Lumin dropped another armload of books by the chest they'd emptied and wondered at the curious twists that brought him here. When Raekar offered him an apprenticeship, he'd thought the magician had been joking. But when sir Dedran made it clear he wouldn't wait around any longer than it took to gather the scattered crew of Raekar's ship, Raekar had used that offer as an excuse to keep Lumin out of the search parties and conscript him for other work.
Work that largely consisted of looting the castle's library. It hadn't exactly been difficult labor, but lugging chests of books down to the ship had stretched out long through the day, and Lumin had no desire to spend another night in the castle. The corpses littering its halls and rooms did nothing to make him feel comfortable, even if they weren't moving anymore, and his sleep deprived mind was startng to see things in the shadows.
He scooped the last few volumes from a finally emptied shelf and brought them back to Raekar's real apprentice. Winia had already packed away the previous tomes he'd delivered, and Lumin took a moment to rest on his heels while she added his newest offering into the chest's remaining space. Despite the fact that he'd done all the heavy lifting, both from the shelves and down to the ship, she looked far more worn than he: exhausted from the previous night's battle, drowning in the tunic she'd borrowed to replace her shredded blouse, she seemed much smaller, much more frail than the cold, aloof individual he remembered from the earlier voyage.
Then again, he'd never really gotten a good look at her on board the ship. For the most part she'd stayed with Raekar in his cabin, leaving no uncertainty in the speculation around the real relationship the wizard shared with his apprentice. Despite the impropriety, the rest of the crew had been just as glad. Women and wizards were both considered bad luck on board a ship, and when you added in Winia's wraith-like form and icy detachment, she was actually more disturbing to be around than her affable master.
And then there was her eye. It was swathed in bandages now, torn from the remnants of her tattered shirt. On the ship, she had always worn an eye patch over it. Lumin had heard a dozen reasons for it: that she'd been born without wizardly Sight, so she'd sacrificed an eye to gain it. That she had the evil eye, and wore the patch to protect the people around her. That she wore the patch over her good eye, and cursed anyone who dared meet her gaze.
It wasn't a risk Lumin was keen to take. He looked away when she glanced in his direction.
"There's room for more," she said, which was about as much as he'd heard from her all day.
"That's the last of them," Lumin replied, eyes still downcast. Winia stood, rising out of his field of vision, and Lumin chanced another glance at her. She was looking about the room, her arms limp at her sides.
"Oh," she said. "Then we should return to the ship before it gets much darker."
There was a listless quality to her voice, but Lumin's enthusiasm for the idea didn't require encouragement. He leaned forward, grasping the chest's handles and heaving up to his feet.
"Best plan I've heard today," he muttered, and strode to the door. Winia followed behind him, and he set a slow pace to accommodate her, despite wanting to rush down to the ship as fast as his legs could haul him and Raekar's precious books.
I wonder if this 'apprenticeship' is over now, he mused as he descended the stairs from the lich's rooms to the courtyard. If so, then it hasn't ended soon enough.
The sky was turning an amber gold and sliding into dusk as they left the castle, and Lumin's feet sped up despite himself. He hurried down the now familiar path to the shore, Winia following behind with the gait of a broken puppet. Not soon enough by far.
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