The shock that went through my system stole any coherent thought from my mind. Henry had finally written me back.

Turning the envelope over, my fingers brushed the seal almost reverently. There were small bumps in the wax. I brought it to my face for closer inspection. There, in the deep crimson sealing wax, were dozens of small granules of desert sand—of home.

Delle,

I hope you’re safe and this letter finds you somehow. I’m sending a copy to various inns in the major cities, hoping you’ll stop in at least one of them. I want you to know that I’m safe and that the Bailey brothers and I slipped out of Cliffton several days ago on your father’s orders. He wants us to go to Provincia and have me help in the war effort in his stead, but I’m more concerned about spreading the news about Cliffton. When we left, most of the crops had been picked over by the soldiers, but no one had been seriously hurt. The few who tried to get out and were caught were beaten, but not to the point of death. Your family is fine—mine, too—though our mothers are a little worse for wear.

You’ll get to Provincia before us, so I’ll come find you. Stay safe until I can see you again. I miss you.

Henry

“Anything good in the post?” North asked. I pressed the letter to my chest and turned around slowly. He had a smile on his face, and it was such a rare sight that I almost didn’t want to tell him.

“A letter from Henry,” I said quickly. “You have a letter from Pascal.”

“What did Henry have to say?” he asked. He leaned over my shoulder to get a better look, but I kept the paper close.

“That my family is safe and that he and a few others escaped,” I said. “They’ll be in Provincia a few days after us.”

“How very convenient,” North said. “It’s really too bad we won’t have time to drop in for a cup of tea.”

“I’ll have the time,” I said.

“Don’t be so sure,” he said, and reached for one of my loose curls. “Maybe I’ll keep you all to myself.”

I pulled away, my stomach flipping. It was such a familiar touch, something that North had done a dozen times over the past few weeks, but it seemed so wrong for me to like it, to want him to do it again, when I had Henry’s letter in my hands.

“Read your letter and leave me alone,” I said, still unable to meet his eyes.

“Yes, my beautiful, beautiful darling!” he said. “As my beautiful, beautiful darling wishes.”

When I finally had the courage to look up again, North’s brows were drawn together.

“Bad news from Pascal?”

“He’s the same as always, the old grump,” he replied distractedly. “Still treats me like the seven-year-old he took in.”

“You only trained with him for seven years?” I knew only so much about wizarding education.

“Yes. I lived with him until I finished training at fourteen and was supposed to be ranked.” North glanced up from the letter. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You aren’t ranked?” I asked.

“I thought you knew,” he said. “Is that a problem?”

“But all of the other wizards are.”

“I’m nothing like the other wizards,” he said. “Nor do I intend to be. It…just wasn’t the right way for me.”

“I’m surprised you had a magister then,” I said, a page of the wizard book floating up in my memory. “Isn’t that the whole point of being trained—to be ranked and join the Wizard Guard? The unranked wizards are usually…like Dorwan, right?”

North narrowed his eyes, obviously offended. “Are you comparing me to the hedges?”

“No! Well, a little—but not really,” I finished lamely, watching the expression on his face darken.

“You aren’t ranked,” I tried again. “And you left, wandered, and…er, I’m sorry?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I suppose you’re forgiven—as long as you write a letter for me.”

“I’m sure you can write your own letter,” I said. “Or is it one of my duties as your assistant?”

“Actually, I only asked because your penmanship is much nicer than mine. Magister is fond of telling me that my handwriting looks like the scratches of a blind chicken.”

I sighed, pulling a small writing quill and a fresh sheet of paper from my bag.

“Dear Magister,” North dictated. “Thank you for your help. I do think you’re correct in supposing that the ingredient should work, but I’ve tried once to little effect. I don’t believe I will try again, not for lack of curiosity but for lack of propriety. Also, I’m quite glad that your wheat fields have finally picked up again. As if there was any doubt that you could fix them yourself—keeping up, Syd?”

I cursed under my breath and crossed out where I had written, Keeping up, Syd?

“Yes,” I said, sighing. “Keep going.”

“I have the information I need, though I’m not sure my very dear friend will hear me out,” North continued. “Yes, I am aware of what has been going on with Oliver, though I haven’t received a letter from him in quite some time.”

“What’s going on with Oliver?” I asked, looking up.

“Nosy today, aren’t we?” He smiled.

“Fine, fine,” I said. “Keep going.”