Free The Burning Sky by Sherry Thomas Page A

back into the satchel. He scooped up everything else. “May I ask why you called down the lightning today?”
    I needed to keep my guardian employed and a roof over our heads.
    â€œI was trying to correct a batch of light elixir. I found in my guardian’s copy of The Complete Potion a note that said a bolt of lightning could right any light elixir, no matter how badly tainted.”
    He walked toward the fireplace, his arms full. “Who wrote that note?”
    â€œI don’t know, sire.”
    He tossed her discards into the grate. “Extinguamini.  Tollamini.”
    Her things turned to dust. The dust rose in a column up the flue. The prince braced his elbow on the mantel and waited for all the evidence of destruction to depart. He was all long, elegant lines and—
    She realized she was staring at him, in a way she could not remember ever looking at anyone else. Hastily she dropped her gaze.
    â€œIt is bizarre that anyone would counsel that,” he said. “Lightning plays no role in potion making. How old is that copy of The Complete Potion ?”
    â€œI’m not sure, sire. My guardian always had it.”
    He returned to the door of the laboratory, repeated the password, and went inside. “Mine is a first edition. It was published during the Millennium Year.”
    The Millennium Year celebrated one thousand years of the House of Elberon—his house. It was currently Year of the Domain 1031, which meant the copy in Little Grind was at most thirty-one years old. She’d thought the book much older. “Do we need to find out who wrote the note, sire?”
    We. Her use of the word further embarrassed her. She was assuming a great deal of common purpose with her sovereign.
    â€œI doubt we would be able to, even if we tried,” said the prince. “Are you well enough to eat something?”
    â€œI think so.” Her stomach had settled down and she was famished, having not touched a bite of the luncheon Mrs. Needles had brought her.
    He poured her a cup of tea. “What is your name?”
    It so surprised her that he did not already know that she forgot to thank him for the tea. “Seabourne, sire. Iolanthe Seabourne.”
    â€œPleased to meet you, Miss Seabourne.”
    â€œLong may Fortune uphold your banner, sire.”
    That was what a subject said upon meeting the Master of the Domain. But perhaps she also ought to kneel. Most likely she should curtsy.
    As if he read her thoughts, the prince said, “Do not worry about niceties. And no need to keep calling me ‘sire.’ We are not in the Domain, and no one will chastise us for not observing court etiquette.”
    So . . . he is also gracious.
    Enough. She didn’t even know what had happened to Master Haywood, and here she was, very close to hero-worshipping someone she’d barely met. “Thank you, sire—I mean, thank you. And may I impose upon you to tell me, Your Highness, what happened to my guardian after I left?”
    â€œHe is in the Inquisitor’s custody now,” said the prince, sitting down opposite her.
    Even the pleasure of his nearness could not dilute her dismay. “So the Inquisitor did come?”
    â€œNot even half a minute after you left.”
    She clasped her hands together. That she was in real danger still shocked her.
    â€œYou have not touched your tea, Miss Seabourne. Cream or sugar?”
    Usually she liked her tea full of sugar and cream, but such a rich beverage no longer appealed. She took a sip of the black tea. The prince pushed a plate of sandwiches in her direction. 
    â€œEat. Hiding from the Inquisitor is hard work. You need to keep up your strength.”
    She took a bite of the sandwich—it had an unexpectedly curried taste. “So the Inquisitor wants me.”
    â€œMore precisely, the Bane wants you.” 6
    She recoiled. She couldn’t recall when or where she’d first learned of the Bane,