Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

B efore the trials came the harvest, when all six provinces put aside their normal routines for two weeks to celebrate the bounty of summer and welcome the change of season. Of course, celebration meant something very different, depending on who you were. For the Loveage family, it took the form of a lavish party, held at my father's estate just outside the city.

I didn't want to go.

Activity at the Fount was suspended, and I would much rather have spent the free time attending any of the parties happening around Luxe, or venturing out to a smaller celebration in one of the six provinces… Sahnt, for instance. That's where I'd spent all my harvests as a child, at my mother's home. I could still remember her standing between my brother and me, clasping our hands in her own larger ones while we watched the crackling flames of a bonfire. I remembered feeling warm.

The Sahnt estate was meant to be part of my inheritance. My older brother had inherited the lavish apartments in Luxe that had belonged to our maternal grandmother, but the rambling old country house where we had grown up, that had been left to me. My father knew I loved that place, curse him.

"You have to go to the party," Agnes told me. "There will be Coterie captains there. The same ones who will be at the trials. You know how these things work. Impressions made in a ballroom hold weight."

"It doesn't matter," I said. "I don't care what they think of me."

"Well, I care," Agnes said. "The only edge I have over Grimm in these trials is that I'm actually pleasant to speak to, and the harvest party circuit is my chance to prove it. If you won't attend for your own sake, you can at least help me make a good impression."

I snorted. "Because that's what I'm known for at these types of events."

"I'll look good in comparison, at least," Agnes said. Then, more seriously, she added, "You know your father will want you there."

It was an inescapable truth. There was never any real chance of dodging this obligation. My father expected to see me, and until I'd secured my inheritance, I was under his thumb.

I woke the morning of the party with what was by now a familiar ache in my chest, compelling me to get up far earlier than I would have normally. I attempted to ignore it, but I'd stayed up late the night before drinking, and the mild hangover combined with the spell's symptoms made my bed feel like a moving vessel.

I cursed Grimm softly under my breath. Then I went to look for him.

I barely even had to think about where to go anymore; the curse drew me to Grimm without effort. Like I was a compass whose true north just so happened to be a person. Whenever my symptoms grew particularly bad, I gave in and let myself be pulled just long enough to spot a flash of pale hair or dour expression before returning to my own business, curse momentarily satisfied. It had become routine, like drinking water when you're thirsty or reaching for a coat to stave off the cold.

As a result of this, I'd grown more familiar than ever with Grimm's favorite haunts in recent weeks. When he wasn't attending class, I most often found him in the gardens, which was convenient for me since it was easy to pass by unnoticed amid the trees and winding hedges. His second favorite place was (unsurprisingly) the casting hall, where he practiced with such focus that my being seen wasn't usually a concern. The one time he had turned round suddenly, I'd just pretended to be looking for Agnes. He practiced swordplay in the mornings, and studied at the library in the evenings, and was always back in his room before the tenth bell rang, which I found deeply embarrassing, both for Grimm and myself.

Rivals were meant to be more exciting than this.

Grimm was such a creature of habit that I didn't expect his routine to vary much for the holiday, but instead of being drawn toward any of the places I was used to, the insistent pull of the spell led me to the Fount's main entrance. I paused there, staring out at the city street before me, discomfort fluttering in my chest like a trapped bird.

Grimm was not in the Fount.

I began the walk back to my room. The spell weighed a little heavier with each step I took, but it was not so distressing yet that I was about to go searching for him in the city; I did have some pride. I would just have to hope he returned before I left later that day.

Back in my room I began to pack. I was traveling to the estate with Agnes but would be expected to stay there for the remainder of the harvest break without her. I wasn't looking forward to spending my days rattling around the giant house, or my evenings being dragged along to whatever celebrations my father decided we should attend, holding stilted conversations with the gentry elite over dinner. I'd gotten my fill of all that during the week I'd spent there during the summer.

I threw clothes in a bag without really looking at them. The only thing I took care with was my outfit for the party—tailored black trousers and a silk jacket with a lamentable lack of pockets, cut for fashion rather than practical wear. I'd used the jacket for a charm experiment a while back, and now the dark blue color shifted in incremental shades when worn, so that it appeared I had draped myself in water rather than fabric. I sang a little dewrinkling cantrip over my clothes before laying them out on my bed. The spell was at the edge of my limits and left me so tired that I had to take a nap. When I woke, the urgency of the curse was such that I immediately went looking for Grimm again.

I found myself back at the front gate.

"Where the fuck are you?" I muttered, peering out at the bustling street.

When had I last seen him? I had never tested how long it took before the urge to go searching for Grimm caught up with me, or what happened if I resisted the call. Now, with the restless skitter of magic dancing underneath my skin worse than it ever had before, and an ache beginning to grow in my chest, I was beginning to think I had made a mistake in not tracking the curse's requirements.

I made my way back to my room, fuming over Grimm's sudden development of a social life.

A figure stood waiting at my door when I returned. At first, I thought it was Agnes, come to make sure I would be ready on time, but as I drew close enough to make out more than the black coat, I recognized Cassius's slighter frame and dull brown hair. He smiled as I approached, raising one hand in greeting while the other clutched a book at his side.

"What brings you here?" I asked, opening my door and gesturing for him to follow me inside.

"I found something that might interest you." Cassius seemed distracted for a moment by the cozy clutter of the room, taking it all in. He gestured to the bags piled on my bed. "Off to join in the celebrations somewhere?"

My father's harvest party was well known in Coterie circles, but no one in the Bethe family had been invited for years. They were middling sorcerers. Cassius was the only one who seemed likely to make a name for himself, and until he did so, there would be no invitations sent by my father.

"Nothing that I'm looking forward to," I said hastily. "What is it you wanted to show me?"

Cassius looked slightly crestfallen but recovered enough to smile and hold out the book in his hand.

"I discovered this while looking for counterspells. There's nothing in here that can be used on the curse, I'm afraid, but I thought you might be interested all the same."

"Why's that?"

"In the course of my research these last few weeks, I've noticed that many of the counterspells housed in the library were written by the same person. They only used their initials, but I kept seeing them again and again: S. L. And then I found this book." Cassius tapped the book in question with his index finger. "It's more of a research journal, really. Full of stories of people like you, who found themselves under a spell that they didn't know how to undo, and the sorcerer who helped them. The same one whose initials I kept seeing everywhere. I was thinking… maybe they could help you too."

I took the book and flipped through the pages briefly. Like Cassius said, it was more of a journal than anything else, written by hand and covered in preservation spells that made my fingertips tingle slightly upon contact.

I squinted at the flowing script. "Does it say where this sorcerer lives?"

"Ah," said Cassius, hesitating slightly. "According to the tales in this book, she operates outside of Miendor. In the Unquiet Wood."

I gaped at Cassius. Then I began to laugh. The laughter had a slightly hysterical note to it, brought on by the agitation of the curse.

"You must be joking. Are you suggesting I just nip over the border into the Wilderlands on our off day? Fight my way through the Unquiet Wood in search of some unnamed person, then be back in time for my next lecture with no one the wiser?"

"Of course not! But it's harvest break right now. If this is something you and Grimm want to pursue, now would be the time."

I scoffed. "Grimm would think this idea is even more ridiculous than I do. What if we were delayed and missed getting back in time for the trials?"

"I'm sure that wouldn't happen," Cassius said soothingly. Contrary to his intent, this only made the prickle of unease running down my spine worse.

Nothing about the Wilderlands invited surety. They were everywhere; all the uninhabited places where people did not belong. The Wilderlands were so vast they did not just shape our continent, they were our continent. From Miendor to the three water-bound city-states of the lake country, to the mountainous region of Granvoir, and beyond. People had found ways of making their settlements a little less dangerous—a little less wild—but it was all right there, just beyond our carefully constructed barriers, forests teeming with unbidden magic, open fields growing thick with it, and monsters roaming everywhere. There were ways to travel through the Wilderlands in relative safety, but none of those ways included the Unquiet Wood.

Frustrated, I tossed the book away from me onto the bed and said bitterly, "If you didn't want to help us write a counterspell, you could have just said so, rather than trying to send us on a wild-goose chase."

Cassius took a faltering step back, eyes wide.

"Grimm is my friend," he said, voice wavering. "I have only ever wanted to help him. And you. I'm very sorry if anything I've said has led you to feel differently. I'll try again—really, I will—but you seemed so upset at the thought of waiting, and I don't know how long it will take me to come up with a counterspell that actually works, even once the trials are over. If you want to get rid of the curse quickly, it might be time to consult an expert. And unless you can think of someone from the Fount or Coterie you trust enough—"

"No," I said hastily. "No, I still don't think that's a good idea."

Cassius tilted his head and looked at me, expression cannier than I was altogether comfortable with. "Is everything all right, Leo? You've seemed… not yourself ever since I got here. Is something bothering you?"

The itch underneath my skin intensified, and so did the anxious churning in my gut. I needed to get ahold of myself. I needed to find Grimm and make the curse go back to sleep so that I could think.

"Sorry. That was—I'm sorry." I ran a shaky hand through my hair. "I know you're trying to help. I'm just… overtired." This was technically a lie since I'd only recently woken from a nap, but it didn't feel like a lie. My limbs were heavy with fatigue.

"Think nothing of it," Cassius said, seemingly mollified. "The book is in your hands now. What you choose to do with it is entirely up to you. It makes no difference to me, though I do think Grimm should at least be told about it."

"Yes, yes," I said. Then in as casual a voice as I could manage, "Have you seen him, by chance? I had a question for him earlier, but I think he's already found some sort of revelry in the city to escape to."

"Oh, he's not in the city," Cassius said. "He's gone home."

"Home?" I repeated, wits made dull with surprise. The small glimmer of hope I'd held for Grimm returning before I left was instantly snuffed out.

"Yes, to Dwull."

My heart sank even further, landing somewhere around my boots. Dwull was hours away from the Fount. No wonder the curse was making me want to jump out of my own skin.

Cassius was still talking, unaware of my distress. "I understand his family has a small farm there, and he goes to help with the harvest every year. I always forget Sebastian doesn't come from gentry. I find it hard to imagine him in a field, don't you?" Cassius spoke the words smilingly, as though asking me to join in on the absurdity of the image.

It was true that I had a hard time picturing Grimm, with his neatly pressed sash and pristine coat, getting his hands dirty in any sense of the word, but I didn't smile back. The offhand snobbishness of the remark was a little too close to something my father might have said.

Cassius seemed to mistake my silence for something other than disapproval, because his own face turned serious again.

"Are you looking for him because of… that is to say, has something changed?"

Yes, something had fucking changed. Grimm had decided to put miles between us, and now I would have to spend the next few days feeling like an entire anthill had taken up residence beneath my skin.

"No. Like I said, I just had a question for him. Nothing important."

"Well, I can write his address down for you, in case you want to contact him before break is over."

It took a moment for me to find a blank piece of paper in the mess on my table, but then Cassius quickly scratched out a few lines that I folded and stuffed in one of my pockets.

"Happy harvest to you," I said, nodding as he made his way to the door.

"Same to you." Then, with a little nod of his own and a rueful smile, Cassius said, "Please give my best to your father this evening."