Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,1

high-pitched screech split the air.

Nelle yelped and pressed her hands to her ears, nearly dropping the spoon. With a bleat, the wyvern bolted up one of the support beams and into the rafters, where it perched, hanging its head to gaze down with fearful eyes.

“Coward!” Nelle growled at it before taking a step toward the fireplace. Had some bird or squirrel taken it into its head to build a nest higher up the chimney? The only living creatures she’d seen on Roseward Isle were the wyverns, a couple of brave seagulls, and one seriously bloodthirsty unicorn, but she’d been here just a few days, and it was possible—

With another hideous scrape and piercing shriek, something fell down the chimney in a cloud of soot, hit the copper kettle, and knocked it rolling into the room, spilling porridge everywhere. A flurry of brilliant red plumage filled Nelle’s vision, followed by a flash of sharp talons. She ducked, flinging her arms over her head, then spun in place to see the thing, whatever it was, hit the far wall. It struck in a burst of feathers and fell almost to the floor, but caught itself and pivoted on its wings, facing back into the room.

Shining black eyes fixed on Nelle out of a face that was bizarrely almost human.

With a shriek it launched itself straight at her. Nelle shrieked too and, hauling back her spoon, swung with everything she had. The back of the spoon connected with a small beaked head and sent the creature spinning to the floor. It landed in a pile of feathers, stunned.

Nelle didn’t wait for it to recover. She rushed to the copper pot and, using her skirts to protect her fingers from the heated handle, popped it upside-down over the bird-thing’s head, spilling the rest of the porridge in the process.

There was a tinny cry followed by a moment of silence.

Nelle huffed a breath, blowing a lock of hair out of her mouth.

Then the pot began to move.

It slid rapidly across the floor, dragging Nelle along with it. She struggled to hang on, to stop it from overturning. It paused, then jolted the other direction and knocked her off her feet. She was just fast enough to throw herself on top of it, using all her weight this time, and kept it firmly planted on the floor.

A terrible pounding knocked the bottom of the pot, right where her stomach pressed. “Oof!” Nelle gasped, every bone in her body jarred. A second blow knocked her rolling off to one side through a smear of spilled oatmeal. She popped her head up and saw the distinct indentation of a beak sticking up through the bottom of the pot.

A third bash, and the pot flew off, clanging like a bell as it rolled across the stone floor. A bolt of red feathers shot up into the rafters, screeching. The wyvern, which had watched events from its perch in the rafters, uttered a terrified bray and threw itself on top of Nelle, landing hard on her back and squashing her flat to the floor.

“Get off, you boggart brain!” Nelle roared, wrenching the wyvern over her shoulder and earning more than a few scratches for her pains. The wyvern brayed again and ducked its ugly head under her arm like a frightened puppy. Nelle gathered her feet under her but tripped on her skirts and sat down hard again, all the while craning her neck to search for the monster in the shadows overhead.

The sudden creak of footsteps on stair treads drew her attention. Still kneeling on the floor, arms full of quivering wyvern, she turned in time to see a robed and hooded figure descend heavily through the opening of the tower stair, one silvery hand pressed to the stone wall for support. As soon as his head came into view, he paused and threw back his hood.

A pair of pale gray eyes caught Nelle’s gaze, staring down at her through strands of long white hair. Pale stubble lined a strong jaw but could not disguise the dense network of scars across his face. Recently dried blood crusted a thin cut along his right cheekbone.

“Miss Beck.” The voice rumbled in a deep baritone just short of a growl.

“Mage Silveri,” Nelle responded.

The wyvern chortled and flared its crest.

The mage’s gaze moved slowly and steadily over her, noting the globs of oatmeal staining her gown and clumped in the loose hair hanging over her shoulder. His expression was impossible to read through