Chapter 19

Nineteen

Kyrith

“ L ibrarian—Kyrith—he’s awake!”

Dakari’s words drag me out of the fabric of the Arcanaeum with a jolt. I reform just in time to watch him helping Jasper to sit up in bed. A thought summons more pillows behind him, and I float closer, inspecting those mahogany eyes with a critical gaze.

His pupils are fine, and his jaundice has gone completely, too. He’s a little weak and shaky, but my work on reversing the atrophy in his muscles appears to have paid off—a little too well, if I’m honest. My poor, sex-starved brain drinks in the sight of his lightly fur-covered abs and the corded muscles of his deltoids as he rotates his neck experimentally.

Now that he’s awake, he can eat to regain what he’s lost, rather than relying on my daily infusions of restoration energy.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, scrutinising him carefully for any hint of pain.

Jasper jolts, frowning as he examines me. “A ghost?”

His voice is rough—as if from screaming or disuse—but edged with a rich burr.

“You’re in the Arcanaeum,” Dakari explains before I can. “This is Kyrith, the Librarian. She’s been looking after you for the last week while you recovered.”

Jasper nods woodenly, and I grimace. He’s already looking lost, tired, and overwhelmed. I can tell just by looking at him.

“How are you feeling?” Dakari presses.

He scrubs a hand through his beard, pausing in shock, then patting his face as if to assure himself it’s really there. “Sare and kinda stiff.”

I can work on that. With a nudge from me, the ingredients for a tonic start chopping themselves behind me.

Instead of commiserating, or offering comfort, the Talcott heir laughs. “That’ll happen when you spend all your time chained in a Carlton basement.”

I’m not trying to pry, but I don’t exactly try to stop myself from listening as I turn to the small, enchanted pantry in the corner and rummage for something to feed him.

Jasper stiffens. “I…don’t know. Chained in a basement? That seems… Wait… How long was I…?”

His confusion gets deeper with every single word, and pity permeates the heavy silence. I turn, holding a plate out like an offering.

Lambert has signed the Arcanaeum up to something called a meal delivery service. Apparently, the company is run by an arcanist, and the Winthrop heir managed to pull some strings to get them to hand deliver the food to the desk every evening just before closing.

A simple heating spell leaves the cottage pie steaming, and a careful conjuration spell summons a tray on his lap.

“Eat,” I insist, setting the plate down. “If you can get through half, you can go back to sleep.” I pin Dakari with a stern look. “You mustn’t tax him. He’s still recovering.”

Neither of them acknowledges me.

“How long?” Jasper repeats.

Dakari perches on the side of the bed, all humour gone as he examines his friend. His expression makes it plain that he’d rather be anywhere else. “Over a decade.”

“Nah…that’s not right.” Jasper sits up sharply. “I’ve… I can’t… Ten years ?”

He’s hyperventilating now, his heartbeat dancing at his temple. All the work I put into healing him is spiralling undone under the weight of more stress.

With a flick of my hand, I summon a bottle of salts from the top shelf, uncork it, and shove it under his nose. His pupils are dilated, body trembling, as I silently will them to work faster.

A few panicked breaths later, he calms, his body relaxing against the pillows.

“What is that stuff?” Dakari asks, visibly uncomfortable.

“It’s just calming salts.” I dismiss his concern. “He needs to eat, then rest. You’re upsetting him with this, and it isn’t good for him right now.”

With a wave of my hand, I prompt the cutlery into collecting a bite-sized piece of cottage pie and holding it up in offering.

“Please eat, Mr McKinley,” I say, gentling my voice. “Then rest. Nothing can be done until you’re well.”

He’s practically docile as he takes a bite, then another. Part of me squirms with guilt at having to do this, but unfortunately, his trauma and past are going nowhere. Right now, his health trumps that.

Ten years. Magic… Dakari indicated it was a while, but not that long.

“You mustn’t push him,” I reiterate to the now-pacing Talcott. “It took a week to get him back to this state, and he hasn’t eaten in magic-knows-how-long.”

He looks suitably chastised for a second before he resumes frowning. “He deserves to know. His parents will be?—”

Jasper’s head snaps up, and I wince as he slurs. “Do they know?”

I glare at Dakari, daring him to say something as the fork hovers insistently by Jasper’s mouth.

“I’ll tell them you’re back when you’re healthy and things are settled.”

Thank magic for that diplomatic answer. Perhaps the Talcott heir can follow instructions after all.

Jasper’s concentration finally returns to the food. He only manages a few more mouthfuls before he shoves the fork away, but I’m secretly pleased at his progress. He’s not throwing up or complaining of any pain.

“Tomorrow,” I promise Dakari, as I tuck the exhausted arcanist back under the sheets, those warm eyes once again sliding closed. “He should be more awake then. I’d like him to get out of bed and start using his muscles. It will give you time to catch up.”

My magic slips out and brushes a lock of hair out of his sleeping face.

Dakari looks up from where he’s finishing off his own food and nods. “He doesn’t remember.”

“The result of a few lesser ensorcellments, no doubt.” I wish I could say I was surprised, but I’m not. “Any sensible person would regularly cast a few of those over him, just in case he escaped.”

One thing has become clear during my treatment; Jasper is a powerful arcanist. His magical well is damaged right now, but when he’s fully recovered, he’ll be a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention, Clan McKinley’s retribution would be swift and painful for all those involved. The Carltons would’ve known that and taken the appropriate precautions.

“Can we undo them?”

Is he always so impatient?

I sigh. “Time, Dakari. He needs time. He’s only just woken up; that does not mean he’s ready to be interrogated or spelled to within an inch of his life. His magical well has been cracked to the point where it’s a miracle he’s still breathing, and then there’s the obvious trauma he’ll have to deal with when he does remember. If you can’t be gentle with him, I suggest you return to the hunt for that grimoire.”

The one that Leo is also searching for. And North. And Josef.

North wants it for his father, which suggests either Ackland never had the grimoire in the first place, or that Josef or some other forebear lost it and now they want it back. Galileo wants it on my behalf. He has no reason to do that unless he intends to demand something big from me in return.

Something to do with his ensorcellment? Generational magic like that is tricky, and it tends to get stronger rather than weaker. Lesser ensorcellments, like those used on Jasper, inevitably fall apart on their own and leave no mark on their victims. Then there are established, or anchored, ensorcellments, which appear as a runeform on the target’s skin, and then sustain themselves using the victim’s magic or life force. It’s such a slight drain that it normally has no adverse effect, other than its intended purpose. Which led to an insufferable fad of self-confidence ensorcellments a few years ago.

I’ve broken established ones before, but it took work. Lots of work. Months of work.

I’ve never broken a generational one before. I’m not even sure if I can. They’re rooted beyond the magical level, in blood. If Galileo finds Ackland’s grimoire, and then tries to trade my cure for his own, then there’s a good chance I’m done for.

I float below the Rotunda’s glass dome on my back in the darkness, still fretting over the possibilities. He’s not unreasonable. If I can’t do it, then…

Then he might resort to threats, and he’s one of the few arcanists who actually has enough knowledge and power to follow through on them.

No. I’m working myself up over nothing.

“Hey, boss lady?” Lambert’s voice cuts through the silence, and I stiffen. “I don’t want to interrupt your…swimming? But we’ve got the January exams coming up in just over a month and…”

There’s a muffled slap, and I flip over onto my front to see Leo with him on the marbled floor beneath me.

“Is it that time already?” I wonder aloud, merging with the fabric of the Arcanaeum and reappearing behind them.

I stop, frowning. “Where’s Northcliff?”

My attention drifts to the vault door, and the Arcanaeum magics another lock onto the already obscene number of deadbolts along the inside in response.

He’s not down there, or attempting to break in. Not yet anyway.

“Late, I guess.” Lambert shrugs. “He might be out celebrating. He actually got a passing grade on that last assignment.”

“Took him long enough,” Galileo murmurs, only to receive an amused eye roll from Lambert.

“If you keep being so grumpy, I’m going to change my mind about calling you my favourite cousin.”

“You call everyone that,” Galileo remarks dryly. “It’s hardly a mark of distinction.”

“It’s not my fault our ancestors got a bit too carried away with the inbreeding?—”

“It was hardly inbreeding. There were standards. Besides, you don’t even know how we’re related, do you?”

“Eh. Does it matter? At one point, our ancestors probably bumped uglies, right?”

“You should pay more attention to your family politics.”

I tune out their bickering as I ponder North’s absence.

It could be true. North has been struggling more than Lambert has, thanks mostly to the ridiculous lack of information Josef provided him. Since the circumstances leading to his admission to the Arcanaeum became clear, I’ve examined him closely, and now that I’m looking for it, I catch moments where he’s obviously lost or overwhelmed. Brief seconds where he doesn’t understand what’s going on, before he quickly covers it with false confidence and gruff remarks.

Even though I understand a little more of his motivations, that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the driving force behind them. North is his father’s puppet. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to sneak into the Vault again if Josef asked him to. So I examine Lambert with narrowed eyes, looking for a hint of deception.

Not that I noticed any the last time they tried to trick me. Is using a truth spell on them a little too paranoid?

“Which exams?” I finally ask with a sigh.

Lambert winces, shooting Leo an almost wary glance that’s gone before the other man can catch it. “Ensorcellment. We’re focusing on nullification and illusion next term, but I didn’t really find any of it interesting.”

“What Lambert means to say,” Galileo cuts in, “Is that I wasn’t there to force his attendance, so he missed most of the lectures.”

And Galileo likely didn’t attend because it’s a sore subject for him.

“Your attendance should not be dictated by Galileo’s,” I scold mildly.

“I knowwww,” Lambert pouts. “But the first game of the season is tomorrow , and Coach wants us at the top of our game.”

“You would be far closer to the top of your game if you knew how to use spells that could confuse and control your opponents,” I retort. “Come. I assume you’re using Ensorcellment Basics and Best Practice by Raddigan ó Rinn as your course text?”

Lambert gapes at me. “How did you know?”

Because I’ve loaned a copy of the two-hundred-year-old tome to every single first year to cross the Arcanaeum’s doorstep since it was published. I don’t say it, because I don’t wish to age myself unnecessarily, but my unimpressed look must give away the answer because Lambert grins and?—

“No. Hugging!” I drop through the floor and reappear several feet away. “What must I do to force that rule into your pretty head?”

Instead of looking chastised in the slightest, Lambert’s smile turns luminous.

“She thinks I’m pretty!” He practically jumps into the air with excitement, then holds his hand up, as if asking Leo for a high five, only to be disappointed. “Oh, come on, Leo. She probably thinks you’re pretty, too!”

I splutter. “I meant it as?—!”

“Ah, ah, ah! No takebacksies! Now, tell Leo he’s pretty. He could do with a little ego boost after the dressing down his grandfather gave him this morning.”

Questions must swim in my eyes, because Leo grabs Lambert by both shoulders and forces him between us like a shield. “He will do anything to get out of this. I suggest a sticking spell on his ass to stop him running away.”

“Look, ensorcellment is a dumb school,” Lambert pleads. “It’s all about manipulating people, and I don’t…”

Of course he doesn’t. He’s Lambert. Manipulating people isn’t something he has to do consciously; they just fall over backwards to help him, anyway.

My long, loud groan cuts him off. “Go sit in the study area. I’ll find some books and a mirror.”

“A mirror?” Lambert looks confused.

“If your objections come from practising on other people, you can practise on yourself.”

“Lambert doesn’t need to fall in love with himself any more than he already has,” Leo comments dryly.

Silently I agree, but I don’t reply as I head down into one of the Arcanaeum’s many old storerooms in search of what I need. I could’ve simply summoned it to me, but the distraction gives me space to collect myself before we get started.

When I return to the study nook I’m quickly beginning to refer to as theirs, I bring the old floor-to-ceiling looking glass with me. They’ve chosen opposite sides of the table, and Lambert’s books are already spread over the surface. His eyes widen at the engravings in the gilt frame and the gems set into the runeforms.

“How did you get that?” Leo asks, standing and running a finger over the metal.

“One of the McKinley ancestors once tried to use the Arcanaeum as a way to save their possessions during a fire,” I explain absently. “The fire claimed them in the end, but their possessions remained, and no one came to claim them. So…”

“So you stole them?” Lambert looks oddly impressed. “Sneaky Librarian!”

Why is he saying that like it’s a compliment? “I stole nothing. I simply…reclaimed it. Anyway, this mirror has been transmuted to reflect magic cast upon it. It was done originally to allow the owner to utilise lesser cosmetic spells, but it will suffice for what we need.”

“We’re making me even prettier, boss?” Lambert offers me a sly wink that makes me roll my eyes. “I rock a red lip, in case you’re wondering, but when it comes to eye palettes, I’m strictly into subtle neutrals. Glittery bold colours tend to overwhelm my poor little peepers.”

Why am I not surprised that he knows that?

“Focus.” I click in front of his face, annoyed that the action makes no sound and draws my attention to my cracked hand. “You’re going to practise a laughing spell. Imagine how useful that could be on a magiball court. If your opponents are stuck laughing so hard that they can’t hit the ball, you’ve got an easy win.”

Laughing spells have to be one of the easiest and least harmful members of the school of ensorcellment, and I watch as Galileo relaxes incrementally. Like I was about to start teaching the two of them?—

“Sorry I’m late.” North’s voice makes me jump, and I whirl with a lecture waiting on my lips, but it dies as soon as I catch sight of his face.

The skin of his left cheek is the fresh pink of a barely set restoration spell, and his hair, eyebrows, and lashes are missing. With a wave of my hand, the ingredients for a hair-regrowth potion start combining together in the mortar in Jasper’s room, the pestle diligently crushing them quietly enough that it shouldn’t disturb my guest.

“Fire spell?” I assume, stepping closer to examine him as he slides onto the bench beside Lambert. “You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’re not experienced enough to take on anyone with a decent grasp of destruction magic?—”

Without thinking, I raise my hand, manipulation magic at the ready to tip his chin up and examine the shoddy job whoever healed him has done of his throat.

“Piss off,” he retorts, batting my hand away. “It’s none of your business.”

I barely disappear in time. Even when I’m sure I’ve dodged the contact, it takes me several long moments to regain the necessary composure to reform a few inches farther from them.

“Watch yourself.” The cold snap is harsher than I mean it to be, but I can’t help it. He almost… If I’d not been fast enough…

“Sorry.” Ackland grunts after a long moment, where Leo and Lambert both stare at him expectantly. “Are we learning this stupid giggle magic or what?”

His brusqueness rankles, but I take his point. Why should I care what happened to him, of all people? He didn’t touch me. No damage was done.

“Yes. Let’s continue.” I smooth down the imaginary creases in my dress as I search for my composure. “Copy down the runeform.”

Both Lambert and North start, but Leo doesn’t, and I pin him with a look. “Avoiding one of the foundation schools will only hurt you in the long run.”

“I mastered ensorcellment as a teenager,” Galileo replies smoothly. “I have no need for tutoring. I’d rather you spend the time telling me what you know about divination.”

As distractions go, I suppose it’s a good one. Double checking that the others are occupied, I ponder what it is he wants to know. It’s one of the widest-ranging schools of magic.

“That’s third year magic,” I remind him.

“I may not have until third year.” There’s a hint of flinty steel in his tone. “And what I need to know won’t be covered by the syllabus.”

I hover a little closer, despite the wariness reminding me that I shouldn’t be within touching distance. “Divination is the art of revealing the unseen, as I’m sure you know. I assume you want to learn how to discern the intention behind spells?”

A skilled divinator can tell another arcanist’s power levels with a glance or read the runeform on his skin and tell him the details of his ensorcellment.

But Galileo shakes his head and pins me with one of those enigmatic looks.

“No. I want to know how it can be used to tell the future.”