Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

J umping into the water felt right for about two seconds. Blissfully right in a bone-deep sort of way that I seldom felt about any of my own actions. Satisfaction with what I had done filled me up from the inside, leaving me floating in both the metaphorical and physical sense.

And then the feeling was gone, and I was thrashing in a cold pond with lilies wrapped around my limbs.

I surfaced, spluttering. My feet quickly touched down and I stood, boots sinking into the muck at the bottom. My coat was heavy with water and stringy bits of vegetation. A lily blossom clung to my shoulder.

Grimm had stepped out of the pavilion and was standing on the dock looking down at me, mouth slightly parted and eyebrows high.

I plucked the lily off my shoulder and threw it at him. It landed by his feet with a wet splat .

"What the fuck was that? What did you do to me?"

"I've done nothing," Grimm said. "You're the one who flung yourself into the water."

"You—you compelled me to!" I said, beginning to slog toward the shallows. "I felt it."

"I've done nothing of the sort."

Finally, I reached the place where the water lapped at the pavilion's edge and was able to awkwardly haul myself up. I stood there, dripping all over the stone floor as I glared at Grimm.

"I can recognize what a spell feels like. I write them, remember? Is this payback for the tricks I've played on you?"

Grimm had come back inside the pavilion as well and was watching me warily. He looked very warm and dry, and I wanted to push him into the water, just to level the playing field. I took a step forward, and as though sensing my half-formed intention, Grimm took one back.

"Don't come any closer," he said, turning his face away. "You smell of pond scum."

Any impulse I had to keep moving evaporated. I halted midstep, foot raised but with no place to put it. The thought of moving toward Grimm was suddenly inconceivable.

"I can't move," I whispered, but it was more an observance of a phenomenon than a complaint. In fact, I was quite content to hover there, awash with the same sense of fulfillment that had swept over me in the water.

"Don't be absurd," Grimm scoffed. "Of course you can."

Just like that, the invisible wall in my mind that kept me from moving forward was gone and my foot touched the ground. I was too stunned to actually keep walking.

Dread replaced all the ease I'd experienced while following Grimm's order. I covered my ears with my hands.

"You've made your point. Whatever spell this is, you can get rid of it now." Then, though it felt like the word was being dragged from me, I added, "Please."

Grimm's eyes narrowed, and he looked me over very carefully. Whatever he saw must have convinced him that my horror was genuine.

"If you're under a spell," he said slowly, "it was not cast by me. The only spells I've cast on you were the ones you gave me."

His voice was muffled due to my palms still being clamped down over my ears. I searched his face, trying to find some hint of smugness or deception there, but he mostly seemed perplexed.

Was it possible that this had something to do with the spell we'd thought had failed? I didn't see how a simple cosmetic charm could possibly warp itself into whatever this was, but perhaps if Grimm had miscast it, in addition to the amplification of blood…

I took my hands off my ears and began to sift through my pockets. My quill and ink were still fine. Most of the paper was damp, but I managed to find a piece from an inner pocket that had been protected by the spells woven into my coat. Tools in hand, I sat down on the stone floor and rolled my wet sleeves up so I could write without dripping over everything.

"What are you doing?" Grimm asked.

"Testing out a theory." I finished the last word of my spell with a flourish. "We're going to cast the spell we thought did nothing, same as before. Except this time, I want to hear you cast it out loud."

Grimm frowned but took the spell from me when it was offered. "What will that prove?"

"Possibly nothing. We might get exactly the same result as last time." If we didn't though, if everything else was the same but the spell worked , that meant Grimm had done something different last time. Either by accident, or he'd purposefully cast silently to conceal that he was using a different spell.

Grimm hesitated, still staring down at the spell in his hands, brow knotted in concentration. "I can already tell you that the result will be different," he said at last.

"Why is that?"

"Because this isn't the same spell I took out of your folder that day."

I blinked back at him, nonplussed. "You said you chose the shortest spell."

Grimm nodded. "I did, but this isn't it. There must have been one you forgot about."

"Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't forget the contents of my own spell folder."

"And I wouldn't forget a spell I cast," Grimm said firmly. "I can tell you what it said, if you don't believe me."

"You remember all the words?" I asked, surprised. Casters usually didn't. They could read the old language, and recite it in order to cast, but remembering it was a scriver's job.

Grimm nodded. "I spent time looking at it beforehand. To make sure—" He seemed to think better of finishing the sentence, but I could guess what he'd been going to say: To make sure it wasn't a trick. That I wasn't about to turn his hair some garish color, or make him look foolish in some other way.

Grimm crouched down on the floor, careful not to rest his knee in the puddle accumulating around me. Then he turned the spell over and used my quill to write on the paper's blank back side. Grimm wrote neatly but slowly. By the time he was done I was twitching with impatience. I snatched the paper from his hand before the ink was dry and began to read.

It was short and sweet, exactly the sort of spell Cassius had told me Grimm was drawn to.

Translations from the old language are an inexact science, since those words could encompass so much more than the everyday tongue spoken in Miendor, but the essence of the spell was simple enough.

Will you look for me?

Each glimpse a beckon

Calling from within

Listen for me

Until the ringing of my voice

Becomes your only song

Hold my name in your bones

Until every wish

Need not be spoken

I hadn't written it. For all that the spell was short, there was power packed into these words. Enough that I did not think it could be called a cantrip or even a charm. It was Grandmagic, pure and simple.

"You cast this on me?" I whispered.

"Yes," Grimm said.

It was the readiness of his answer that saved him. If he had hesitated, if he had been less willing to write the words down in the first place, I would have stormed out of the pavilion and condemned Grimm then and there. As it was, I sat silently for a moment, thinking it over. Weighing my options.

"Do you know what this spell does?" I asked.

"You said it was a cosmetic charm." A hint of uncertainty had crept into Grimm's voice. He seemed to understand that something was wrong but not yet the extent of it.

"I didn't write this spell," I said flatly, waving the paper at him. "This is a control spell."

I watched Grimm's face closely, but since he always looked varying degrees of displeased, there wasn't much to be read from his expression. He did go very still though. Almost as still as I had been when he'd ordered me not to move.

"That's illegal magic, Grimm," I continued. "I could have you thrown out of the Fount for casting something like this on me."

That got Grimm moving. He rose to standing again and scowled down at me.

"You gave it to me. I could just as easily have you thrown out for writing such magic."

"I just told you I didn't write it." Being glowered at from such a height felt belittling, so I scrambled to my feet as well. "What I wrote was a simple cosmetic charm, and it's absolutely beyond me how you could ever confuse the two."

"I'm not a scriver!" Grimm said, exasperated. "Knowing a spell's intention is your job, not mine."

"You spent ages staring at it. Do you really expect me to believe you didn't realize what you were casting? It's right there in the words!"

Grimm had gone very pale, lips pressed together in a bloodless line. He took a short breath in, steeling himself, then said, "I read very slowly, especially in the old language. I try to memorize as many spells as possible in order to cast them quickly, otherwise… That's why I spent so long looking at the words first. The magic doesn't usually catch when I try to read and cast at the same time."

I remembered watching Grimm read all my spells, frowning in concentration. I'd thought he was suspicious because they were mine, and perhaps that had been part of it. But it had also been this. Grimm likes straightforward wording to his spells , Cassius had said, trying to help us both without giving anything away. And upon hearing that, I had added the most convoluted spells I could muster into my folder, practically ensuring that Grimm would reach for the one he was least likely to stumble over.

"Oh," I said. There was no need to ask why Grimm hadn't shared this with me, even though his former partner obviously knew. He'd kept quiet about it for the same reason I hadn't wanted him to know I was being chased that first night back in Luxe—neither of us wanted to give the other anything they could use as ammunition.

"If you didn't write this spell, where did it come from?" Grimm asked, apparently eager to move back to more pressing and less personal matters. "How did it get in your folder?" There was a hint of accusation in his tone. Clearly Grimm was about as certain I could be trusted as ever, which was to say, not at all.

But he asked a fair question: Where had the spell come from? No answers came to me at first. Then, with stunning clarity, I recalled what else had happened the afternoon Cassius had tried to give me advice. In the confusion of collecting the scattered paper it would have been easy, so easy, for one of the spells bound for library review to have been mixed in with my own with neither Cassius nor myself noticing.

"Ah. I may have an inkling of what happened," I said. "And I think I know someone who can tell us for sure."

Cassius looked very surprised to see the two of us together on his doorstep, but he was far too polite to say anything about that, or about my state of dishevelment. He ushered us inside and listened, wide-eyed, to my explanation of the morning's events. As soon as I was finished, he fetched an overflowing spell folder and began to sift through its contents.

"You're right," he said a few minutes later. "I'm short one submission. It wasn't sent in with a name attached, which is hardly surprising, considering the nature of the spell."

Control spells were nasty, complicated pieces of magic, all variations of which had been outlawed by the Coterie years ago. My threat of getting Grimm expelled for casting such a spell hadn't been an idle one. I vaguely recalled that a sorcerer in my brother's tier had been kicked out for practicing illegal magic, but that was years ago, before I had been at the Fount, and I couldn't remember what had become of her, only that her disgrace was thorough.

"Why would someone send something like this to the library?" I asked. "They must know it would never be accepted."

"Some people are very bitter when their spells are turned down," Cassius said. "I suppose this person might have been seeking revenge for a past rejection, hoping it would catch whoever was reviewing the spell off guard, or that someone hoping to cause mischief would snatch it for themselves." There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and then Cassius rushed to say, "Not that that's what happened here! I'm sure Leo didn't realize what the spell was. Or that it was in his folder. And obviously Grimm wouldn't cast something of this nature even on—" Cassius cut himself off abruptly and then stood there, wringing his hands.

There was another awkward stretch of silence.

"Thank you, Cassius," I said. "You've given us a lot to think about. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have some things to take care of."

Cassius seemed extremely worried as he saw us out. Maybe he expected Grimm and me to leap for each other's throats as soon as he closed the door. That didn't happen though. Instead, we walked down the hall in complete silence, until we came to the high-ceilinged vestibule at the front of the building. There we paused.

I glanced over at Grimm. The floor of the vestibule was patterned in black-and-white marble. As the two of us stood facing each other, I couldn't help but be reminded of pieces resting on a game board.

His moves are not the ones in question , Phade had said. Yours are.

I squared my shoulders and met Grimm's eye. "So, we need to get rid of this thing. Obviously."

"Yes."

"We should start testing counterspells. I have time before my first class if you want to…" I trailed off as Grimm shook his head.

"I have a lecture to attend. It will have to wait until tonight."

I didn't want to wait five more minutes, never mind until evening. The magic under my skin made me feel slimier than the pond scum on top of it, and worse than that was the thought of what Grimm might do once out of my sight.

Grimm and I had a long and public history of getting in each other's way. Even Cassius seemed to have a hard time believing that our enmity was not in some way to blame for this, and he had been there when the mix-up happened! If Grimm went to the Fount's board, told them that I'd written the control spell and tricked him into casting it… Well, they were already looking for reasons to get rid of me. I'd be expelled faster than Grimm could cast a good-riddance charm.

Unless I accused him first.

I had more marks against me, but surely whoever reported the other first would have the upper hand? That, combined with the fact that Grimm was the one who had cast the spell, could work in my favor. And I could lean on my family name if I had to, whereas Grimm did not come from gentry stock.

It was the smartest move. I knew that. But the thought of actually doing it made me feel a little nauseous.

The truth was, much as I disliked Grimm, I did not think he had cast the control spell knowingly. To realize this and still try to get him thrown out of the Fount would be an act of pure spite on my part, on a much greater level than any of our past squabbles.

A paragon of morality I was not, but I didn't have this in me.

I'd been silent for too long. Grimm was turning away.

"I'll see you at the eighth bell, then," he said, walking toward the doors of the vestibule, like everything had been decided. Perhaps it was, in his mind, but that didn't mean I couldn't try to change it.

"I didn't know the spell was there," I called out after him, louder than I'd meant to. The words echoed a little off the walls.

Grimm paused to look back over his shoulder at me. "So you've said."

"It's true. If I were going to cause mischief, it would be the type I could laugh over. Not this. You have to believe me."

"Do I? Seeing my reputation tarnished has always seemed to bring you amusement before."

I rolled my eyes. "Pink hair does not a reputation tarnish, Grimm. You hate me because I'm a useless, petty bastard, fine. But this is far beyond any of the tricks I've ever played on you before. It doesn't match up, right? Besides, if this was all some devious plan on my part, I'd be reporting you already. But I'm not!" I added hastily, when Grimm's eyes narrowed. "I promise not a whisper of this will leave my lips."

"All right," he said.

I looked at him expectantly, but it appeared there were no more words forthcoming.

"What of you?" I prompted. "What assurance do I have that you'll keep this to yourself? Or that you didn't cast the spell intentionally, for that matter."

Grimm's left eyebrow raised. "If I had cast this spell knowingly, don't you think I would use it now to order your silence? The fact that I haven't should offer you some assurance that is not the case. At least as much assurance as your promise offers me. But if it makes you feel better, no, I didn't do this on purpose."

"And you won't tell anyone?" I asked, even though it felt terribly desperate to do so. Like a fish with its mouth caught in a hook, waiting to see if I would be released or left to hang here, wriggling.

Grimm let the silence stretch. I thought it pleased him, to see me wanting and be left waiting.

"No," he said at last. "Not yet."

Back in my room, I filled the bath and stripped off my soggy clothes, all the while checking myself for symptoms of the spell. My limbs moved normally. My body bore no strange marks. My mind was… well, it was not at its best, but the panicked thoughts seemed entirely my own. It was frustrating to find nothing physically wrong with me, when I knew that all was not as it should be.

I had experienced my fair share of consequences over the years, but only a few had taken me by surprise. I was not averse to making trouble, but I liked to know the parameters of its expense before I threw myself in, and who would end up paying.

With this in mind, I scrubbed myself clean hastily and hurried to the library, hair still wet.

The stacks were crowded by the time I arrived, full of other students in their unmarked black coats. The aisles and worktables were also dotted with the brightly colored collars of craft sorcerers and the distinctive gold trim of Coterie members. There were even a few obvious tourists, wandering about with wide eyes. The library's most powerful spells were locked away in the lower levels, coiling deep underground like the whorls of a conch shell, but the upper levels were open to all and drew people from far and wide, for research purposes or just to admire the library itself. Visitors claim it's one of the most stunning examples of magical architecture in existence—a whole world of spellbooks and scrolls somehow stuffed inside a building that took up less space on the Fount grounds than the kitchens did.

It is pretty, I'll give you that. It's also deathly quiet and full of dust. Familiarity breeds contempt, they say, and after nearly five years, I was familiar with almost every hidden nook and cranny of the library.

There was nothing to be gained in researching control spells themselves, since the upper levels held no trace of materials that could be used to help someone write such an abomination. But there were public records of people who had used such magic—and their punishment.

It didn't take me long to discover an accounting of the sorcerer I remembered from my brother's tier. Once I had, I was able to find several articles detailing her crime and subsequent trial. The magic described there did not sound nearly so powerful as whatever I was infected with, but her sentence was severe enough to make my palms sweat. I'd been worried about being thrown out of the Fount (I still was), but it turned out that expulsion was only the first thing in a list of punishments bestowed upon sorcerers unlucky enough to get caught using illegal magic.

We needed that counterspell. The eighth bell seemed ages away.

I'd planned to go to class that day. To put the events of the morning aside as best I could and continue to play at being a good little sorcerer until I met with Grimm. But after reading the articles, I changed my mind.

Instead, once I had returned all the papers to their proper places myself (so that the contents of my reading would not be left on the library carts, for anyone to see), I proceeded to ignore my previous engagements in favor of disappearing into the city and getting astoundingly drunk.