Page 8 of Sonnets and Serpents (Casters and Crowns #2)

Aheavy pressure built inside Eliza, like a storm on the ocean’s horizon. She tried frantically to think of her next step, the next thing to do, while ignoring the billowing clouds.

After the two librarians consulted in Pravish, the young man addressed her again. “For translation, maybe you can buy one Caster in the market.”

She blinked. Her mind took a moment to sort through the words and meaning before she asked breathlessly, “Buy magic, you mean? Can a Cast translate for me?”

He gave an enthusiastic nod. “The market can buy stone and water and animal. Every magic.”

Even in Loegria, Casts could be purchased from certain Casters, as long as they were registered and branded.

After her experience with curses, Eliza never would have steered herself toward magic, but now it was the only path before her, and with the storm rising at her back, she plunged forward rather than face it.

If this was her one way to find Henry, so be it.

Eliza ran from the library, barely remembering to throw a Pravish thank you over her shoulder.

By the time she reached the market outside the broken wall, she was sweating.

She doubled over, gasping for breath, then pushed on.

A hundred conversations swirled around her from people jostling her in all directions.

After a particularly violent shove, she almost ran into a hot plate sizzling over a contained fire, and the merchant’s only response was a wide smile as he offered her whatever dripping meat he’d just pulled from the cooktop.

Her stomach rumbled, and she bit her lip, but paying for the inn had eaten up almost all her money, and what little silver remained was now dedicated to whatever magic could lead her to Henry. It was the only hope she had left, and she had not crossed an entire ocean only to fail now.

Scanning the market, she saw a few stone statues on a striped rug. A Stone Caster, perhaps? Eliza forced her way through the crowd until she knelt on the woman’s blanket.

“Nirhaba!” the woman cried out, smiling widely. She wore a bright-pink scarf wrapped to cover her hair, vibrant against her rich brown skin, and her green shirt was embroidered with matching pink flowers. Leaning forward, she said, “Seykeli atin al!”

Eliza pulled her shoulders back, strengthening her spine, and she tried to speak in a voice loud enough to be heard over the chaos of the market.

“Nirhaba,” she repeated. The greeting was easy. After that, the woman had said to buy . . . something. She didn’t know any Pravish words for magic or Casting, and she hadn’t thought to ask the male librarian to teach her. Eliza fought back a groan. “Seykeli . . . Cast?”

The woman lifted a stone statue carved in the shape of a woman. She chattered away in Pravish, gesturing between the statue’s face and Eliza’s own.

“Very pretty,” she kept repeating. “Very pretty.”

“Yes,” Eliza agreed. “Very pretty.”

“You buy!”

“No, I . . .” Eliza flopped her hands uselessly, trying to think of how to communicate her need. She stitched words together like the most horrendous of scrap blankets. “I need . . . thing . . . Speak Pravish?”

The woman laughed, amused. She waved her hand. “Arakl sana Pravish konusturamaz.”

Well, at least Eliza heard the word Pravish. And she was fairly certain sana was “cannot.” Konustura was a verb for speaking—and, embarrassingly, the -maz ending meant Eliza had conjugated her own attempt incorrectly. Pravish conjugations would be the death of her.

But if she understood correctly, that meant arakl was something like “Casting.”

“Arakl!” Eliza said.

With an approving nod, the woman reached behind her to a pile of rocks. They were the same porous yellow as the Izili wall, and she easily pulled one from the top, suggesting it was lightweight.

Eliza’s heart pounded. She’d never commissioned anything from a Caster of any kind, but she’d always admired the creations of Stone Casters.

There was even a bit of their work in Castle de Loegria, in the observatory tower, which stretched higher than any other part of the castle, with thin stone rafters that appeared delicate and yet remained stable through the roughest storms.

It was one thing to commission a statue or a feat of architecture. Another to ask for a Cast that affected herself. Eliza rubbed her hands on her thighs, her palms damp. She remembered cold nights spent in the cage of a curse.

After knowing the terrible touch of magic, she was asking for it again? Perhaps she would come out even worse. Perhaps after magic infected a person deeply enough, they lost themselves.

Or maybe magic canceled itself out? Maybe if she requested a blessing, it would wash away the remaining effects of the curse? That seemed too convenient to hope for.

There was so much she didn’t know. Eliza swallowed heavily. “Wait,” she whispered in Pravish. “I . . . wait.”

She fumbled her red book from her pocket. The words slid like ice in her grasp, and she found nothing to tell her the right way to go.

Suddenly, the woman reached out and patted Eliza’s hand.

Eliza jumped, dropping her book to the striped rug beneath her.

With a sympathetic, motherly smile, the Caster asked, “It is boy?”

Despite herself, Eliza smiled back, releasing the tension from her shoulders. She laughed, retrieving her book and sliding it back into her pocket. “Yes, there is . . . boy. I . . . I need boy. Need to speak Pravish.” She licked her lips, then added nervously, “Understand?”

Or maybe that was “memorize.” Analamak. Enelemek?

“I help,” said the woman, giving another reassuring pat.

Eliza sagged in relief, shoving her coin purse forward, not caring how much it cost. She couldn’t bear to hit another delay, couldn’t bear to lose hope again. This had to work. It had to lead her to Henry.

The Stone Caster tucked away the rest of Eliza’s silver and then lifted the rock again, rolling it between her palms. She closed her eyes, humming a low, drawn-out note that rumbled pleasantly in Eliza’s bones, somehow piercing the din of the marketplace—quieting it, even.

For a moment, a blanket of peace settled over Eliza.

The yellow stone glowed faintly before rounding and elongating as if it were soft, pliable clay rather than solid rock.

With a quick twist, the woman wrenched the stone apart, splitting it in two.

The glow sharpened, flaring through her fingers like rays of sunlight through broken clouds, dotting Eliza’s vision with spots.

Suddenly, the woman held out two golden bands, flattened and curved. Eliza had seen similar bracelets worn by other Pravish people.

Gesturing to the first and then to Eliza, the Stone Caster said, “You wear.” She pointed at the second and then away, toward the city wall. “Boy wear.”

Eliza’s tentative smile vanished as her jaw dropped. “Boy? Oh, no, I—he isn’t—” She struggled to switch back to Pravish. “Only me. Cast me.”

But the woman shook her head. Enunciating, she said, “Boy speak Pravish?”

Eliza swallowed. This had gone so terribly wrong.

But she thought of Silas instead of Henry. Thought of his smug dismissal and carefree demeanor in the library.

She did know a boy who spoke Pravish.

So she said, “Yes.”

The woman gestured with the bracelet. “Boy wear.” She lifted the other bracelet. “You wear. You speak Pravish.”

Apparently, the Cast could not summon language ability from thin air. She had to borrow it from someone who already possessed it.

So? It was not too much to ask Silas to wear a bracelet. In fact, this was the perfect compromise. He wouldn’t have to lift a finger to help Eliza himself.

You can’t force me into anything, his voice taunted from memory.

Watch me, she thought.

Before she could second-guess herself, she closed the first bracelet over her wrist, holding her breath. But she felt nothing. The woman pressed the second bracelet into her hands with a wink, and Eliza understood that message well enough. They would only work together.

This was her path to Henry. She just had to believe in it.

“Thank you,” she said to the Stone Caster. And then, since she didn’t know a stronger gratitude phrase than the standard tezekurler, she said a nonsensical tezekurler kol. “Thank you very.”

Beaming, the woman inclined her head and said something too quick and wordy to fully catch. Something about your boy.

With heated cheeks, Eliza bowed in return, tightened her grip on the other bracelet, and fled.