Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Kyrith
Chronological manipulation is supposed to be a myth. I always assumed it was beyond even my power, though I don’t have a grimoire to test my theory.
But it wasn’t just an arcanist messing with time spells. It was the Arcanaeum, which is infused with more magic than any mortal could dream of. The Arcanaeum, where liminals were sacrificed for magic-knows-how-long, creating a magical well larger than any other.
In many ways, the parriarchs of the past accidentally turned the building into its own kind of arcanist. Its magical well is a cauldron forged from the mixing of six different bloodlines, and it refills over time.
I’ve never reached the limits of that magic, even with some of the heavier spells I’ve tried over the years.
The Arcanaeum didn’t build me a tomb. It saved me.
It kept me alive, somehow even allowed me a manifestation of myself so I wasn’t locked inside my own body.
But if that was what happened, why didn’t it heal me? Why not save the others before me? Why keep me suspended and never wake me up? Why make me relive my death over and over?
Power, I realise.
Mathias Ackland’s ritual was partially successful. My power is inextricably merged with the Arcanaeum. What if the strength I had was enough to give it the means to suspend my body, but not enough to heal me? How much energy did it expend just to give me the freedom to walk around?
I’m so full of questions that I startle slightly when Benny continues his explanation.
“John Ackland goes on to suggest that the simplest theoretical way to hold a person in suspension would be to create a time loop and anchor it so that it only affected a small area, like a few rooms.” He sips his tea delicately, prompting Pierce to do the same.
“Repeating the events of, for example, twenty-four hours, over and over again. He was hoping to create a way to give alchemists and restorationists more time to cure serious maladies. In which case, the patient would simply remain on their sickbed while the world moved around them.”
Magic. A loop.
I didn’t step foot in the Arcananeum that day.
Not until I followed Mathias and Rector Carlton to my doom.
My ghostly manifestation had to relive my death nightly, because that was the only record of my existence inside of the loop the Arcanaeum chose, but outside of that horrible moment, I was free to move as I pleased.
If the Arcanaeum was still in the same dimension, and the loop was larger, would I have been forced to go through making breakfast, dressing for the ball, walking through the university, and all the other tedious moments leading up to my death?
And why did the projection of my consciousness relive it and not my actual body?
Only…my body must’ve relived it. Some of it, at least. That’s why during those crucial minutes, I could feel again. Whatever transmutation spell turned my flesh to diamond, probably saving my life, must’ve waned during the reenactment.
I would accuse Benny of lying, but that’s not possible.
It’s surprising how simple it is to camouflage the slightly bitter taste of a truth serum with bergamot. He’s already finished half of his tea, and the effects would’ve taken hold from his first sip.
“For what it’s worth,” he continues. “I’m glad that my theory about Pierce’s touch was well-founded and allowed you to resume living a more normal life. I can’t imagine it was pleasant, reliving your sacrifice over and over.”
Finally, Pierce’s schooled expression slackens slightly.
It grates, being the object of his sympathy. He was the only heir who never saw my death echo, and I’m grateful for that. Pierce is not the kind of man I would ever trust to see me vulnerable. I can just picture his scorn if he’d heard me begging Edmund to save me.
No. He wouldn’t understand.
“You had a theory?” I prompt in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
“The original spell linked the six bloodlines with the Arcanaeum, allowing them to draw vast quantities of power from it. I assumed that the Arcanaeum was reforming those same bonds—sapping power from the heirs when they came into contact with you—with the aim of utilising the extra magic to undo the loop.”
Surely the heirs would’ve noticed such a drain?
Unless they were distracted or didn’t know what to look for. Leo was trying to escape banishment, Dakari was concerned for me, North barely acknowledges his magical well at the best of times, and Lambert… He’d just finished a magiball game. He was already exhausted.
Jasper even blacked out after touching me, because his magical well wasn’t recovered. He was experiencing a seizure at the time, so I thought nothing of it.
No doubt Pierce noticed and reported back to Benny.
“You’ve gone quiet.” He quirks a brow.
“I’m considering it,” I respond. “It’s an unlikely theory, after all.”
“Is it? Come, Kyrith—may I call you Kyrith? We both know the Library is as sentient as you or I. It seems only logical that it would wait until it was certain that you could come into contact with six strong arcanists who share blood with both your murderers and the sacrifices, to attempt such a working. My grandson is the strongest Carlton in generations. Young Northcliff, too, from what I saw of him. His admission was when your cracking began, was it not?”
Magic. It makes sense.
The Arcanaeum may have needed more power to break the loop, but more precisely, it would’ve needed magic from each of the six families, because that’s what created it in the first place.
It breaks me a little inside as I realise this is why I can’t ever leave. Because the Arcanaeum only interrupted the ritual after it had absorbed my magic. Every time I attempt to walk out of one of the hundreds of doors, I’m literally trying to rip my very essence free of the building.
If the Library didn’t pull me back, I would die. I may even harm it in the process.
I should’ve realised. It seems so obvious now. I’ve always known we shared a magical well.
The Arcanaeum took the heirs’ magic and used it to break the loop.
And for whatever reason, Benny and Pierce chose to facilitate that.
They could just as easily have never returned to the Library, leaving me caught in limbo.
The Arcanaeum’s reserves would’ve slowly emptied, and who knows how many years would’ve passed before it could try again.
How many more nights of reliving that awful blade sinking into my chest could I have endured without going insane?
I owe them, and I most certainly am not happy about it.
“Why? Why would you help me?”
“Our goals align.” He sets his teacup down on the saucer.
“Mathias is a threat to all Arcandom. Ever since you banished him, he’s been working to re-enter the Library.
He’s been thwarted before, though mainly by pure luck.
His previous allies have been less than subtle with their necromancy, and that has led to their downfall before he could use them. ”
“Use them?”
Benny offers me a sad little smile. “To recover his lost property, of course.”
My stomach sinks. “He can’t enter—”
“As long as the heart of the Arcanaeum is out of his reach.” Benny nods.
The heart… I frown thinking of the spire. “Surely he won’t get his hands on that.”
Stealing such a huge monument would be impractical, even for a powerful arcanist.
“It might’ve been harder while it was pinning you to that altar, but I can only assume the dagger is infinitely more transportable now it’s not frozen in a time loop.”
I lean back against the desk to disguise the way my knees buckle.
The dagger. I never even considered—I mean, who can blame me? I didn’t want to dwell on the weapon that murdered me. And the spire was so much more obvious.
A red herring in every sense of the word.
But I barely have time to absorb the revelation, because Benny frowns, examining his teacup with furrowed brows.
“I didn’t intend to reveal this much,” he muses. “Clever, to disguise the bitterness of a tongue-wagging potion with bergamot. I’ll have to remember that one.”
Pierce, however, is less blasé about the discovery. His cup slips from his hand, crashing onto the carpet with a muted thud. “You drugged us?!”
“Yes,” I admit. “I need to be certain where your allegiances lie.”
Benny holds an arm out, stopping his grandson’s advance mid-stride. “Well, that much is easily remedied. My one and only goal has always been the protection of my house and my grandchildren.”
“Even Anthea?” I challenge, remembering Pierce’s pernicious sister. “Is she another of your spies?”
He snorts. “No. Anthea is loyal to her mother. I’m certain she won’t thank me for my interference, and perhaps she’s beyond saving. Still, without optimism, life becomes terribly dull, wouldn’t you agree?”
I incline my head, trying to ignore the way Pierce’s anger is pulsing across the room.
“I appreciate you taking the time to visit.” I push to my feet and head for the door, intending to open it for them now that my ruse is up.
Benny’s next words freeze my hand before I can touch the knob.
“Don’t you want to know what we want in exchange for our help?”
The papers in the room rustle, the susurration cutting through the ensuing silence. No matter what we owe him, he’s in the Arcanaeum. He would do well to remember that before letting impudence burn whatever fragile bridges we’ve begun to build here.
Yet, if the Arcanaeum has rebuilt a connection to the six heirs, can Pierce utilise that bond in the same way I can? Does he know that it’s possible?
Dropping my shoulders, because I did drug them, after all, I raise a single brow as I turn back to him, glad to see that he’s no longer restraining Pierce.
“I’d like you to grant my grandson Sanctuary. In fact, if I were you, I’d offer it to all six heirs immediately.”
“Grandfather,” Pierce interrupts. “I told you—”
“Silence.”