"How many? Where are they now?" Sonder asked and stood up suddenly.
Her tone carried something sharp and hungry.
The mage looked at her, surprised at the reaction, as this sorceress' spirit was that of wrath but now turned to something more wretched.
But as concerned as he was for his own safety and the safety of his house, he thought better of it than to keep her from just some shards he found lying around.
For a moment he was torn between the two options, but in the end, his house won.
The mage hesitated.
Then, with visible reluctance, he jerked his chin toward the far wall.
"In the cupboard," he said, "Behind you. In one of the drawers."
Slowly, Sonder turned her head, just enough to glance over her shoulder.
It stood close by, closed and unremarkable, but intact.
She looked back at the mage.
"Stand up," she said. "Pull the drawer all the way out and bring it here."
The mage rose from his chair, clearly displeased at being ordered around.
He approached the cupboard carefully, as if a wrong touch might set off the sorceress.
He slid the drawer free and carried it with all four hands, posture rigid.
When he set it down between them, he leaned back immediately, as though proximity alone was dangerous.
"See?" he said. "Right there."
Sonder leaned forward.
The drawer was empty.
No shards.
Nothing but a thin layer of dust and the faint impression that something had once rested there.
"You're lying," she said.
The mage looked at the empty drawer.
"I am not," he snapped, genuine panic slipping into his voice now. "They were there. I swear it. I put them there myself."
Sonder's face twisted, and the staff flared, light swelling until it filled the room.
The glow of the staff was so bright that even with closed eyes, the mage had to shield himself with his hands.
Abruptly, the light dimmed.
And then it was almost completely dulled.
There was a sharp, biting pain that bloomed in Sonder's palm.
She hissed softly and looked down at her hand.
The mage lowered his hands and looked to what was happening.
"Your hand," he said.
Sonder followed his gaze.
Her fingers were clenched into a fist. She didn't remember closing them or how long they had been clenched.
She had to pry them open, her fingers almost refusing to bend.
There they were.
Two shards.
They were heavy, and even though they were dull, they had cut into her hand.
It must have been so for a while because even her molasses-like blood had enough time to stain her hand and drip a few drops to the ground.