Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

Kyrith

T hat night, I’m slower to rise from the Vault than usual. Part of me expects a repeat of before, with all five of them staring down at me. I don’t have the energy for that kind of confrontation.

Mercifully, I’m wrong.

So why do I feel so alone as I gather myself and drift back to work?

The lingering feeling doesn’t dissipate, even when the students begin filing in for Hopkinson’s lesson later in the day, so perhaps that’s why I choose to take a seat at the back rather than hiding in the rafters or avoiding the room as I normally do.

The Falstaffian professor grins widely when he notices me, abandoning his tinkering with the projector to approach me.

“Librarian!” He greets me like an old friend, and I relax a little. “I’m so glad you’ve joined us. We’re covering…”

He continues speaking, but my eyes are glued to the trio who’ve just walked into the room. Lambert and Leo scan the place, both drawing up short as they spot me. Lambert’s smile doesn’t ebb as he waves without removing his arm from around the shoulders of the girl plastered against his side.

If memory serves, her name is Poppy, and she’s a liminal distantly descended from the Carltons. Right now, she’s gazing up at him like he’s the sun, because of course she is. It’s so easy to get drawn in by him. Although his hand isn’t straying to the curve of her ass or the flawless swells of her generous chest; he’d have to be blind not to notice them.

Her skin is a flawless alive brown that speaks of warmth and comfort in a way my blue-grey chill never will. Her multitude of braids are neat and pin-straight across her scalp, while mine is still the mess it was from my death struggles.

Comparing myself to her is futile, but it doesn’t stop me. I find myself wondering idly who she is. If they’re just friends or something more. Does Lambert have other tutors, and is her affection as convenient as mine in getting him what he wants? Or has he chosen her for her company, because she’s as much the sun as he is?

They’re a beautiful couple, so I’m not sure why them being together is a shock. Lambert is always surrounded by women, and I’ve never cared. Not until…

Not until he looked at me like I was real. Like I was an object of desire rather than simply an object. Not until I watched him come undone at the sight of me.

Did he…? Is this revenge for how I fled afterwards?

No. Lambert isn’t malicious. That much I know for certain. This is just who he is, relaxed, charming, and careless. If I expected differently, then I was shortsighted and foolish.

All the nerves I’ve been ignoring at the thought of seeing him again after last night slink away, replaced with self-reproach.

Hopkinson is completely oblivious, too caught up in what he’s saying to notice that my attention isn’t on him, as it should be. It’s only the change in his tone, from excited to questioning, that drags my eyes away from the parting squeeze he gives her.

“So would you be happy to discuss it?”

“Of course,” I agree hastily, unwilling to show how affected I am as the brunette smiles at Lambert like they share a secret, then hurries off to a group of her waiting friends.

Leo and Lambert head to their normal table, which is being unsubtly inched towards my seat by the Arcanaeum as we speak.

Thankfully, Hopkinson hasn’t noticed that. He’s too busy beaming in satisfaction.

Magic, what have I signed myself up for now?

Dread pools as Lambert looks over his shoulder at Poppy. A second later, an encyclopaedia topples from the shelf above her and smacks into her head.

Shit.

Now I have a glaring girl and a golden god shooting suspicious looks my way.

“Take your seats. Take your seats!” Hopkinson practically skips to the front, a disturbing sight given his age and stature. “The Librarian has agreed to take this lecture! I cannot wait to hear what she has to tell us about the six houses.”

I would rather die again, and that is not an exaggeration. Unfortunately, the professor is already stepping aside, gesturing to the spot beside the projector as he beams at me.

“No fair,” Lambert complains. “Kyrith is my tutor.”

“Where’s Northcliff?” Galileo ignores the possessiveness in the Winthrop heir’s tone as he searches the room for an absent mop of black hair. “This lecture is one he’d actually find useful.”

I’d also like to know the answer to that question, but as I search the gathered students on my reluctant journey to the front, I can find no trace of him.

He’s not returned since he watched me die with the others, and that’s disconcerting enough that it takes me longer than it probably should to figure out where to start.

“Where are you on studying them?” I ask, not really expecting much.

Hopkinson tries to vary his lectures, giving them one about arcanist culture on Mondays, and then the other two on either a famous magical discovery or arcanist.

“We haven’t covered any of the subject yet.” The magister is still bouncing on his toes, possibly twice as eager as the rest of the students put together.

At least I have one interested party.

Just as I open my mouth, North shoves into the room, his bag hanging from an arm that’s wrapped in a bright blue cast and murder in his eyes.

What happened to him?

“Sorry,” he grunts under his breath, not even looking at the projector until Lambert elbows him.

“Right.” I turn away before those yellow eyes can put me off.

“The six families were all that remained of arcanist society after the purges,” I begin, pacing the space at the front of the room absently. “As you all know, in early history, there was a period of intense witch hunts that roughly corresponds with our arrival in this realm?—”

“Arrival? Are we aliens?” someone near the back asks.

Hopkinson shushes the man. “There are several reputable theories that arcanists are relative newcomers to this world,” I continue. “The lack of magical evidence from before the purges has been hypothesised to be so complete because our arrival caused the purges. Having studied the literature, I concur with their hypothesis, but it’s far from proven.”

I don’t add that the occasional being from another realm stumbling into the Arcanaeum solidified the idea for me.

“While it’s theorised that many arcanists survived the hunts by giving up magic and integrating fully—giving rise to the number of liminals in the general population—the six families preserved their history and their way of life. They were Carlton, ó Rinn, McKinley, Winthrop, Talcott, and Ackland, and they settled in what was then known as Albion, a far corner away from the empire that had persecuted them.”

Hopkinson taps the projector, and a map slips into place easily.

“The families remained insular, and inbreeding became a problem. So much so, that in the early fifteenth century, despite the danger of the Catholic witch hunts, the families began hunting for liminals amongst the population. They used the university as a place to educate them. Ironically, the worst period of witch hunts in European history is actually the greatest period of arcanist expansion. The influx of new blood caused worries that arcanists would become less powerful, but the opposite happened.”

Hopkinson gives me a keep going motion, and I glance back at the slide.

“McKinley was the most insular of the families, choosing to settle in Orkney and gaining a reputation for specialising in nullification, so there are relatively few records of their earlier years. The other families still separated for safety, but they were more open and tended to intermarry. Most of them took different approaches to security. ó Rinn focused on hoarding knowledge. Carlton forged as many alliances as possible. Ackland focused on destruction magic…”

I look over at their table as I say it, noting how North’s already gloomy expression turns sour.

“There were rivalries, of course,” Hopkinson interjects. “Can anyone name them?”

“Talcotts and ó Rinns,” a dark-haired man at the back says, shooting a glance at Galileo.

“Talcotts don’t like anyone,” a woman at the front mutters.

“That’s a more recent one,” I acknowledge, ignoring her comment and the nods from her peers. “Winthrop and Carlton have also historically had their differences, though they’ve intermarried as often as they’ve quibbled.”

Nothing like a terrible marriage to ruin an alliance or a good one to fix it.

It’s hard to concentrate under the spotlight of North's intense stare, but I make it through a hasty explanation of the families' expansion to other corners of the globe before Hopkinson takes back over, setting coursework for the students to study their own lineages and dismissing them.

I’ve barely begun to drift back towards my desk when the Ackland heir corners me in the doorway.

His card is in my hand in the next instant, forcing him to back up.

“I wasn’t fucking looming!” he growls, correctly interpreting my intention. “I just wanted to apologise.”

He…did?

Leo and Lambert are lingering in their corner, ignoring the classmates streaming past them in favour of watching our interaction with interest, but North gives them both a look that sets them to packing up their things, albeit with deliberate slowness.

“Nosy assholes,” he mutters. “Look, I only came and watched because the door was open. I’m sorry you died like that, and I get why the Vault is a sore spot.”

It’s possibly the angriest apology I’ve ever heard in my existence, but he’s still unmistakably sincere. My fingers dig into my sleeves as I try to figure out what to say in response.

Josef hasn’t relented on getting into the Vault, and suspicion gnaws at me the longer we stare each other down. He wouldn't…hurt his heir, would he? Heirs are practically sacred to arcanists, but Josef's actions after Lambert's game and the cast on North's arm make me wonder.

The pride radiating from him is practically tangible. I doubt he'd admit to it if I asked.

Eventually I settle on, “What happened to your arm?”

He raises the cast and rolls his eyes. “Magic tutoring.”

It’s so hard to tell if he’s lying when he’s glowering down at me like this, but I don’t think he is. Tutoring makes sense, no doubt Josef’s idea. A liminal heir is bad enough, but one who can’t defend Ackland's faltering place in the six? That must be making the parriarch twitchy.

“I could heal it,” I offer grudgingly, but he’s already shaking his head.

North opens his mouth to say something else, but the words are drowned out by a knock on one of the doors.

A new applicant? This late in term?

“Sorry,” I cut him off. “Someone’s asking for entry. I’ll be right back.”

“Shit, she’s early,” he says, but I’m already zooming away in the direction of the Arcanaeum’s urging, towards a wide pink door with a brass daisy knocker that’s been tucked away in the corner of the stairwell nearest my office.

I flick the door open, grimacing in discomfort as I pass through, only to freeze as I realise that I’ve exited into a hospital room.

I’ve never been in one of these before, but I’ve read enough restoration textbooks comparing inept and arcanist healing methodologies that I can recognise the adjustable bed and some of the equipment scattered around. Beyond the wide window is a sunlit skyline which could belong to any city in the world, and in front of me, pale as a sheet and clutching the armrests of her wheelchair like she might pass out at any moment, is a girl with short dark hair and wide yellow eyes.

“So you’re real,” she remarks in a strained voice, sticking out a shaky hand. “Edlynn Ackland. I’d like to enter the library, please.”

Her introduction is cut off as she coughs wetly, doubling over, her face contorted in pain.

Edlynn Ackland.

There is no way this girl isn’t North’s sister. She has the same proud set to her dark brows, and beneath the loose hospital gown, she holds herself with the same determination he wears like a cloak. If not for the hunched over wheezing and her chair, she’d probably be the same ridiculous height, too.

I reach forward, unsure whether I’m extending my hand to help or give the Arcanaeum a chance to judge her.

She grabs me before I can make up my mind, and the Arcanaeum studies her intently. It withdraws just as suddenly.

“You’ve never used magic,” I whisper, shocked.

She has it, though she’s nowhere near as powerful as North, but there are none of the pathways that would indicate she’s ever drawn on it. And more, her touch caused none of the tingles that her brother’s did. I felt nothing. The same as Anthea, now that I think about it.

What is it about those six, if not genetics?

“Not much opportunity.” She grins weakly. “I only found out about it a few months ago, and my blockhead brother won’t teach me. So, do I get in?”

As if rushing to answer her, the card appears between us, the line at the top decorated with her name in black cursive writing before popping away.

That might be the fastest the building has ever decided on a person. The door swings open behind me. I’m expecting Edlynn to gasp as she looks through my body to the space beyond, but her small frown confuses me until I look back and realise that the Arcanaeum hasn’t admitted her through the foyer as it usually would.

Instead, it’s bringing her straight through into my tiny office, where North is already pacing.

No doubt the Arcanaeum ushered him here. How convenient.

Edlynn wheels herself through without hesitation, and I follow dumbly behind her. The pieces are lining up: North’s confrontation with his father, his begrudging determination to learn magic and get into the Vault, his curiosity about my ability to use restoration magic.

The door slams closed behind me, sealing me in with the Acklands. I can’t help but feel like I’m being dragged into yet another pile of arcanist crisis as North levels a guilty look my way.

“I take it this is what you wanted to ask me about?” I say, crossing my arms. “Why exactly is a liminal who has never used magic asking to enter my Arcanaeum?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Edlynn asks, rounding on her brother. “I thought you were going to ask…”

“Forgot there was a lecture,” North mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, Eddy, this is Kyrith. Kyrith, meet my twin, Eddy.”

Twin?

“Let me guess, Josef Ackland is blackmailing you with treatment for whatever is wrong with her.” It’s so predictable I could groan.

Of course, someone like North would need some incentive to just work for a father who swooped in out of nowhere. Dangling the cure for his sick twin over his head is the logical play.

“After he orchestrated the crash that put me into hospital in the first place,” Eddy supplies.

My jaw drops, and the papers on the desk shuffle restlessly.

“I was going to ask if she could have Sanctuary,” North mutters. “And…you healed Jasper.”

My brows are climbing up my forehead at the audacity of the Ackland heir, and the soft snort that comes from his twin tells me she knows it, too.

“So you want me to grant Sanctuary to a liminal who is practically an inept, heal her from an untold illness, and let me guess…” My jaw clenches. “Lie to anyone who asks where she is? After you tried to break into my Vault, intruded on an intensely private moment, and?—”

“I’ll owe you one,” he cuts in, the words resentful and angry.

“And me, too!” Eddy grins easily. “When I’m an all-powerful sorceress, I bet I can do something to pay you back.”

The twins are staring at me, two sets of Edmund’s eyes piercing into me, begging me to say yes. It makes me uncomfortable enough that I put the desk between us, pacing the small space behind it.

“The Arcanaeum isn’t a guest house, nor a hospital,” I mumble under my breath. “Do you realise how rare it is for… Even I barely remember the last time I granted Sanctuary. Now there are three of you. And what do you plan to tell Josef about how she miraculously disappeared? I’m already facing the wrath of the Carltons.”

“Josef won’t know,” Eddy insists, pausing to suffer through another round of wheezing coughs before she can explain. “North made this fake version of me. We’ll put it in my hospital room, and they’ll just think I died in the night. I’m a pneumonia risk after the last time, and they don’t think I’m going to last much longer, anyway. No one will suspect a thing.”

This is a terrible idea. So of course, the pushy building is carving the word ‘YES’ into the wood of my desk in big blocky capitals.

“Where am I supposed to put her?”

The Arcane Clock Keeper’s Handbook appears in mid-air and falls onto the desk with a thud .

Great. In my room?

I’ve never had a roommate. And what if I want privacy? Plus, what about the wheelchair? The clock tower doesn’t have a ramp. I haven’t even bothered to even out the old and rickety stairs.

They’re all excuses. When I heal her—and I will, because she seems to have suffered enough just by having North for a brother—the stairs won’t be an issue. The Arcanaeum is already creating a second bed in my sanctum for her use. It’s small, but she won’t be there long… This is a temporary thing.

I think.

“That’s an awful idea,” I say, sending the book back to whichever forgotten shelf it was dredged up from. “We may as well enrol her at the University while we’re at it.”

“Can we?” Eddy pleads with her twin, only to devolve back into another fit of heavy, chesty coughs.

Sighing, I reach for the magic of the Arcanaeum and murmur, “ Riviel treame. ”

“Is that, like, a healing spell?” Eddy asks her brother.

I answer for him, because he hasn’t even touched divination magic yet. “It allows me to see where your body is under duress.”

And right now, her spine and lungs are lit up with a bright glow. Her legs are illuminated too, but fainter.

Paralysed from her upper spine down, and her lungs aren’t working properly as a result. She’s lucky she has use of her arms. Someone has put effort into making sure her leg muscles haven’t atrophied, but they’re still not as strong as they should be, which is why they’re also glowing.

If I don’t heal her, she probably will die of pneumonia or some other lung condition sooner or later, just like she said.

“High spinal lesion,” I mutter. “Why is it never anything simple?”

I’m talking to myself as I try to recall how best to treat this. My mind is flicking through books, and as I think, they pile up on the desk beside me. I pore over the first, flicking through pages of anatomical diagrams and runeforms.

Perhaps that’s why I don’t see North coming as he leans forward, trying to read the titles. Too close for comfort. If I were solid, he would be brushing against my back as he looms over me.

But because I’m not, his chest passes straight through my shoulder.

Pure, undeniable feeling erupts seconds later.

It’s a moment of inattention that costs me dearly. The kind of thing that only happens when two people are caught in a horrible accidental twist of fate. I watch North’s eyes widen the second he realises what he’s done, and he pulls back sharply, but he’s too late.

Pain prickles across my arm, and I flinch as a familiar crack that only I can hear ricochets through the Arcanaeum.

The spiritual flesh of my right arm rips, tearing all the way from my shoulder to my wrist. If I had a physical heart, it would’ve stuttered, and then sunk with dread, yet the Arcanaeum doesn’t react at all.

North shoves away so hard that he trips over a stack of books, landing on his ass as the temperature around us plummets.

“What the hell was that?” Eddy asks, the glow receding from her body as I lose all focus and look down at my now-matching arms. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” The hitch in my voice is barely there. “I’m fine.”

I want to flee to the Vault, to check the evidence I know will be there, but I restrain myself.

“I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.” To his credit, North looks actively contrite. “Shit. I just wanted to see?—”

Banishing him won’t work, but the flash of anger that runs through me urges me to do it, anyway. At least then I’d have a few short hours where I’m less at risk. I would distance myself, but I don’t want to. They need my help, these arcanists with the power to wreck me. I haven’t been needed—or been seen as more than just furniture—for so many years.

Yet here I am, healing people, tutoring Lambert and North, working to break Leo’s curse.

Deep down, I know I should’ve died a long, long time ago. My existence is unnatural, and selfishly, I want to spend what time remains being reminded of what it is to truly live. To pretend that I have…friends, people who know me by name and smile when they see me.

And the price for that appears to be the death I should’ve been granted a long time ago.

They’re staring at me—and rightly so, given that I’m floating in silence.

“Please, refrain from touching me in the future,” I reply, stiffly. “Sit down, Mr Ackland, and let me get on with healing your sister.”