The Perilous Sea (The Elemental Trilogy #2)

Three times in total, in fact: the first time on the day they met; the next time, when he turned her into a canary; the third time, at the end of Summer Half, just before they traveled back to the Domain together.

She had been incandescent with happiness that last time. They had both been—they had overcome so much and grown so close. She remembered running hand-in-hand with him toward the laboratory, giddy with hope and fearlessness.

It had been a different age of the world altogether.

“Fairfax,” he said softly.

She turned around. Their gaze held for a moment. He looked drained; she, probably worse.

He set down the Crucible on the worktable. “Here you go. It is yours for as long as you need.”

He spoke with such care, as if she were infinitely fragile and one wrong syllable could shatter her. But she was not fragile—she was a wielder of lightning and flames. Someday your strength will overturn the world as we know it, he had once said.

What was she to do now with all that strength, all that power? Pack it away like an overrobe that had gone out of fashion?

“And feel free to make use the laboratory anytime,” he added, “now that you can get here easily.”

In time she might become less bitter, but now all she heard was the offering of lesser gifts, as if that might make up for his taking away the one thing she truly wanted. “Thank you,” she said woodenly, “most kind of you.”

An uncomfortable silence followed.

She bit the inside of her cheek, sat down at the worktable, and put her hand on the Crucible. “I’ll be off, then.”

“If you do not mind me asking, what are you hoping to find in the reading room?”

“The identity of the memory keeper.” The one who had defrauded Master Haywood. Iolanthe had no doubt the woman was involved in his disappearance.

Titus looked alarmed. “You will not do anything rash, will you? You are still the one Atlantis wants.”

Just no longer the one he needed. All the nuisance of the fugitive life and none of the satisfaction of actually mattering.

“I can’t do anything rash until I have the information,” she told him.

But she did not go directly to the reading room. Instead, she visited the “The Dragon Princess,” one of the most apocalyptic tales in the entire Crucible. Ruins smoldered under a flame-roiled sky; the air was all smoke and ash. High upon the rampart of the last fortress standing, half deafened by dragon screeches, she called down one thunderbolt after another, littering the scorched earth with dead wyverns and unconscious cockatrices.

An elemental mage was always more powerful in a state of emotional turmoil.

The effort depleted her—she had never called down so many bolts of lightning in such a short time. Her fatigue wrapped about her, like a cocoon, and made her feel safe, because she was too tired to feel.

And that was how she made the decision to go to the Queen of Seasons’ summer villa.

It was a stunning place, ocher roofs and terraced gardens against the backdrop of a steep, rugged massif. Bright red flowers bloomed in stone urns that must be centuries old; fountains splashed and burbled, feeding into a pond from which rose dozens of pale lavender water lilies, their petals held together like hands at prayer.

The air was fragrant with the scent of honeysuckle, mingled with the sun-warmed, resinous note of the cedar forest that sprawled in the surrounding hills. The temperature was that of a perfect summer day, with enough of a breeze that one was never hot, but also enough heat for a cold beverage to be enjoyable.

On a terrace shaded by climbing vines, such beverages had already been laid out, along with an assortment of ices. She tried one that looked like a pinemelon ice, and was shocked to realize, as the tart, fresh flavors burst upon her tongue, that it was indeed pinemelon ice, which she hadn’t tasted in years, since it was a specialty of Mrs. Hinderstone’s sweets shop, on University Avenue, just minutes from the campus of the Conservatory of Magical Arts and Sciences, where she and Master Haywood had lived.

Footsteps echoed. She turned around to see Titus coming out from the open doors of the villa, about to start down the steps that led to the terrace. He froze as he saw her. Her cheeks scalded; he looked as mortified as she felt.

After an interminable silence, he braced his hand on the balustrade of the steps and cleared his throat. “How do you find the ice?”

“Very palatable.” She managed to find her voice. “I’ve only ever had the pinemelon-flavored one at Mrs. Hinderstone’s in Delamer.”

“When I was in Delamer this summer, I had Dalbert bring me some of Mrs. Hinderstone’s ices to try—since you mentioned the place.”

She had mentioned it only once, in passing, when they were discussing something else altogether. “Did you like them?”

“I did, especially the lumenberry flavor. But the pinemelon is nice too.”

“Master Haywood always had the lumenberry. I preferred the pinemelon.”