Chapter 8
Eight
Kyrith
Over the week that follows, the patrons gradually settle down. My new outfits cause less and less of a stir by the day until one could almost believe I’d always had the ability to change my clothes and hair.
As a result, the small army of women at my desk at the start of the new term causes my brows to pinch together.
What now?
My brows pinch, and the books around me shuffle forward in interest.
There must be at least two dozen ladies here, and of course, who should weave his way between them but the Winthrop heir, his hands behind his back and mischief twinkling in his tempest gaze.
Stars preserve me. What is he up to now?
“Boss!” His grin is brighter than the sun, all of his normal joviality and good looks restored over the break. “You look stunning today.”
Is that…nerves in his voice?
“Mr Winthrop,” I begin, bracing myself against the desk because I just know that I’m going to need the support for whatever this is. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m about to give you another strike?”
Making a nuisance is against the rules, even if several patrons seem to have forgotten that since we reopened last week.
“This—”he waves one of the ladies in his entourage forward“—is Larissa.”
“Yes. I’m aware.”
He had his hand on her ass during several of Hopkinson’s early lectures before he moved on.
“What are you doing?” I ask, but he ignores me, offering the girl with her long, braided hair an encouraging smile.
“The last time I slept with Lambert was three months ago,” she says bluntly.
“He also wanted me to say that he makes a great morning-after breakfast, but honestly, I’d had a really bad break up and wasn’t in the headspace for all the relationship stuff.
His cock is huge, though, and that transmutation magic is no joke. ”
I gape at her, and she shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“Poppy?” Lambert calls, dismissing her. “Where’ve you got to?”
Oh no. No no no. He didn’t. “Lambert—”
“I’m here!” I catch sight of her warm grin a second before she’s there, tackle-hugging Lambert from behind. “He’s a good listener, but we haven’t even kissed.”
He hugs her back. “And we won’t, because we’re not like that.” He turns back to the crowd, releasing a slightly flushed Poppy to address them. “Raise your hands if you’ve slept with me since the second week of last term?”
Crickets.
The second week of last term was when we started our tutoring. He can’t really be saying that he’s been… No. I’ve seen him with so many others, and this is Lambert. ‘Celibacy’ is not a word in his vocabulary.
The pressing gazes of so many curious women, and the patrons lining up behind them, fluster me.
Is he really saying that he’s not touched anyone? He brought all of these ladies here to confirm it, in this very public display. Did he arrange this because he was upset that I didn’t believe him? Or is he that eager to worm his way into my bed?
Damn him, I am not this fickle, and I am definitely not flattered.
“All of them signed the Arcanaeum rules, agreeing not to lie to the Librarian.” Lambert’s winning grin turns on me next. “So…”
“I know what you’re doing,” I tell him frankly. “And this can’t change anything.”
I’m impartial. He’s an heir. Those facts haven’t changed. This ridiculous spectacle can’t break my resolve, no matter how much I wish…
“I don’t know what you mean, boss.” He offers me an infuriating wink. “I’m just asserting myself as a gentleman of good moral character.”
Who told him to say that? I bet it was Leo.
There’s no way he came up with that line by himself.
Then, in a coup de grace I could never have predicted, Lambert draws a small cream box tied with a brown ribbon from behind his back and deposits it onto my desk.
Bribing me again. I don’t think this is a book, and my curiosity is sparked despite myself.
“And this is a present, since Eddy informed me that none of the others got you anything special for Christmas, which was just dumb of them. If you tell us your birthday, I’ll bake you something special then, too.”
Technically, North did give me a book, but I suspect Eddy and Lambert are as aware as I am that it was filched from Ackland’s personal collection.
I swear the women around us are leaning in, as curious as to the box’s contents as I am. A drawer beneath my desk pops open, and I swipe the gift into it without preamble, snapping the wood shut.
It’s my Christmas present, and I’m not sharing it with these people I barely know.
Lambert’s smile falls slightly, and I frown. Was he expecting me to open it now? If he was, he shouldn’t have brought an audience. It’s bad enough that the Winthrop heir was just seen giving me a bribe.
Or was that part of his plan, too? Destroy my impartiality one public spectacle at a time?
Magic, what must the other patrons think?
Shaking off the cynical thought, I pin him with my best disapproving glare.
“You’re going to be late to class, and you’re holding up the…”
I trail off, as an ornate black door on the opposite side of the Rotunda swings open and a familiar head of blond hair steps through.
Pierce.
Ugh. It’s too early in the morning for this.
Lambert follows my line of sight, then shifts, putting himself directly between my desk and the approaching man.
“Ladies, I appreciate your help, but the Librarian is right; we don’t want to keep Hopkinson waiting.” He offers them all a congenial smile that belies the stiffness of his posture.
They aren’t stupid. Many of them already noted the violence threatening to brew and fled. Even some of the arcanists in the queue behind them abandon the Rotunda, feigning huffed impatience. Some are slower than others, lingering like the temptation of potential gossip is too much to resist.
I belatedly wonder if I’ve missed something. Two heirs being in one place isn’t usually enough to force the patrons to scatter like this, but I shove my misgivings aside. Whatever parriarch drama is undoubtedly going on beyond these walls can remain out there.
“Lambert, go to class.”
I can handle Pierce.
Unfortunately, the Winthrop heir appears to have been struck by a bout of sudden-onset deafness. He deliberately ignores my orders, folding his arms over his broad chest. With a sigh, I shuffle the floor tiles, scooting him out of the way, and almost making him overbalance in the process.
Serves him right.
The Arcanaeum isn’t bristling, but there’s a strange wariness to the way the rafters tense above us. Something about the Carlton heir feels different, though he looks completely unaffected as he ignores the queue of arcanists and strides straight up to the desk.
“Parriarch business, I’m afraid,” he says to the grumbling magister who tries to object, holding up a heavy envelope with swirling black writing on the front.
He doesn’t immediately hand it over, or say anything, just takes in my new outfit with a lazy sweep of his grey eyes.
Unfazed, I return his appraisal, noting the black shirt casually rolled up to his elbows and the immaculate waves of his short hair.
Perfect as always. So why is the building so… wary?
Eventually, Pierce places the envelope on my desk, sliding it closer to me until his own grimoire, holstered at his hip, bashes against the wood between us.
The building recoils.
Ah, so that’s what it is. The same awful viscous oiliness that coats his sister and mother’s grimoires now clings lightly to his.
The book doesn’t look any different, but to the Arcanaeum, it might as well be coated in lard.
Not as besmeared as Anthea’s was before I banished her, but still… It's concerning.
Suspicion stiffens my posture as I draw myself up a little taller. I’ve always suspected that the oiliness was a result of the dark magic within, though I’d never voice those thoughts.
Is he dabbling in the forbidden school?
If he is, then I should check on Jasper and Dakari. I know that’s hardly impartial behaviour, but his family is a threat to both of them. The former should be here soon, given that he’s joined the same class, but the latter comes and goes as he pleases.
“Librarian.” Pierce’s tone is cordial, but if the way his smile has soured is any indication, he’s definitely noticed the direction of my stare.
Forcing my eyes away from the book, I answer, “Mr Carlton.”
“This letter is from my parriarch. I’m supposed to return to her with your reply.”
“I’ll tell you where to shove your fecking letters,” Leo interrupts, suddenly rounding my desk from the other side, flanking me. I’m not surprised he’s here, given that he’s in Hopkinson’s class too, but his presence isn’t going to help matters. “You tried to—”
“Neither Winthrop nor ó Rinn has the power to speak for the Arcanaeum.” I break the black seal on the back with a wave of my hand and allow the perfectly folded paper to slip free and unfurl on my desk.
I scan the tight, neat penmanship with a deepening scowl.
“Absolutely not. Your parriarch’s demands are based on hearsay and rumour, and she should know better than to listen to either.”
“She expected you’d try to deny it.” Pierce sighs and rests his long fingers on my desk, leaning forward, crowding me.
“Every other heir is receiving the benefit of tutoring from the Librarian. We suspected as much last term when Lambert and the liminal bastard’s grades improved at the same time they began frequenting the Arcanaeum.
That could’ve been dismissed as a coincidence, if not for the numerous reports of the others not leaving the library at closing time.
Just last week you were seen helping two liminals during opening hours. ”
He won’t even say North’s name, and the pens on my desk tremble in anger. This kind of adept superiority is something I absolutely cannot stand, and I let my contempt into my expression as we stare each other down.
“You’re spying on us?” Lambert says, breaking the tension.
Pierce rolls his eyes. “You truly are unfit to be parriarch if that news surprises you.”
Lambert just shrugs as if to say, ‘who cares?’
“Back to the matter at hand,” I say. “You have no proof.”
“You think Ackland’s bastard is well-trained enough not to confess under a truth spell?
If you want to force our hand, you can, but why drag this out?
It’s unfair that I should be the exception, and you are impartial, are you not?
” He asks the question with a silky innocence that belies the anger darkening his eyes.
My own gaze falls to his grimoire again. If I were physical, I’d probably have broken my jaw with how hard I’m grinding my teeth together.
Only North and Lambert really need tutoring. Leo simply enjoys having access to the Arcanaeum outside of opening hours, and Dakari and Jasper were here because of the Sanctuary. I suppose watching Lambert’s games together has become something of a habit, too…
All of the families have their own spies, but the closeness with which they’re watching the goings on within the Arcanaeum is disturbing. Which of my patrons takes their bribes?
Not that it matters. Isidora has apparently been fed half a story and decided to demand her due.
I could simply deny him. Pierce Carlton has no need of tutoring, and his mother knows it. What can she really do besides make noise? This is my domain. My pride insists I do just that and teach the parriarch where she can shove her ultimatums.
Hardly the actions of an impartial figure, but the defence of the Arcanaeum is my primary concern. Its welfare supersedes my neutrality.
Still… There’s a reason they say keep your enemies close…
I only realise I’ve started pacing behind the desk when Pierce clears his throat, dragging me to a stop. “I’m willing to swear a covenant promising no violence if the other heirs will do the same.”
“A covenant is impossible for me. I don’t have a body.” My denial is instant, yet false.
One perfect, regal brow rises. “Don’t you?”
He knows.
Magic. How? No one, aside from the other heirs, has seen my body, unless he somehow suspected when he cracked me that it wasn’t going to kill me. His grandfather’s knowing smile from that day still haunts me, and I have to wonder how the two of them fit into all of this.
There are too many unknowns here. When I ask the Arcanaeum for its input, it simply echoes back my own unease and distrust.
All the more reason to keep Pierce close.
Leo leans too-casually against the desk. “I’ll make the covenant with him.”
Lambert frowns through my translucent body. “Wait? You will? But you two hate each other.”
Neither of them denies it, and I want to groan at the thought of yet more quarrelling. Isn’t it enough that I must endure Dakari and Galileo scowling at each other whenever they’re in the same room?
Pierce’s antagonistic presence will only dial up their aggression.
“Swearing not to harm one another in the Arcanaeum would reinforce its status as neutral ground.” Leo shrugs one shoulder with calculated disinterest. “It would protect the Library.”
The subtle emphasis he puts on the last word is accompanied by a flick of his eyes from Lambert to me and then back. It’s almost comical watching the realisation sink into the Winthrop heir’s features, and I suppress a groan when his smile returns, brighter than ever.
“Oh, yep! Sure. Great idea. We can all promise not to do any violence to each other in the Arcanaeum, if that’s what you want, Kyrith?”
I raise one brow. He’s so transparent that I’m struggling to believe he’ll ever become a parriarch.
Pierce is only offering a covenant because he probably suspects the six of them will do something that gets them all banished if he doesn’t.
It’s the equivalent of offering to take their fights outside.
Or at least, the physical ones. The verbal sparring will undoubtedly be interminable.
My pacing resumes. What does Isidora stand to gain from this? No doubt Pierce has orders to uncover whatever secrets he can. They already have inside information they shouldn’t, and this would be the icing on the cake.
To test the theory, I say, “If the covenant includes swearing yourself to secrecy about anything you might see or hear that isn’t public knowledge about the Arcanaeum or myself, then I’ll consider it.”
He won’t accept it. He’s a spy. It’s so obvious—
“Naturally. My parriarch would expect nothing less.”
I freeze, caught in haughty gunmetal-grey eyes.
I think…I might’ve just miscalculated.
“You’ll still have to get the other heirs to swear it,” Leo adds.
“I’ll leave that to you, since you’re so keen to protect the ‘Library.’” Pierce’s mocking tone makes the books around us shuffle restlessly, but he’s already turning on his heel. “I’ll be here at closing.”
Without waiting for my reply, he disappears into Hopkinson’s class.
“Arrogant pig,” I snarl under my breath.