Chapter 15

Fifteen

Kyrith

I don’t go to Hopkinson’s class.

I drift, formless, within the building for a few hours, then stay invisible as I grind up the herbs and set potions to distil in the corner of Jasper’s room. Dakari watches the bottles and jars floating, but says nothing, honouring my silent request for space.

Until it comes time to start treatment, and there’s no putting it off any longer.

I’ve deliberately left it until the last possible moment. There are just ten minutes until the others will arrive for tutoring, so if Dakari has questions, I have a reasonable excuse not to answer them.

It’s not cowardly; it’s strategic.

I breeze into being and look down at Jasper, knowing instinctively that Dakari’s head has snapped up to watch me.

“This will not be pleasant,” I warn him. “But it is necessary.”

That’s all the preparation I give him before I murmur an immobilisation spell under my breath and tip the contents of the small vial down Jasper’s throat.

His system has been decimated by whatever potions they’ve been giving him, and I need to sort out his liver and kidneys before I work on anything else. If they fail while I’m trying to treat his heart…

Jasper’s eyes fly open, and his throat works like he’s trying to reject the potion, but I use my magic to force his jaw shut. For the first time I see the warm chocolate rings of his irises, almost completely drowned out by the yellowed whites.

“Shhh,” I whisper, trying my best to soothe him. “I promise, this will pass. I’m sorry it hurts.”

All I can do is try to comfort him as the seizures work their way through his body. It’s not a pretty process. The Arcanaeum helps where it can, cleaning soiled bedding stained with sweat and other fluids as soon as they become dirty.

I can’t touch him, but I use telekinesis to brush a sweat-soaked lock of hair from his forehead. It’s just a small gesture, but it seems to soothe him somewhat.

It feels like longer than ten minutes before the potion has run its course, and Jasper finally goes limp on the bed, exhausted and spent.

But a quick spell reveals his kidneys and liver have been rejuvenated. It will take a few hours for the effects to show, but already some of the yellowing and puffiness is subsiding, leaving flawless skin that holds the hint of a rich bronze undertone.

“When will he wake?” Dakari asks, but I shake my head.

“He can’t yet. I had to heal his liver and his kidneys before I start on his heart. Once his body is healthy, I can start on the rest. The damage to his magical core is extreme. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Dakari’s scowl returns, a dark threat consuming his expression, and I float backward instinctively.

“I’ll give him the night to recover,” I murmur. “I have guests who need tending to, anyway. In the morning, I’ll administer the heart tincture to try to reduce the swelling there. Depending on how he responds… perhaps a week until he wakes up.”

Dakari closes his book slowly, as if the action physically pains him.

“What did they do to him?”

Tugging at my sleeve, I hum thoughtfully. “If I had to guess? I’d say he suffered repeated magical burnouts—over a long period of time—followed by forcing him to drink restorative concoctions, which are known to do damage to the other organs if consumed too regularly. I’ve read about it happening in cases of over-ambitious arcanists who wanted to push themselves to the limit or appear more powerful than they really were.” Floating towards the door, I hesitate before passing through it. “My guests should be bringing you food. If you’re hungry, we’ll be in the Ruinous Hall.”

I’m gone before he can ask more.

I don’t know where the Talcotts stand with the other families, though I imagine their standing with the Carltons took a nosedive today. All I can do is hope I’ve not just set up another standoff.

But if the troublesome trio, as I’ve begun to think of them, have an issue with him, they’re more than welcome to find someone else to tutor them. They’re all probably stinking rich; I can’t imagine it would be that hard.

They’re already gathered around the table I’ve somehow come to think of as theirs, even in such a short time. There are three square boxes of something steaming on the table, and Lambert is already reaching for one, but North slaps his hand away.

“Okay, what are we doing today?” I ask, floating up beside them.

“North needs desperate help with conjuration,” Lambert tattles, sticking his tongue out at his grumpy friend. “And I got eighty percent in my last alchemy paper.”

“Now you just have to pass the exam,” Galileo says pointedly.

Lambert slumps. “Ugh, I?—”

All three of them stiffen.

“Talcott,” Galileo finally acknowledges, his accent turning the name harsher than I’ve ever heard it said.

“ó Rinn,”

“Dakari.” Lambert waves a hand towards him, then at North. “North.” Finally, he gestures to himself. “Lambert! Great. We’re all friends now.”

The look being shared between Leo and Dakari is less than friendly, but I pretend not to notice it. “This is apparently pizza.” I wave at the boxes. “I have no idea what it tastes like, but?—”

“You sent us to get food for him?” Lambert pouts. “But I thought?—”

“Lambert,” I say softly. “I can’t eat, remember? I’ve never seen a pizza before, for all that I understand the concept. I can’t even smell whatever is in the box.”

Given the absolutely shattered look on Lambert’s face, one might think that he’d just been told the end of the world was nigh, or perhaps that magiball had been banned.

He turns to Leo, pinning him with a look. “Fix her.”

A startled laugh bursts out of me, and all four of them freeze at the sound. I am not ladylike with my laughter; I never have been. If I could still blush, I would, because apparently even without lungs, I still snort like a prize hog midway through my witchy cackle.

I can’t help it. Lambert so casually commanding such a young arcanist to just ‘fix me’ as if death is something one can simply recover from…magic.

“You’re pretty when you laugh, Kyrith,” Lambert says, and the words instantly shock me sober.

“There is no fixing me.” I know I shouldn’t, but my right hand comes down to cradle the broken black cracks of my opposite wrist. “But you should all eat. I would like to know what pizza tastes like, and you can describe it to me.”

I turn to Dakari, only to find him staring at me.

“What?” I ask, self-conscious. “If you don’t like pizza…” I don’t know what I’ll do.

“Can’t she just conjure him something?” North mutters. “Or he could do it himself?”

Okay, now I see why he needs help with conjuration. That’s basic magic theory, taught to children.

“Food is one of the inconjurable paradoxes,” Leo explains.

At the same time Dakari says to me, “You have a name?”

Oh. He didn’t know. Now that predatory gaze has turned almost accusatory, as if it’s my fault he never cared to ask before now.

“Yep, she was a student back in the sixteenth century,” Lambert says, and I’m almost instantly mollified by the fact that he actually remembers that detail.

“It’s not important.” I wave them away. “Besides, your food is getting cold.”

On the table, a pile of fine bone china plates appears, along with crystal wine glasses and a collection of silverware.

North just shakes his head, but Lambert full-on laughs. “You don’t eat takeout with this stuff.”

Frowning, because I wasn’t aware there was a particular etiquette, I’m even more confused when he flips open the box and withdraws a wedge-shaped piece of food practically drooping under the weight of its toppings.

That doesn’t look…structurally sound.

It’s colourful, though.

The bookshelves around them actually lean in slightly, as if the building itself is curious about the strange wheel left behind in the box.

“It’s bread?” I guess, looking at the crust.

North shrugs. “Bread, sauce, pepperoni, and plenty of melted cheese.”

Cheese. I would die all over again for cheese. Some of my longing must show on my face, because when I look up, the Winthrop heir is looking at me with pity.

Without a word, I disperse.

“I’ll be back when you’re finished,” I lie. “Please don’t touch any of the books without washing your hands first.”

I’m not leaving, but they don’t know that.

“You idiot,” Galileo snarls at Lambert. “You didn’t seriously think she could?—”

“To be fair, it’s not as though you could’ve predicted my presence,” Dakari interrupts, stepping closer and grabbing a slice. “What else would the Librarian want with pizza?” He pauses, taking a large bite and chewing in a way that makes me suddenly all too aware of how sharp his jawline is. “Thanks for the meal.”

“Why are you here?” Galileo asks, his expression colder than I’ve ever seen it.

“I could ask you the same question.” Dakari leans against one shelf rather than sitting. “No one visits the Arcanaeum after hours.”

“Lambert needs tutoring.”

“Hey, North, too!” Lambert says, but his mouth is full of pizza, which mangles the words. “Do you think I upset Kyrith? Maybe I should get her some flowers or something? Wait, is that insensitive if she can’t smell them either? They’re still pretty, though…”

“Getting her flowers?” North scoffs, stuffing his own face. “You’re wasting your time trying to charm a ghost. Just keep your head down and don’t get banished again so you can pass the year.”

They fall into silence, each of them eating their food without any of the dishes or cutlery the Arcanaeum provided.

Is this the way of the times? To eat from cardboard boxes without utensils?

“You never told us why you’re here,” Lambert says, when they’ve almost demolished all of the food. “You’re too old for tutoring, surely.”

“The Librarian has granted me Sanctuary,” Dakari admits, snatching up the last slice. “I’ve been working for the Arcanaeum since I graduated.”

“Surprised you have time,” Galileo grunts. “I would’ve thought collapsing buildings and stealing family relics kept you busy.”

Dakari stiffens, hand dropping to the grimoire at his waist, and I take that as my cue to return.

“Are you ready to continue?” I ask, cutting in swiftly. There’s less time than usual now that they’ve wasted a bit of it eating. “I presume you’re beginning with low mass, single material conjurations and working your way up to more complex ones?”

Lambert and North just stare at me blankly, and Galileo sighs. “Say yes.”

Both of them nod, and I want to groan as I pluck the book I’ve been saving for today out of thin air. “Good, we’ll begin by conjuring magiballs.”

“Erm, boss lady, that might not be a great idea…” Lambert eyes the book warily. “You realise those things spit acid and fire, right?”

“Not a full magiball, eejit,” Galileo says, groaning. “The bronze shells are?—”

“What do you mean, acid and fire?” North’s tone drips with accusation. “You said it was like volleyball.”

Sighing, I give Lambert and Leo a pointed look. “If I’m to teach him magic, you both need to teach him about his culture when he’s not here. I can’t be expected to do everything.” I draw on the magic of the Arcanaeum, tugging a book from the shelf and letting it flick open to the correct page on the table.

“This is the runeform you need, it uses the constellation pattern of?—”

“Constellation pattern?” North interrupts. “You mean to tell me this is all stars? Not just random shapes? It’s astrology bullshi?—”

“Profanity,” I interrupt, shaking my head, then scrub a hand over my face. “All runeforms are derived from the stars. The constellations arcanists recognise are different from the ones used by inepts for their astrology.”

Surely, he must at least know that much? What on earth are they teaching at the university these days?

“The classes assume some prior knowledge.” Galileo reads my mind with unerring accuracy. “Given that unclaimed liminals are so rare, the majority of students have had prior tutoring. Those who haven’t, fail.”

“And Josef didn’t provide a tutor?” I frown.

North’s face shuts down, but he doesn’t offer an explanation.

“Well, he’s got you now.” Lambert offers a sly panty-melting grin that might’ve raised my blood pressure were I alive. “What better tutor could he ask for?”

“Indeed, you’ll have to tell me how you managed to convince Kyrith to teach you anything.” Dakari is still scowling at them. “I can only imagine the Carltons will be even less impressed with this show of favour.”

Lambert rolls his eyes. “The same Carltons who are ‘too good’ to be reliant on such a ‘relic of the past’?”

The Arcanaeum bristles, and he holds his hands up. “I don’t think that, I swear. I love this place. It’s stunning, and you make it beautiful.”

The building calms, the shelves sighing at the compliment.

“Vain,” North mutters.

The book he’s supposed to be studying jumps up and smacks him in the face.

“Oww!” His hands fly to his nose, and I grimace as I wonder if I accidentally got blood on the book. I didn’t even hit him hard, for magic’s sake.

When he moves, there’s no blood. Phew.

The devilish glint in his eyes promises vengeance, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“As I was saying,” I finally continue. “You need to use this runeform, and on top of that, you need to picture clearly the object you’re conjuring.”

To demonstrate, I pull on the magic of the Arcanaeum and follow my own advice.

“ Crieti .”

A bronze ball, larger than a tennis ball but smaller than a football, materialises on the table, and Lambert picks it up with a grin. His fingers trace the ornate carvings across the shell with reverence.

“They’re pretty when they’re not trying to impale you.” He passes it to North, who frowns.

“Impale you?”

“There are three of them, alpha, beta, and gamma, and they all move at different speeds.” Lambert’s eyes light up. “Each one has different attacks, and the aim is not to let them hit the floor on your side of the net. Scoring starts at a hundred, and the first team that either has all their players taken out or reaches zero loses.”

“Taken out?” North is actually starting to go pale.

“Oh, yeah. Sometimes it’s the balls, but most of the time it’s the other team sabotaging?—”

“You attack one another? Jesus, that’s nothing like volleyball!”

I clear my throat. “I’m sure North can learn this another time. Now, study the ball and copy the runeform.”

“Can’t we just use that one?” North asks, frowning at the one in the book.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. He knows nothing…

Thankfully, Leo takes this one.

“Grimoires are specially made to ensure they can withstand the flow of magic long enough to cast a spell. If you tried to cast using that book, it would burn up like a scrap and it wouldn’t last long enough to conjure anything. Even if that book was able to withstand the magic, your grimoire becomes attuned to you over time, which means that using another arcanist’s will drain you faster.”

North grumbles, pulling the sleek blue grimoire from the holster at his hip with a slowness born of lack of practice. From that fumbling alone, I can tell that this will be a long night.