Mite’s light feet scampered away. She returned a few minutes later with a tray laden with baked apples, urchin soup, buttered buns fresh from the oven, a neat pile of chocolate cakes, and a mug of custard. But no Julian.
“He says you’re not allowed to plot anything for a while,” Mite said. She set the tray down next to Noa and helped herself to a cake. “He says the last time you came up with a plot you ran off and nearly got yourself killed. He says you’re not allowed to do that today.”
“Oh, really.” Noa’s foul mood got even fouler. She sat up and stabbed at the soup with her spoon. “Well, that’s a nice way to thank me for saving his stupid sea serpent. How exactly are you going to stop me from plotting, Mite?”
“Um,” Mite said.
Noa swallowed her soup. She tilted her head to one side and let her gaze drift.
“Hey!” Mite said. “You’re not supposed to plot.”
“Hmm,” Noa murmured, rubbing her chin and staring vacantly at the curtains. “Hmm.”
“Stop that!”
Noa pointed an apple at her. “Look, Mite. I’m going to search for the Lost Words whether you like it or not. You have two choices. You can either tattle to Julian, or you can help me.”
Mite looked as if she hadn’t expected that. “Help you?”
“I understand if you’re scared,” Noa said silkily. “The thing is, I just want to protect Astrae.”
“I want to protect Astrae too!”
“Hmm,” Noa said, pretending to plot as she sipped her custard. This time, Mite only watched her avidly. “I think I know how to find the Lost Words. But I can’t do it without your help.”
Mite looked torn. “Julian said . . .”
“Here.” Noa handed Mite the Chronicle. “Start a new entry. We’ll make a list of places where the mages might have hidden the Lost Words.”
Mite’s eyes grew wide as teacups. Normally, Noa didn’t allow her to touch the Chronicle. “You want me to write in this?”
Noa nodded. “This is very, very important. I know you’ll take good care of it.”
“I will,” Mite promised earnestly. She flipped through the Chronicle, looking for a fresh page. When she found one, she took a pencil and wrote the date at the top, just as Noa always did. She seemed to be trying to be as neat as possible, so it took a full minute. Her nose almost touched the page.
“Good,” Noa said. She slurped up the last of the custard and set the mug down. “Now, help me look for the map of the Ayora Sea.”
They found that easily enough, and Noa spent the next hour moving Julian’s telescope from one side of the tower to another, map in one hand and compass in the other. Unfortunately, the tiny islets of Greenwash were all on the map. Noa had been hoping that one would be missing, like Evert was. She told herself that the ancient mages had probably used different techniques to hide each magical language—it would be too easy to find them all otherwise. She found the coordinates Thadeus had given Julian and muttered over them for a while, but they covered too large an area to be helpful.
Mite followed Noa from window to window, taking painfully neat notes in the Chronicle. Noa was pleased by how well her ploy had worked. Mite seemed happy to go along with Noa’s plots if she felt like she was being included in them. Noa wondered why she hadn’t thought of that before. Mite chattered as they worked, jumping from some letter Renne had sent to how she didn’t think Julian should bop Reckoner on the snout when he was bad, because he’d just forget about it to demanding with a disturbing intensity that Noa tell her if she noticed any giant spiderwebs in the castle.
Eventually, Mite settled down on Julian’s bed with the Chronicle to sketch walruses, which Noa had suggested as a way of getting rid of her. She soon fell asleep.
Noa breathed a sigh of relief. Astrae had spun slightly west to remain invisible to the king’s ships, so she moved the telescope to a better window. She sat down in front of it with a sextant and began going through some complicated calculations. Perhaps the coordinates themselves were some sort of riddle.
Occupied as she was, she didn’t notice the shadows lengthening across the floor as the sun dipped toward the western horizon. Nor did she notice the strange icy breeze that mixed itself with the ordinary breezes and made Julian’s papers rustle like dry fingers. She did notice the prickling on the back of her neck. She looked up, and then around.
A ghost stood on the other side of the tower, watching her. The ghost had the shape of a woman, and she had fewer drifting tendrils than the others. Her features were difficult to make out, and she wore a long cloak that could have been either black or gray.
The ghost brushed a strand of colorless hair from her face, and Noa froze. The gesture was painfully familiar. Noa’s heart faltered. Slowly, the ghost became clearer, as if shrouded by a fading fog. The cloak was indeed black, with a cut that indicated its expense. Her face was still blurred, but Noa could see that the chin was sharp, the ears overlarge. And there was something about her eyes, the hint of wrinkles at the corners, as if from frequent bouts of laughter, that stole Noa’s breath.
Noa couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t. And yet—
“Mom?” she croaked.
The ghost lifted her hand. When she spoke, her voice was thin and strange, as if it were carried on a distant wind. “Noa?”
“Mom.” It was half a sob. Noa threw her instruments aside and sprang to her feet. It was her mother’s voice, her mother’s gestures. Her mother had come back! Nothing else mattered in that moment—not Xavier’s ships, not the Lost Words, not even Julian. She tripped over the telescope
