Page 27 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

Unless they were hidden by the magic I sensed.

My pulse kicks up a notch, but I start scaling the rough staircase. The woman was obviously more nervous about my companions rather than me. It’s best if I face her first.

By the time I reach the top of the waterfall, I’m sweating again. The woman stands on the rocky outcropping waiting for us.

Once we’ve all arrived, she turns toward the trees and sets off on a path between them.

I hurry to keep pace with her swift strides. “Who are you? Do you know why Kosmel would have sent me here?”

She doesn’t bother looking back. “My name is Sulla. And I’d imagine the godlen guided you here so I could teach you how to work with your magic.”

I lose my breath for a second. “You can do that? I thought that was impossible.”

She shoots a faint smile over her shoulder at me. “I can, because I’m riven too.”

Nine

Ivy

Even after spending the night on the mountain, I haven’t gotten used to this place.

We’re sitting on plump cushions around a low table—a little squashed together because the dining area obviously wasn’t built with six people in mind and we’re trying to give our host enough space to be polite. Sunlight filters through translucent panes in the rocky ceiling overhead, drawn there by magic. It streaks over us in a golden glow.

The table’s wood shimmers with little carvings that move if you pause to watch them. Near my end, there’s a fish that leaps out of the wavering water of a stream and a deer that gambols along a stretch of trees.

Rheave taps an etching on the corner of the table in front of him and laughs with delight at whatever effect he provoked. Casimir leans over to watch with a friendly smile.

It’s incredible, Julita says, watching through my eyes. Like the work of a master artist.

If that wasn’t enough magic, Sulla has a whole array of supernaturally enhanced tools at her disposal. Despite the fact that this room is carved into a mountainside, running water flows to her sink. I watched her fill a kettle from the tap only for the vessel to immediately start to steam.

The plates our meal of fried eggs and buttered rolls are sitting on exude warmth to keep our food at the perfect temperature. I only had to reach for the saltshaker before it leapt the rest of the way into my hand.

I’ve never been surrounded by so many objects imbued with power before. My skin quivers with a constant tingling as my cracked soul resonates with the magic.

I dab the corner of my roll in the runny egg yolk and pause to savor the mingling of savory and nutty flavors on my tongue. I’ve never had this kind of bread before either.

Julita hums alongside my contentment. And the food is rather delectable too.

It’s a far cry from the typical elaborate spreads at the royal college, but it beats the bare bones fare we’ve been reduced to while on the run.

Despite my enjoyment of the meal, curiosity itches at me. Last night, Sulla hustled us into a bedroom and supplied us with down-stuffed mattresses and blankets for our slumber on the stone floor. She deflected all our questions with the promise that she’d get into everything in the morning.

I think she wanted a little more time to take stock of our unexpected arrival. She has to understand that we want to take stock of her just as much.

And it is morning now.

I study a carving of a woman in a dress who twirls on ever-shifting feet and then lift my gaze to meet our host’s. Now that I’ve seen her up close, I’d put her in her late forties or early fifties—older than my mother. Her silver and black hair winds from her temples in two thick braids that she coils together at the back of her head. The even lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth make her face look serene, as if she hasn’t smiled or frowned all that often.

I’ve never heard of a riven sorcerer this old. Sometimes they manage to go unnoticed for a couple of decades, but usually their increasingly ambitious manipulations draw notice before they reach their thirties.

And then there’s the fact that she doesn’t appear any less sane than I am.

I motion to the table and the glowing panes overhead. “Did you create all this with your magic?”

Sulla lets out a light chuckle. “Oh, no. The Haven has been a home to riven sorcerers for ages longer than I’ve been alive. We all contribute a little. It adds up over time.”

Stavros shoots her a wary look. He’s come to accept that I’m not a monster just because of my magic, and I suppose he can’t help seeing that Sulla is hardly a raving lunatic either, but his past experiences with the riven have left him with more scars that you can see.

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