Chapter Eight
Crispin isn’t in his room, nor in my mother’s, nor in the hospital wing.
I follow the bond that connects me to him, using it like a compass. It leads me upwards, high up one of the towers. I don’t think I’ve ever been in this one.
The magic stairs transport me to the top faster than I could ever run up the steps. It also has the advantage that I’m not out of breath at all when I reach the top floor.
A curious sight awaits me. It looks like someone took a garden pavilion and transported it on top of a tower. Delicate columns are holding up a circular roof which is protecting a simple iron-wrought bench from the elements. Who had the idea of putting a bench on a tower? I wouldn’t be surprised if it gets blown away by the next storm.
“Sit with me,” a quiet voice says. Crisp
