“I insist you stay the night, then. You look worn—even your cloaks need looking after.”
I sat up a little straighter on the floor, tucking my legs beneath me. I knew what was coming.
“They all do, I’m afraid,” North said. “I saw a bit more action in Saldorra than I had expected. But wizard tailors are pricey, and I haven’t been across one in a few months. I have an entire country to cross, and less than two months to do it. It’ll have to wait until I get to Provincia.”
“Nonsense, my daughter will do the same for free.”
“It requires a bit of skill—” North protested.
“She’s the best in the village, I assure you,” he said. “Sydelle!”
I stood quickly, brushing the dust from my dress and hands. He called my name again, impatient as always.
Only the wizard looked up at me when I entered our sitting room. Jugs of water and plates of our precious bread were scattered on the table’s surface.
“Sydelle, you’ll mend Mr. North’s cloaks and show him to your room,” Father said. “You can stay with your mother and me for the night.”
I nodded and said nothing, though it killed me not to ask the questions that were running through my mind. If I embarrassed my father now by opening my mouth, I wouldn’t hear the end of it for months—probably years, knowing his legendary temper.
North stood and stretched. I waited until he came toward me, close enough to smell the mix of sweat and rain clinging to his clothing and skin, and to see the dark circles under his eyes.
“You don’t have to mend them,” North said as we entered my small room. “Honestly, they’ve been far worse.”
I watched him out of the corner of my eye, studying him as I would a book or drawing. How could I not? He was the only wizard I’d ever met—in all likelihood, the only wizard I ever would meet. It seemed so strange to have him look so ordinary. After all the stories I’d read about their adventures and magic, I never expected them to look like any man or woman. There was only one difference, slight enough that I almost missed it, and that was the warmth that surrounded him, a warmth that was so much softer than the heat of our sun.
“Are you afraid I’ll ruin them?” I asked, assessing my small supply of thread and needles. He lifted the cloaks one by one, and I was startled to see how many there actually were—black, red, green, blue, yellow. Why did he need so many?
“I’m sure you’re very good,” he said. “But these cloaks are special. Do you know anything about how magic works?”
I shook my head. “Not in the least.”
“Well…,” North began. “These cloaks are what I use for magic. If they’re not mended carefully, I won’t be able to use them.”
I held out my hand, still unable to look him fully in the eye.
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
North sighed. “One to begin with, all right?”
He tried untying them from around his neck, but the strings had become badly knotted, and his gloved hands were shaking so badly that I had to do it myself. The moment my hands touched him, he stilled.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Fine. A bit tired.”
“Are you sure?” I said, watching him more carefully now.
He nodded, holding perfectly still as I worked on the stubborn knots.
“Thank you for bringing me back to the village,” I said. “I don’t know that I’ve ever fainted before. I guess I was more overwhelmed than I thought.”
“And here I thought you swooned at the sight of me.” He gave me a crooked smile.
“Do you do this a lot?” he asked, when I had finally pulled the cloaks free and placed them in his arms. I didn’t answer, but accepted the yellow cloak as he handed it to me. They were made from a thin wool: rough but sturdy. I set to work immediately, sinking down next to him on my small pile of bedding. He glanced around the room, at my half-finished blankets and rugs and the small scenes of Cliffton I had created with yellow, brown, and red thread. His eyes fell on the silver circle on my wall, a larger version of my necklace. I would have to pray beneath the one in my parents’ room that night.
“It’s not much,” I said. “I’m sorry I don’t have a bed for you.”
“No, no,” North said quickly. “It’s not that. I’m just surprised that you’re a weaver.”
“Why is that?” I asked, pulling together a jagged tear in the stained yellow cloak.
“I just meant that you’re very young to be so good. At weaving, I mean.”
“I’ll have you know that I just turned sixteen,” I said, knotting the thread and cutting the excess. “Aren’t you a little young to be a wizard?”
“I’ll have you know that I just turned eighteen,” he said, mimicking my tone almost perfectly. “That’s four years out of apprenticeship and two years your elder.”
So much for wizards and their legendary kindness and courtesy. He was no different than any of the boys I had grown up with.
“Very funny,” I said. “A wizard and a joker.”
North shrugged, still looking around. “I see red…yellow…brown…ah, a little green, and of course our own Palmarta purple—no gray?”
“Why would I have gray?” I asked, giving him a sidelong glance. “We haven’t seen a rain cloud in years.”
He glanced up, toward the old blanket I had strung over my bed. What had once been an expertly woven image of Provincia’s castle and its surrounding lake was now faded and stained.
“Ah, but there’s the castle!” he said, craning his neck for a better look. “That’s a decent likeness. Have you been to the capital?”
“Of course not,” I said. “That was given to me by a woman who was traveling across the country selling her work. She gave me the blanket and told me to meet her in Andover when I was old enough.”
“And when will you be old enough?”
“When I’m born in a different village in another lifetime,” I said.
“But you want to go,” North said. He bit the side of his thumb, his expression troubled. It was not long before his eyes found the old map of Palmarta tacked up in the soft plaster of my wall. Each circle of string marked a city where Henry had traveled, making deliveries of our yellow dust. With Auster looming to the east and Saldorra to the west and south, our country looked ready to be swallowed whole.