Abaddon's Mark

Chapter Ten

Nendan found Naena the next day at lunch in the greenhouse. The woman was kneeling in a cleared circle of packed dirt, her eyes closed, face turned up toward the ray of sun trickling in from above.

A spell helped keep the building from freezing, despite the bracing winter cold outside.

Her cloak hung by the door, a worn thing given to students who could not afford their own. The shoes which sat by the door were little more than slippers, made for a lady, not a mage.

Grammie had burned most of the boys' clothing, but clearly, the university hadn't extended the same protection to Naena. Nendan knew he had to tell Grammie about it. If she found out another way, she'd tan his hide for not telling her sooner.

The gardening club had informed Nendan of her presence. They were hesitant about her appearance and wished her gone. The club was made up of members of the other clubs and those who could not find their way into one of the prestigious clubs. They wanted no trouble with the others or with Naena.

They had gone to Nendan instead of Graydon because of a whispered event in the Brimstone rooms in the late evening the day before. The Pan heir sparked fear among the students.

With a little breath sucked in, Nendan knelt at Naena's side. He made sure there was an arm's length between them. He watched the measured breathing and the almost relaxed posture mixed with the straightened back and shoulders pushed back.

Masons taught prayer and meditation—quiet contemplation in the moments of the most stress.

Naena's hands, arms, and feet were bound in bandages. She wore a loose tunic and pants, allowed such clothing only so long as she wore the bandages, which limited her movement. There was a smudge of something on her left hand. The bandages looked a bit frayed, as if she had worn them for several days rather than a few hours. Ink stained the fingers of both hands on the sides and tips.

Where she was writing notes and tracing words on a copy not created with magic.

The library was in the process of purging older books about the Bard.

Her little obsession.

Not because she was taken with the Bard, but because she had access to books on him. If Magi Yole were still the man Nendan remembered, then he would loathe throwing them to the flame when an eager mind was at hand.

Naena was building her library even then. She learned her books and would, no doubt, be able to recite them forward and backward.

A true scholar.

"Your bandages, Miss, need changing," Nendan said, keeping his voice low and calm.

She opened her eyes, scowled ahead of her, then turned an almost blank mask to Nendan.

"Ink," he said, leaning closer so he could lower his voice to barely above a whisper. "It has marked your fingers and would give away your plots."

Naena looked down and turned red. Her hands shifted between her legs, hiding the fingers and ink. Her head lowered for a moment, then straightened and let out a sound.

"And what do you wish to talk about, Lord Lugh?"

"Lord Nendan, only my father has the right to be called Lord Lugh."

"Oh."

"Every other person with land would, yes, have that title," Nendan added quickly. "Really, you were correct for everyone but the Seven. You learn fast."

"You dance about the point, which leads me to believe this is a conversation based around marriage," Naena said. "Men are learning that when it comes to marriage, they cannot speak to me as if I were their sister and well cowed."