hallways of the keep to where she slept. He had to ask her how to get there because he had never been to her chambers, but she managed to direct him without once looking up from where she nestled her face against his shoulder.