Dance of the Dead
Page 30
Those who had come to watch her farewell to Willen looked around, shocked, as the boat began to mend itself. Shards of brightly painted paddlewheel spokes moved, met and merged, completely whole, if in need of another coat of red paint. The splinters that had once been the magnificent griffin figurehead rolled together and repaired themselves. Then the great creature flew to its former perch and froze in place.
The metal of the boat—damaged door hinges, bent railings, and the like—would need a smith’s touch. Larissa’s fruit and flower magic could only mend things that had once been alive. Still, the boat was now as secure as it could be, ready to venture once again into the mists and whatever terrors or new adventures they hid from view.
Those infamous, perilous mists loomed just ahead, but Larissa, for this instant, did not care. She had temporarily found a place of solace, and was lost in bittersweet joy, dancing to keep her heart from breaking.
Sardan, enraptured, leaned against the railing and watched her. Jahedrin came up behind him.
“I thought she was just a girl,” the pilot said in a low tone.
“She is,” Sardan replied, his heart filled with affectionate admiration. “She’s a girl, and a dancer, and a wizard, and a woman who’s probably tougher than the rest of the crew combined. But you know what else she is?”
When Jahedrin shook his head, Sardan glanced at him. “She’s our captain.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Christie Golden is a University of Virginia graduate and has studied at England’s Cambridge University. She is known as Lady Ealasaid in the Society for Creative Anachronism. Other hobbies include acting, singing, and writing songs, plays, and poetry. She has a cat named Kipling and always claps for Tinkerbell. She has published previously in USA Today and Orbit Video, and her first novel, Vampire of the Mists, was a national chain bookstore best seller.