Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

T he journey to my father's estate took us only about an hour outside of Luxe, but it felt longer. I attempted to distract myself with the book Cassius had given me, but instead just gave myself a headache—little sparks of pain that burst at the base of my skull before migrating up to my temples.

The book was, as he'd said, full of desperate people who had sought out this sorcerer in the woods based on rumor or on other spells she'd written. It was intriguing, but the whole thing had the ring of a folktale to it. The stories themselves were spread out over a period of time that suggested the sorcerer in question was not even the same person, despite the initials. I wondered at Cassius, that he would judge this a straw worth grasping at.

Did he really think I was so far gone as the people in this book? Surely my curse was not so bad as all that.

I tucked the book away and did my best to rub the tension out of my neck, but the pain persisted.

Agnes sat beside me in the carriage, resplendent in a gown the color of ripe wheat that fell off her shoulders in just such a way as to highlight their strength. Gold jewelry clasped each of her wrists and wove through the braids in her dark hair. She looked as elegant and powerful as any of the sorcerer portraits that lined the halls of the Citadel, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the way she kept nervously biting her lip and smoothing her skirt.

"Do you know which Coterie captains will be there?" she asked.

"My father doesn't send me the guest list."

"I should have asked my mother if she knew." Agnes paused in her fretting to look at me, forehead wrinkling slightly. "You're quieter than usual."

"Headache," I grunted, though it wasn't as simple as that. We were moving away from Dwull, not toward it, and the spell liked it not one bit. I felt worse than ever, sick from the rocking of the carriage and the dull ache under my ribs, and too hot from the magic angrily buzzing underneath my skin. The curse was always unpleasant, but now it actually hurt .

I considered breaking my silence to explain what was happening to Agnes—she wasn't easy to fool, and I really was feeling poorly—but in the end I decided against it. I may not have been looking forward to the party, but she was. I could worry her later, after she'd had a chance to impress the Coterie elite.

"I think I might be coming down with something," I said, and then coughed a little into my hand.

Agnes looked me over, expression more suspicious than sympathetic. "I hope you're not plotting anything."

"Are you suggesting that I would intentionally cause a scene?" I clutched my chest. "I'm wounded."

In fact, I did have a history of attempting to enliven these sorts of events. The year before, I'd gotten my hands on a fireworks spell and tricked an extremely drunk caster into setting them off. The harvest before that, I'd dragged an anatomically impressive straw effigy into my father's courtyard and set it alight, and the year before that, well… I'd gotten drunk and fallen off a balcony. Humiliating, but also entertaining, in its own way. People loved having something to gossip about.

"This year is different," Agnes reminded, a note of pleading in her voice.

"I know, I know." I patted her hand comfortingly. "I don't have any mischief planned, I promise."

"That makes it sound like you planned it the other times," Agnes muttered, but she appeared mollified. When I rested my head on her shoulder, she didn't push me off but adjusted her arm in order to run her fingers soothingly through the hair at my temples and continued to do so until we had passed through the gates of the estate.

There was still a hint of light in the sky as we exited the carriage and walked arm in arm up the many stone steps to the open front doors. The windows glowed warm and bright with the reflection of the setting sun, but it did little to soften my impression of the place—I'd always found my father's house to be unwelcoming, and no amount of decoration was likely to change that.

As though summoned by this thought, the man himself appeared, walking toward us from the arched doorway leading into the main parlor.

"Agnesia," he said, smiling and extending his hand. "It's lovely to see you."

Agnes, ever the diplomat, dropped my arm to let him clasp her fingers briefly. "The pleasure is mine, I'm sure," she said. "Thank you for the invitation."

My father turned to me next. The smile on his face didn't drop, but it flickered. A nearly imperceptible stutter, like the guttering of a candle. I was taller than him, and it wasn't a recent development, but it always felt like a surprise. The fact that he had to tilt his chin up slightly to look at me was enjoyable in theory but, in reality, just made me inclined to slouch.

"Leo." He spoke my name like it was too small to contain the feeling he wished it to carry. An imperfect vessel.

"Hello, Father."

"You look well," he said smoothly. "It's good you're here early. Your brother will be glad to have a chance to catch up with you."

"Rainer's here?" He hadn't been free to attend last year's party. Or the one before that. I'd assumed this year would be the same, but Father nodded.

"You should seek him out," he said. As though Rainer was just another party guest whose company was to be acquired. "But I'd like a word with you first."

"I think I see my mother over there," Agnes said, the traitor. "I'll give you both a moment to talk while I go say hello." She withdrew, and I was left to follow my father away from the open doorway and toward a corner unoccupied by guests. A servant carrying a carefully balanced tray of fluted glasses passed by, and I snatched one. My father followed the movement with his eyes.

"How is the Fount?" he asked.

"Dull as ever," I said, taking a sip of my drink. The combination of my father's presence and the magic simmering in my blood made it hard to stand in one place. My headache, which had lessened slightly without the jostling of the carriage, began to make a comeback.

"You have an active mind." The delicacy with which he spoke made me nervous. Like he was hoping to ease me into a conversation I might have otherwise struggled against. "You should put it to work, especially now. You'll have an easier time finding a Coterie troop to your liking if you make a name for yourself in fifth tier."

"Was this what you wanted to talk about?" I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from my future plans with the Coterie, or lack thereof.

"In a way. I know you have a taste for… revelry." His eyes lingered over the glass in my hands. "And that you like to add your own flair to these gatherings. But I would ask you to remember that a party and a stage are not the same thing. Nor are entertainment and spectacle. There are representatives from the lake country and Granvoir here tonight, not to mention captains looking to recruit. These are people you would do well to impress."

"Am I to take this to mean you didn't appreciate last year's fireworks?" I asked dryly.

"You disgrace yourself with such displays," my father said. He didn't say it cruelly. As far as he was concerned, this was simply a fact. "It's a mistake to dally over the sort of magic a child could write when you could be working to fix your Grandmagic instead. That's what you should be showing off."

I froze, fingers clenched around my glass.

There had been a time when he'd felt quite differently. A time when I'd tearfully shown him my most ambitious, most doomed spellwork, and he'd wrapped his hand tight around my wrist until the bones ground together and said, "Never, never practice magic like this again."

"Children write all sorts of spells," I said. "Or have you forgotten?"

My tone was bland, but the words caused my father to grow very still. He looked at me sharply. The tops of his cheeks turned a blotchy red. I could practically see the thoughts unspooling in his mind. That I would hint at something like that here , of all places. But there was nothing he could say, unless he wanted to acknowledge the truth. And avoiding that at all costs was one of the few things we agreed upon.

"Control is important for a scriver," he said gruffly. "I'm simply asking you to exhibit some tonight. Make yourself memorable for something other than pyrotechnics. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and greet the other guests."

Once he was gone, I took another sip of my drink, hardly tasting it.

"Well," I said to myself. "At least that part's done with."

Party guests began to arrive in earnest, congregating in the rooms and softly lit hallways—little clusters of sorcerers dressed up in their very best clothes. The main parlor was dressed up as well, with garlands of late-season flowers and spelled lights hanging high in the air, reflecting off the gilt-edged designs on the wallpaper. The furniture had been pushed aside to make space for dancing, and there was a dais for the musicians set up in the center of the floor. I vaguely recognized the violinist as someone I had either played music with before or slept with before, but they were busy warming up, so I didn't drift closer to confirm either way.

Agnes caught my eye from one room over and beckoned, but I shook my head. She was standing in a circle of important-looking people and I knew if I went over there now, I would be tempted to behave badly purely to spite my father.

Instead, I made my way upstairs to the library. The doors had been left open as a refuge for those who wished to retreat from the noise and bright lights, but it was early in the evening yet for anyone to be searching for a secluded corner. I walked over to one of the windows and pulled it open a crack, then closed my eyes.

My entire chest hurt from resisting the tugging in my sternum, telling me, Go back, find him .

I sucked in a deep breath and braced my arms on either side of the window frame, steadying myself against the pull.

"Leo!" someone said, low and pleased.

I turned just in time to see a backlit shape in the doorway step into the room. For a moment I felt a stab of irritation at my hiding place being found so quickly, then I recognized my brother's face.

You could be twins , someone had told us once. It had been at a gala and it was possible the person in question was inclined toward seeing double at that point, but we did look alike. We were of a height, with the same blue eyes and dark hair, though Rainer had shorn his close where I let mine grow long. He wore the Coterie dress uniform, golden collar bright against the black coat. His indigo caster's sash was embroidered with scarlet thread, depicting crossing swords and musical notes alike. The overall effect was very dashing, though lessened slightly by the sling holding his left arm close to his chest.

Rainer smiled widely at me, and some of the swirling discomfort I felt faded into the background. "It's good to see you." He clasped my hand with his good one and shook it. The sort of gesture I supposed he exchanged with his friends and comrades in the Coterie. It was not unfriendly. Not unwarm.

There was a period of time when we were young (after our mother's death), when I'd acted as though every hurt I received in Rainer's presence was a mortal injury, just so he would put his arm around me in concern. Until our father noticed and snapped, "You're not an infant." And, to Rainer, "Don't encourage him."

"It's good to see you too," I said. Rainer's hand was warm and sword-calloused under my own. I let go when he drew back, glancing pointedly toward the sling. "I suppose whatever heroics caused this are also what we have to thank for your presence here tonight?"

He laughed a little. "I'm not sure how heroic it was, but yes, I was ordered to take some time to recover."

I followed him over to the low chaise arranged in front of the unlit hearth, then sat down beside him when he gestured to the open place. I'd forgotten how easy Rainer always made things. The graciousness of his voice and movements.

I nodded to his arm. "What happened?"

"Lucky arrow. Well"—he smiled again, ruefully this time—"not lucky for me. But it could have been worse."

"You were shot?" I leaned toward him automatically, alarmed. "By whom? I thought you were stationed by the barrier." The Wilderlands teemed with magic, and the beasts that lived there steeped in it—but beasts didn't shoot arrows.

"We were," Rainer said. "This happened when we were refreshing the spells on a section of the barrier in Dwull. It should have been a standard mission, but we crossed some outlaws who were using that section to pass into the Wilderlands and got into a skirmish. Only two of them, but they took us by surprise and got away."

Rainer's hand drifted to his arm, pressing briefly against his shoulder before drifting back down to his lap. "We're used to dealing with monsters, not Coterie members gone rogue."

My eyes widened. Outlaw Coterie members were hardly common. In fact, I could think of only one group that had ever gone rogue.

"The library thieves!" I said. "You're sure?" They had managed to neatly evade capture thus far, despite the troops sent out to search for them following the break-in, and the sizable reward the Citadel was offering for any information on their whereabouts. It wasn't easy to find a sorcerer who was determined to stay hidden. Especially ones who had been Coterie members themselves.

"I'm sure," Rainer said grimly. "I used to be in the same troop as two of them. Only briefly," he hurried to say, noting my surprise. "They both moved on shortly after I joined, but I remember their faces well enough. Siblings, as it happens. Even if I hadn't recognized them, the spells they fended us off with identified them clearly enough. One of the vaults they snuck into held a collection of paralysis spells." Rainer grimaced. "We could only watch them leave."

"What else did they take during the break-in?" I asked, curious.

"Whatever they could get their hands on," Rainer said, mouth still twisted in disapproval. "I heard one member of the troop had been granted special access to the vaults for research purposes; that's how they got in so easily, before Phade sounded the alarm. There were a bunch of monster wards missing. Memory and invisibility spells too. But we think they were there for something in particular. One of Titus's last works."

The name sent a little frisson of shock up the back of my neck. "Titus?"

"Yes. My understanding is that the break-in was prompted by one of their troop members getting injured on a Coterie mission. They were desperate, I suppose, although that's no excuse. That was the only functional healing spell the library had available for study."

I sat very still, digesting this. Very few sorcerers had ever managed to craft a successful healing spell, but Alexander Titus was one of them. He'd composed a spell strong enough to heal almost any injury but had never managed a version that could be replicated by another scriver's hand. After his death, the number of remaining spells had dwindled away until there was only one, which the Fount had secured in their vaults. Not to be used, but to be studied, in hopes of one day re-creating it.

"Did you ever get a look at it?" Rainer asked.

"What would be the point?" I'd been obsessed with Titus and his works when I was young—but by the time I was actually at the Fount, I had long abandoned my dream of being the person to crack that particular code. Now the thought of seeing his words made me feel vaguely ill.

Rainer glanced sideways at me, noting my discomfort. He quirked his lips and gracefully changed the subject. "I probably shouldn't be talking about any of this. It's not common knowledge that they were able to make off with a Titus original. But you'll know all about it soon enough anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Once you join, of course. It's not a secret among Coterie members." Rainer made a face. "Little is, to be honest. If you think gossip at the Fount is bad, just wait until you're part of the Coterie rumor mill."

I didn't say anything. This was a technique that worked perfectly well on our father, who would either keep talking about whatever future he envisioned or move on to the next subject, assuming that we were in perfect agreement. It didn't work so well on Rainer. He paused, then leaned in to look at me more closely.

"Oh," he said softly. "Still, Leo?"

"I never planned to join," I said. "The only reason I went to the Fount was because I had to, you know that."

"I thought you might change your mind once you were there. I thought you had . Last time I saw you, you said you'd enjoyed working with the Coterie in fourth tier."

"I did. That doesn't mean I've changed my mind."

"You'd be well suited to it, Leo," Rainer said, his earnestness sharp as a knife. "It's not like what you're doing now, all memorization and rules. Quick thinking and innovation are highly prized skills. The Coterie always needs more scrivers, especially ones with a knack for composing, and I've seen you write spells in the blink of an eye. Do you know how useful that would be to the right captain? Or the Citadel, even?"

"Charms meant to call a breeze closer in summer or invite a bird to perch on my hand are hardly the sort of magic they're looking for," I pointed out. "My spells are too small to be of any help."

"You're more capable than you give yourself credit for."

I looked away, wishing I had chosen someplace else to hide so that I might have avoided this conversation. Where was my drink? I must have set it down somewhere on the way to the library. I wished for something to hold. Something to do with my mouth besides speak. I quelled the urge to flee and then smiled at Rainer. "Familiarity is clouding your judgment. I don't lack creativity, that much is true, but I'm afraid I don't have your motivation to channel it into anything better." I clapped him lightly on his good shoulder. "One success per family is enough. Let me finish this bargain with Father and then waste my days with music and the occasional amusing cantrip. That's all I want."

"Are you certain?"

"That we have better things to do right now than discussing my five-year plan? Absolutely positive. There is a party happening, brother mine."

I ignored the disappointed tilt to Rainer's mouth and kept my voice firm. He'd never enjoyed confrontation, and I was the more stubborn of the two of us.

Eventually he sighed. "I'm still going to show you off tonight, you know. Father made me promise to introduce you to all sorts of people. I hope you'll keep an open mind."

"You can show me off to whomever you like," I said. "Just don't expect it to change anything."

True to his word, Rainer steered me through the party with a silver tongue and an easy smile. Only the most powerful Coterie members were invited to my father's parties—or if they weren't powerful, they were beautiful, or if they weren't either of those things, they wanted to be, with the sort of desperation that nearly makes something true. It meant that the crowd assembled in his house that night practically glittered, each of them a jewel and very few of them unpolished.

Rainer introduced me to people whose names I did not know and had no intention of remembering, and guided me toward others I knew from their long association with our family. The only good thing about all of this was that I was able to collect Agnes and thus divide some of the attention. Even Agnes wasn't enough to save me from my aunt Delilah. She shared all my father's directness with none of his ability to ration words, and she cornered me with a flurry of questions before finally looking at me cannily over the rim of her wineglass and saying, "I'm glad to see you've made it to fifth tier. Some of us in the family were worried you might abandon your responsibilities and run off with an unseemly musician." She let out a little titter. "Can you imagine?"

I let my lips stretch across my teeth in a smile. "Don't be silly, Aunt Delilah, there was never any chance of that. You see, I want to be the unseemly musician that someone runs off with, not the other way around." And then, while her mouth was still open in a perfect O of surprise, I excused myself to the dance floor.

I had no shortage of partners; Rainer had seen to that. I danced with a woman from his troop, then with a captain from the lake country's Coterie branch, and with a man who smugly informed me he was the Citadel's chief overseer of spellwork (as though I kept track of boring Citadel job titles and their meanings). After that, the faces blurred together until I was dizzy with them. The heat of the room crawled up my spine and settled under my collar, stifling around my throat.

I did not feel well. My stomach churned even though I'd barely had anything to eat or drink. The music was enjoyable, but everything else in the room felt like too much all at once, an assault on my senses. During the next pause between songs, I bowed to my partner and quickly made my retreat from the dance floor to escape out onto the balcony.

A bench sat pressed up against the side of the house in the shadow of the open door. That was where I settled, tilting my head back to breathe the cool air in gulps. It soothed my flushed cheeks but did nothing to dispel the sensation that I might burst out of my own skin at any moment. The curse pounded against my rib cage like a second heartbeat, and the thought of trying to ignore it while I stood around trading bland witticisms made me want to gouge my own eye out with a caviar spoon.

I wished (mortifyingly) that Grimm was there. Not so close that I would have to bear the weight of his presence, just… nearby, like he usually was. It was possible I had underestimated the effects of distance. Perhaps if I didn't stay at my father's estate, if I returned to the Fount, the miles between us would be lessened enough for the spell to go back to its low-grade level of annoyance.

As I was considering this, two people stepped through the door and onto the balcony, walking forward to lean against the railing. The newcomers didn't see me, tucked away as I was. Thinking themselves alone, they did not lower their voices.

"I saw you dancing with Warde," the man said. "Are you considering him for next year?"

"He's a possibility," the woman replied. I recognized her—a troop captain my brother had introduced me to earlier. The man looked familiar as well, but he was facing away from me, making it difficult to place him. "I'm more impressed by Quest. If it's between the two of them, she's by far the better choice."

I hadn't been trying to eavesdrop, but at the sound of Agnes's name I pulled myself farther back in the shadows, so that I could listen and carry any praise back to her.

"You'll have competition there," the man said.

I caught a glimpse of the woman's smile before her face turned away from me. "I'm willing to fight you for her, if it comes to that."

The man dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "You won't have to. I have enough casters in my crew."

"There's no one here to tempt you?"

"I didn't say that. I said I don't need any more casters . Loveage, though, I have my eye on him."

Shock swept over me, leaving me cold in its wake. I didn't want to hear any more, but I couldn't move without attracting attention.

The woman chuckled. "Betting on the dark horse, are you? His spellwork hardly extends beyond cantrips. And he has a reputation."

The man shook his head a little. "He doesn't look good on paper, I'll grant you that. But I oversaw some of the work he did last year, when the Coterie sent fourth-tier sorcerers to help us. He's inventive."

Even in the dim light, I could see the skeptical arch of his companion's eyebrow. "Inventive enough for you to make a claim during the trials? That's quite the statement."

"My troop is big enough to make good use of a support scriver," the man said. Then he lowered his voice and added, "Besides, his brother and I started off in the same troop, and Rainer put in a good word for him with me."

"Ahhh, I see," the woman said, voice turning thoughtful. "It's not a bad idea to have the Loveage name on your side."

"Don't get any ideas," he warned. "I spotted him first."

"If you didn't want me getting ideas, you shouldn't have given them to me."

"Maybe another drink will make you forget," the man said, and pulled her back inside, the two of them laughing.

I stayed where I was, frozen.

This whole time, I had thought no one would give me a second glance during the trials. That they would see my meager charms and collected letters of warning from the Fount and simply steer clear. But it was just as Rainer had said: Scrivers were always in demand. Apparently, there were too few of us for captains to turn their noses up at even the most lackluster candidate… provided they came with the right gentry qualifications.

It was one thing for me to tell my brother, or Agnes, or even my father I wanted nothing to do with that life, but if a Coterie captain had looked beyond my puny abilities and seen someone inventive and promising, I might not have been able to resist saying yes.

But that wasn't what this was.

This had nothing to do with me, beyond the name shared between my father, my brother, and myself. I wasn't really wanted. My skills, such as they were, were an afterthought. For years I'd lived in fear of slipping up and overextending myself, causing mayhem and hurt by simply trying to do what came so naturally to everyone else.

But, apparently, no one even thought me capable enough to cause trouble.

In my flustered, curse-stricken state, only one thing was clear to me: Someone needed to disabuse them of that notion.