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He gave himself a mental shake and concentrated on the book spines in front of him. They were old, and, judging by the lines of dust, rarely pulled. The gilt lettering had all but faded. He cocked his head sideways to decipher the titles.

The scrape of a boot sole alerted him to Oliver’s presence. “The maid you sent didn’t tell me what sort of help you needed.” He sidled up to Náli and joined him in perusing the shelves. “What are we looking for?”

“A very old book that I’m not sure your king owns – oh, here it is.”

Despite the dust, and lettering faded from incoming sunlight, the book didn’t look to have ever been opened, when he cracked its cover and found crisp, untouched pages with still-dark ink.

Oliver leaned over his shoulder. “The Unlikely Art of Spellcasting,” he read. “By Lord Mads Thorson. I know you don’t like the children, but I wasn’t serious about the enchantment.”

Náli sent him a look, and earned a grin.

“You’re entirely too cheerful, do you know that?”

That earned a chuckle.

“Come along, Lord Cheerful. We have a spell to master.”

Náli went to a tucked-away table by a window and settled in.

Oliver followed, and took the chair beside him. “Spell? We?”

Náli looked up.

“Maybe you’d like to explain it, yeah?”

Oh. Right. He wasn’t used to working with other people, especially not when it came to magic. When he inevitably passed out, Mattias would scoop him up, but, otherwise, he was alone in his craft, always.

“Leif wants a magicked torq for Ragnar – something he can’t remove. You’re going to help me with that.”

Oliver’s brows went up. “I…am?”

“Well. If you would.”

Oliver frowned. “I don’t perform the kind of magic that you do, Náli. I have magic, I think, obviously, what with the drakes. But I don’t do anything with it.”

Náli waved him off. “Magic is magic. It lives in your bones. It has its preferences, yes, but with a little work, you can channel it the way you want.”

Oliver looked astonished.

“I’ll walk you through it.” Náli paged through the book. He’d seen this spell years ago, in his own copy, but hadn’t ever anticipated putting it into use himself. “Hopefully.”

Silence reigned a few moments, as he searched for the spell in question.

“Náli,” Oliver said, then, in a careful tone. “Not that I’m refusing – I’m not – but why do you need my help?”

Ah. This.

Náli turned another page, looking studiously at the book. His next breath hitched, though he hadn’t expected it to. “I’ve…used up my energy. Almost. I need to return to the Fault Lands regardless; I’ve known that for a while, now. But if I do this – and I plan to – I’m not sure I’ll be conscious for the trip.”

He turned his face away when Oliver’s expression went concerned. “It’s fine,” he said, brusquely. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. I must return anyway – I needed to weeks ago. This spell will use up the last of my reserves.”

Oliver didn’t say anything; a darted glance proved his brows were knitted, all prettily worried.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Náli snapped. “It’s fine. Mattias will get me home like he always does, and you lot will have a pet wolf with a special new collar.”

“Náli.”

“Do not.” He lifted a staying hand – one that would have been more effective if it didn’t tremble so much.

Oliver sighed. “Fine.” He didn’t sound convinced in the slightest. “At least let me help as much as I can.”

“That’s why I sent for you,” Náli said, primly. “Now. Spells.”