“And what’s my second problem?”
“You’re too young and foolish to fear death unless it’s bearing down on you with blade or spear. So we must find another way.”
“How doyoucall on it?”
“Oh, there are many ways into the castle. But not all of them work for all folks.” He cupped a hand at his mouth and turned toward the tree line. “Come on then, the two of you dry sods.”
“Haskel, wait?—”
He waved me off. “Put aside the wills and wonts of young love for an afternoon, would you? There’s a fucking kingdom to be rewritten.”
Dorian high-stepped through the grass with Finch not far behind. When they arrived, they stood twenty paces off from both of us, making a triad. “I expected to feel the sting of acid,” he said. “Or at least a twinge.”
“Yes, well, your queen’s all up in her head. ‘Death is a blade’ or some such.” Haskel shrugged and began tromping off. “Can’t get to her magic without brainy nonsense, and you know that’s not my way.”
I stepped after him. “Haskel, wait.”
He grumbled something about his soles pruning in his boots and dripped off toward the trees and, presumably, the dry citadel.
“He’s always brute-forced his way to his magic,” Dorian said after him. “Haskel’s not the type to poke around in anyone’s head.”
“And you are?” I turned and locked eyes with Finch, who’d clearly been staring. His gaze dropped at once.
“If need be.” Already Dorian’s black hair had fallen halfway out of its tie under the gentle rain. Locks of it were pasted to his cheeks like he’d been painted, curse him. “Seems you’re the emotional type when it comes to magic.”
“Theemotionaltype?”
“It’s just a description.”
“So ishonest, but I wouldn’t want to mischaracterize you.”
Finch’s eyes had gone wide as he stared between the two of us.
“It’s a word. Just that.” Dorian set a hand on Finch’s shoulder; the squire’s eyes went wider. “What’s your magic, boy?”
“Fire, ser.”
“Really? The rarest kind?”
“Yes, ser.” He was either shy or guarded. I’d guess maybe a little of both.
“And how do you get to your magic, Finch?”
Finch had straightened under Dorian’s touch. “I smell it.”
Smellit?
Dorian nodded. “Explain that for us.”
“The scent of burning is unmistakable, ser. And when I need to use my magic, I just look for that smell. Sometimes I can only find it in my memory.”
Dorian clapped Finch’s shoulder. “Sensory, then.” He patted the boy’s back. “Go on, before you get too wet.”
Finch hesitated. “What should I do, ser?”
“How much of my library have you gotten through?”
Here his green eyes gained a certain light. “Only the histories of Aurelia.”