Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I got spectacularly drunk that night, until Grimm turned away in disgust and Sybilla began to send me questioning glances over the table.

"Are you feeling all right, dearest?" she asked.

I hadn't told her what had (almost) happened. I wasn't quite sure why. I'd wanted to kiss many people before, and done so without shame. But there was something about wanting Grimm that made me feel like I was standing unclothed in front of a crowd, with no instrument or script to distract anyone from my nakedness.

Besides, Sybilla had annoyed me with her poking about Grandmagic.

"Everything is perfectly lovely, Sybilla, dearest . Perfectly lovely." I raised my wine in a toast to her and then spluttered indignantly when Grimm reached out and plucked the glass from my fingers.

"I think that's enough," he said sternly. "We should go, while you can still navigate the stairs between here and your pillow without tumbling down them." He pushed his chair back and stood, looking down at me expectantly.

I did not move. It had just occurred to me, far too late, that lowering all my inhibitions before spending the night alone in a room with Grimm was a terrible idea actually. Definitely up there in the top five worst ideas I'd ever had.

"It's early yet," I stalled. "How about some music?"

"I have been wanting another demonstration of some of your spellsongs," Sybilla said, and I decided at once to forgive her, so long as she continued to act as a barrier between me going anywhere alone with Grimm. "The ones you're able to cast yourself."

Grimm looked pointedly at the collection of wine bottles, scattered around the table. "Do you really think it's a good idea for him to cast in this state? Loveage barely has any restraint when sober."

Drinking usually makes me jovial—that's why I do it, to feel happy—but Grimm's words left me coldly furious. He had no right to judge my methods of distraction. I was the one who was cursed, not him.

"You don't have to join us," I said sharply. "We wouldn't have any fun with you there anyway. No one ever does. We'll go to the doorstep and you can go to your room, where you won't have to be bothered by witnessing my lack of restraint."

Grimm looked like there were several things he would have liked to say to that, but perhaps all of them were a little too close to being orders for him to speak aloud. He cast his eyes toward the ceiling, as though hoping to find some patience there, and then looked back down at me and spat out, "Fine." He glanced to where Sybilla sat at the head of the table and said, "See to it he doesn't injure himself, because I won't be waking up to cast any first aid spells." Then he stomped from the room wearing a very hostile expression.

I think he must have waited out of sight somewhere on the stairs for Sybilla and I to emerge before entering the bedroom, because I never felt the telltale agony that being in two separate memory rooms caused. The pulling in my chest grew no worse than what I'd been dealing with for most of the day.

I was not grateful for his consideration. Not at all.

My discomfort was somewhat more marked by the time we'd settled at the base of the tower, with Grimm sequestered away in his chamber. Each breath made my chest ache with warmth, like I'd swallowed a coal. Or had heartburn.

"Teach me the song you used on the candles," Sybilla said brightly. She was quite obviously trying to cheer me up. Perhaps she thought my mood was due in part to our uncomfortable conversation that afternoon.

We spent an hour or so trying to modify my candle trick to something Sybilla could sing, but no matter how many times I repeated the words for her, she couldn't seem to get them to work. She sang and sang, but every time the magic began to catch, she flinched from it.

"It tickles," she said, laughing. "But it also feels like it might burn me if I hold on too long."

"Maybe Grimm was right and I'm too drunk for this," I said, collapsing down onto the sofa beside Sybilla with a sigh. It was nice to sit next to her so casually. I'd forgotten that being close to someone didn't have to feel like trying to grasp a lit fuse. "I could try to teach you again tomorrow."

"There's no need," Sybilla said, waving the offer away. "I don't think one soul is really meant to do both. Or at least mine isn't. Who knows why music makes it more possible for you? Sorcerers like to pretend we have magic figured out, just because it allows us to use it sometimes. But the truth is, however many books we fill with spells and lore, there's an infinite amount yet to be discovered. Look at the lake country, and Granvoir. They're our nearest neighbors, but magic functions differently there. My theory is that there are as many different types of magic as there are people. It's a mystery that rewards us for believing in it, not understanding it."

"Poetic," I said solemnly, then had to duck when Sybilla threw a cushion at me.

"Oh, go on," she said. "Show me another of your tricks."

"I don't actually have that many," I admitted. "I'm still no caster." But after a moment of thought I got up and went to open the tower door. I stood there, looking out into the night. Then I sang the words to a spell I'd last cast on a sunlit morning, right before everything had changed.

It was late in the season for this to work, but eventually, a blinking light appeared. Then another. Then a handful of them, flashing closer in the dark—fireflies that had lingered through the cold long enough to be summoned by my song.

Sybilla had come to see what I was doing, and I beckoned the winged things closer to settle, flashing, against the dark wave of her hair and shoulders. A few settled like glowing jewels on her fingers. It was impossible not to remember how Grimm had looked that morning, covered in fluttering wings, but now the image was overlaid with Sybilla, raising her hands up and laughing.

I felt it again. That breathless recognition of someone cast from the same mold. Who moved like quicksilver and could flip like a coin at any moment. I knew her, and because of that it was so easy to make her happy. And right then all I wanted was for someone to look upon me with delight.

I leaned down and kissed her.

This close, Sybilla smelled of warm amber and something sweet like honey. I kept the kiss light, gentle like the misting of spring rain, in case she thought to pull away. Sybilla's lips may not have been the ones that had made me think of kissing to begin with, but they were very soft, and this was a choice I could make, not some compulsion pulling the strings of my heart.

At least that's what I thought, until we broke apart and Sybilla met my eyes and said, "I do not think that kiss was meant for me."

It was not said accusingly, only thoughtfully, with a little tilt to her head and a question in her eyes.

The magic of the evening dissipated all at once, and so too did my sense of ease. Instead, I felt abruptly and painfully sober.

"You're who I decided to give it to," I said. "I still have that much control over my actions."

The fireflies were leaving now, losing interest in Sybilla without my song to hold them there. Once her hands were bare of them, she raised one to my cheek.

"Poor Leo," she said. There was still warmth in her voice, but it was not the same warmth I had tasted against her mouth. "You really don't know how to escape the frying pan without flinging yourself into a fire. The spell has gotten worse again, hasn't it?"

I closed my eyes and nodded against her hand. "Yes."

"When did you notice?"

"This afternoon. I was outside with Grimm and I wanted to…" I opened my eyes and smiled tiredly down at Sybilla. "Well, I suppose you know what I wanted."

"Quite." She patted my cheek again, this time briskly. "That decides it. I'll write the counterspell tomorrow and we will cast it directly."

My heart gave a little jump of both surprise and hope. I was still only halfway through the books from Sybilla's library, and she'd made a great point that afternoon of waffling over what structure she wanted for the counterspell. She had not even written the first line yet.

"So fast?"

Sybilla cast me a pitying look. "Please. I've known what I would write since the first day you got here." She quickly checked her skirt for stray fireflies, then made her way back to the center of the room, leaving me gaping in the doorway.

"You villain!" I said, once I'd found my voice. I'd thought she'd been stalling, not outright lying about our progress. I was more impressed than angry at how thoroughly I'd been fooled. "You just wanted more time to have Grimm carry out all your little tasks, didn't you?"

Sybilla began to gather together the papers and books we'd left scattered throughout the room that day, looking pleased with herself. "The company was nice, too." Then her eyes turned sober. "More than that, I was hoping with enough time I could convince you to start dismantling the walls you've built up around your magic. I wasn't lying when I said something you compose would likely do a better job combating this curse than anything I come up with. You're the one who's experiencing it, after all. I don't suppose this latest progression has changed your mind?"

"It hasn't," I told her honestly. "I can't risk it. I don't want to hurt anyone, and that's all that happens every time I try to write Grandmagic."

"Keeping everyone safe is not your responsibility. It is not even an option. But I understand."

"Do you?" I asked, a little desperately.

"Of course. You've built a tower in your mind; I've built one in the woods. We're very much alike, Leo. Now, Grimm is probably asleep so you're safe to go back to your room. Tomorrow I will write the best counterspell I'm capable of and hope that it's enough."

"It will be," I said. How could it not? I was standing inside a tower constructed half of memory, all due to the skill of the woman standing before me. I had to believe she was wrong about my being better suited to write the counterspell. The alternative was too overwhelming to contemplate.

Sybilla doused the candles, and we walked up the stairs together in silence. I paused before opening the door to Grimm's room.

"I'm sorry," I said.

Sybilla paused on the stairs above me and looked back. "Don't apologize." She smiled crookedly. "Kisses are not so plentiful in this place for me to go around turning them down, even if they are stolen from somebody else."

It was a pity Sybilla was no longer pretending to need an assistant, because I could have used something to distract myself the following day. Each hour felt like honey dripping from a spoon as I waited for Sybilla to finish the counterspell.

Finally, she emerged from her study, and we gathered in the base of the tower.

"It's as good as I can make it," Sybilla said. She handed me the paper to read first, covered in her flowing script.

Just like the deceptively simple spell that had caused so much trouble, the counterspell was short. Its power lay in the meaning of the words chosen, not their quantity. Sybilla had crafted each line as an answer to directives of the curse and the result was beautiful. Elegant.

I read it and thought, This is not how I would have written it .

This was unquestionably a more artful, powerful counter than anything we'd tried thus far, and yet I was uneasy. There was something about the held-breath atmosphere in the tower that felt too much like every time Cassius had given us new paper to burn, each attempt going up in smoke and leaving me just the same.

"Any last-minute additions?" Sybilla asked, looking at me closely.

"No," I said, pushing my doubts aside. "No. Let's cast it."

Grimm insisted it would be best to cast the counterspell where there was no threat of other magic mingling with his work, so we stayed where we were instead of moving to one of the memory rooms. We pushed the furniture aside to stand at the center of the tower, because Sybilla insisted there was always more power at the center of things.

"Cast it aloud," I reminded Grimm.

We were, each in our own way, calling on anything we could think of to bring luck to this casting, be it superstition or sense. But eventually there was nothing to be done but stand facing Grimm and nod my readiness. He nodded back once before beginning to cast.

His voice was low and steady over the words. He'd spent a long time studying the spell after it was handed to him, and I knew it was now being recited from memory, even though his eyes were fixed on the page.

Before long, I felt an odd flicker across my skin. The sensation stung slightly, but rather than this bothering me, I smiled in relief. None of the other counterspells had felt like anything . The pain was a good sign.

Then Grimm reached the second line and the smile died on my lips.

There was pressure in my chest, sharp and unyielding. It was not the same as the tugging of the curse, which always felt as if it were pulling me in a specific direction. This felt like a hook had been latched to my insides and now all my internal organs were being reeled in.

My breath left my lips in a strangled gasp.

Grimm's voice did not falter, but he looked at me questioningly.

"It's fine," I said, gritting my teeth. "I think it's working."

Grimm didn't look back to the smoke-wreathed paper in his hands, instead keeping his eyes on me as he finished reciting the second line of the counterspell, watching my face closely. I wished he wouldn't because with each word he spoke the pain grew, and I was having a hard time not letting it show. Just as Grimm spoke the first word of the sixth line, so close to the end, a white-hot burst of agony bloomed at my center.

I cried out and crumpled to my knees.

"Leo!" Sybilla said, alarmed. She took a step closer but stopped short of touching me.

I couldn't look up. All I could focus on was Grimm's voice, which had slowed until each word dripped from his mouth with agonizing slowness. He dropped into a crouch beside me, and I could feel the effort it took to keep the spell going at this pace radiating off him.

"Just finish it," I ground out. It was all right that it hurt, I thought hazily. Shouldn't it hurt when your heart was being ripped from your body? Just a few more words. A few more words.

Something new wrenched within me. There was wetness on my face. Was I crying?

"Stop!" Sybilla ordered sharply.

Grimm's voice instantly cut out.

The pain disappeared and everything was blissfully quiet. For a moment my relief was so profound that I didn't fully understand what had happened. Then I realized it was quiet because Grimm had stopped casting. Hadn't finished casting, simply stopped. The magic still hung around us but was not being channeled.

"Don't," I protested weakly. "It was working."

"No," Grimm answered, voice somber. "I don't think it was." He reached out and swiped his thumb over my top lip. It came away red.

I stared dumbly at the blood on his hand.

"No more," Grimm told me firmly, then stood. He took in a deep breath, crumpled the mostly burnt piece of paper in his bloodied fingers, and raised both his arms. When he brought them down, the magic in the air around us evaporated like morning mist being chased by the sun. Gone.

I sat very still, mouth tasting of copper. My insides felt bruised, like when I'd cast the spell that tossed us into the river. I wanted to lie down on the floor and sleep for a year. I wanted a drink. I wanted Grimm to touch my lips again.

Power still crackled around Grimm, felt but unseen. He rounded on Sybilla and snapped, "What did you write? Why did it do that to him?"

Sybilla was visibly less composed than usual, face pale and eyes wide. Her hands were clasped together in front of her waist, fingers twisted tightly together. She appeared to gather herself with effort.

"I can only hazard a guess. Most spells either succeed or fail, but I think this one fell into a sort of in-between. My work was strong enough to destroy the curse, but…"

"But?" Grimm prompted.

"Not without hurting me," I finished. I didn't need Sybilla to spell it out, I'd felt it.

"Just so," Sybilla said, nodding. "The curse is too entrenched. Maybe if we'd done this the first week it would have worked, but now it's had time to reach into all the hidden corners of Leo's head and heart, making itself at home. The pain was a result of the counterspell's confusion."

I wiped idly at the blood still dripping sluggishly from my nose. "Well, it was certainly unpleasant, but at least we'll be prepared next time."

"There isn't going to be a next time, Loveage," Grimm said, aghast. "Don't be— That's absurd!"

"Grimm's right," Sybilla said, voice uncommonly stern. "This isn't a matter of bearing the pain while the spell is being cast. It hurt because my counterspell couldn't distinguish between what was the curse and what was you . It was destroying both."

"Then fix it," I said desperately. "You can write another one that knows the difference."

Sybilla shook her head. "No, I can't. That's what I've been trying to tell you. I can't write something into a spell that I don't know myself. You're the one who's cursed. You're the one who knows how it feels and can sort the edges of yourself out from what's false. It would be useless for me to attempt anything further." She hesitated, then pressed on. "But if you were to try—"

I no longer wanted to be on the floor. It made me too much of a sitting target. "We've been over this," I said, slowly unfolding my aching limbs. "I won't do it."

"You might not even have to compose a new spell," Sybilla said, coaxing. "If you were to set my words to music, turn it into one of your spellsongs, that might be enough for the counterspell to succeed. It's very close already. The fact that it did anything at all tells me that much. The missing component is you. Your feelings. Your magic."

"I'm not an ingredient," I told Sybilla hotly. "I'm a liability. It's too dangerous for me to compose Grandmagic."

"Are you certain it would be dangerous, even as a spellsong?" Grimm asked. "Have you ever tried?"

I turned to look at him in disbelief. "Not you too! How am I the only one in the room with a speck of caution?" The walls of the tower seemed somehow closer than they had been moments before. The whole building was shrinking around me. "You shouldn't be siding with her. You're the one most likely to get hurt, casting something of that nature with my fingerprints on it. It's not safe."

"Nothing we've done in pursuit of lifting the curse has been safe," Grimm argued. He took a step closer, looking at me with familiar suspicion, searching for the lie in my words, the trick, the joke. He hadn't looked at me in that way in a while, and it smarted a bit. "You're usually the first one to leap at a risky proposition. It doesn't make sense for you to back out now, unless there's something you're not telling us."

I took a step backward, but there was nowhere to go. Sybilla stood in front of the staircase and Grimm in front of the door. There was nothing but tower wall at my back. My limbs were shaky, and I wasn't sure if it was left over from the pain or caused by the look on Grimm's face.

"It's dangerous, what you're asking me to do," I whispered.

"I know that. I'm willing to try anyway. We can be alert, take precautions before casting," Grimm said.

I shook my head, not meeting Grimm's eyes. "You don't understand."

Grimm let out his breath in a huff of confused frustration. "No, I don't. Why drag us all the way out here, past outlaws and monsters, only to dig your heels in now? Just tell me why you're being so stubborn about this!"

The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach vanished. It was replaced by a familiar calm. My limbs stopped shaking, suddenly light with purpose. Grimm wanted something, and of course I would give it to him. The thought made me happy, in a distant sort of way.

I said, "Because I wrote the Grandmagic that killed my mother, and I think it broke something inside of me, and I'm afraid I'll kill you too."

As soon as the order was obeyed, the blissful haze lifted, leaving me cold once more.

Grimm and Sybilla stood staring at me, twin expressions of horror frozen on their faces. The room was too small for my words to echo, but they lingered all the same.

"Well," I said. "Now you know."

Sybilla made no move to stop me when I tried to walk past, but Grimm reached out and caught my wrist.

"I'm sorry," he said, eyes agonized. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't you dare touch me." The words were spoken with such venom that I barely recognized the voice as my own. Grimm let go instantly. As though my command had the weight of magic behind it.

Then I did what I should have done as soon as I'd felt the trap beginning to close and made my escape, stepping out of the tower and into the night.