Page 55

Casnia shakes her head like bugs are crawling through her ears. Then I see her drawing.

She’s drawn amidst the scribbles, messily made, a symbol. Three diagonal lines and a small circle at the end.

Reaching over, I turn the plate scrap around. It has the same imprint. Three diagonal lines, a circle at the end.

“Hot,” she cries, slapping her parchment.

“Hot,” I repeat. Guessing, I point to her symbol. “Hot.”

Casnia says nothing.

I pick up the broken chalk and draw the same lines and circle on the corner of her parchment. “Hot,” I repeat.

She looks up, sniffs.

I pause, pulse heavy. Pull my chair over so I can sit right next to her. “Cas ... can you read this?”

She mews.

I grab the other remnant, turning it over. One piece has faint writing along one edge. “Casnia, what does this say?”

But she tilts her head all the way back and stares at the ceiling.

Sighing, I set it down. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

“Beast,” she murmurs.

“What?”

“Beast!”she screams, and starts attacking her parchment again, making harsh lines, but I can see a sloppy semblance of one of the symbols. “Beast! Core!”

“Beast core?” I repeat, just as Amlynn comes over. “Sorry,” I apologize to her. “She’s just ... worked up.” An idea crosses my mind. “Will you be here a minute?”

Amlynn nods, handing Casnia a cup of water. Casnia drinks it greedily.

I walk out of the alehouse calmly enough, but once I get to the road, I run all the way to my house. Grabbing the sundial, I hurry back. Casnia and Amlynn are just as I left them, though Casnia has relaxed some.

“Hey, Cas.” I set the dial in front of her, keeping my back to Gethnen, who thinks I surrendered the sundial to Arthen. “Remember this? You and Salki gave it to me.”

She spits a mouthful of water back into her cup.

“Cas? Can you read this?” I point to the numbers.

Amlynn looks at me like I’m crazy.

Casnia sets her water aside roughly, spilling the contents over the table. Amlynn curses and goes to Maglon for a rag. Casnia stabs her finger into the metal. “Six, seven, eight, nine.” The rest devolves into grunts.

Lowering myself into Amlynn’s chair, I breathe, “Youcanread this, can’t you?”

Salki doesn’t know any of the Ancients’ language. I barely do myself. No one could have taught Casnia. No one I can fathom.

Casnia sobers suddenly, calm as death itself. She touches one of the symbols on the side of the sundial, the slanted line with the circle. “Morning.”

“Mourning?” I repeat. “Mourning over who?”

But I’ve lost her. She hunkers over her art, coloring in earnest now, and no amount of cajoling grabs her attention.

“Give her a break, Pell,” Amlynn pleads, cleaning up the water. “She’s behaving.”