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“What?”
“You’re squinting.”
“I’m concentrating. Or I was trying to.” He looked at her doubtfully, and she pointed at the page before her, explaining, “The writing is so small.”
“Excuses,” he said, dismissing her words with a knowing smile. “You need glasses.”
“I don’t.”
Ignoring her protests, Penbrook pushed back his chair. Looking all too pleased with himself, he unhurriedly circled the table until he stood by her side, holding out his black frames.
“Try them on.”
“They’re huge.”
He slanted a grin. “All the better to see me with.”
“Oh, give them to me.” She laughed, snatching the glasses from his hand and placing them on her face. Everything was blurry for a moment, Penbrook’s features gone all soft, then the lenses read her eyes by way of magic, shifting their focus to suit her needs.
She glanced down at the page she’d just been reading and blinked. The words had never shown more clearly.
“How’s that?” he asked slyly, as he must have known the answer.
The glasses slid down the bridge of her nose, and she nudged them back up. “I love them.”
“Am I getting them back?”
“You are not getting them back. At least not today.” She was teasing and serious all at once. “Can you do without?”
“I’ll manage.” If anything, he sounded pleased. Like he enjoyed seeing them perched on her nose.
They each went back to their respective readings: Penbrook lounging catlike in his chair, Fia adjusting the glasses with unexpected glee. With the words so sharp now, it didn’t take her long to skim through the rest of the spells and curses in the current volume, which she would absolutely recommend Grace lock away to prevent anyone using it.
When she reached the final page, she found a much-belated warning, the last part of which lanced through her like a blade.
DO TAKE CARE WHEN DARKLY CASTING.
IN MOST CASES—
AS WE WOULD BE FOOLS TO BELIEVE IN MAGICAL ABSOLUTES—
CURSES CANNOT BE BROKEN UNTIL THEY HAVE ALREADY COME TO PASS.
CHAPTER 15
Fia slammed the book shut. She wanted to scrub all those horrible curses from her mind, and more, she wanted to scratch out the very last part of that warning. If Penbrook’s curse came to pass, he would die.
She looked at him over the rim of her glasses—his glasses. He seemed even more boneless than usual, ridiculously relaxed in the hardbacked chair and as studious as a scholar at Thistledown. A line had formed between his brows, suggesting he’d found an especially captivating passage to puzzle over.
Popping up from her chair, Fia winced at the way it scraped the floor, but Penbrook only raised his eyes in question.
“I’ve run out of books.”
“Ah, you’re a bookworm. You’ve made more progress than me, then. Any luck?”
“No,” she lied, edging the offending book to the side with one finger.
“I’m luckless as well. Are you ready for a break?” With his gusty voice, Penbrook sounded more like he was ready for a nap.
