Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Kyrith
“I’ve put this off for too long,” I mumble to myself as I sink down through the floor of the Rotunda.
The Vault is cold, and the spire pulses with a strange kind of welcome as I manifest in the atrium.
Everything in me roils with anxiety. A fine tremor settles between my shoulder blades as I look down at the altar.
Someone has cleaned it—probably the Arcanaeum. There’s nothing left to hint at what happened here. No blood. No rust on the shackles.
On the surface, in one of the grooves meant for a necromancer’s grimoire, is the dagger. Gleaming and bright. My would-be murder weapon.
I extend my hand towards it, only to draw it back again at the last second. This is absurd. There’s no reason for me to be afraid of the literal heart of the building.
Only there is, because the heart of the Arcanaeum also almost killed me.
I’ve had plenty of time to think over the chain of events.
To match Benny’s theory exactly. The loop must’ve been cast to encompass the twenty-four hours just before my magic merged with the building.
My ghostly manifestation was affected, but my mind remained my own.
My body remained frozen, but that might be more due to whatever transmutation spell turned it to crystal, since I still experienced the same emotions and the dreadful punch of pain.
My magic must have been exempt to some degree. The Arcanaeum couldn’t risk its magical well being torn apart as I relived the merging over and over. The second the blade pierced flesh, I had to be freed.
At least that spared me reliving my banishment of the parriarchs.
I still don’t understand how. I doubt I ever will.
No arcanist in history has ever cast a chronological manipulation spell, let alone one of this magnitude, and without a runeform.
If I knew the spire’s purpose, maybe that would give more insight.
The dagger must have functioned much like a grimoire, creating a channel for magic and intention.
It’s tethered to the Arcanaeum’s magic, which explains why Benny believes Mathias will be able to enter if he gets his hands on it.
As such, it needs better protection than simply lying here, where anyone could take it.
But where to hide it…?
Without giving myself time to chicken out a second time, I snatch the blade up, then pause.
It’s warm, pulsing. Almost…endearingly so.
Nothing at all like I expected it to be. My muscles lose a little of their stiffness, frown easing. No matter what it was used for, this is a vital part of my oldest friend. I’ll keep it safe.
I cast around the room. On one hand, the Vault is the most secure place in the Library. On the other, it’s exactly where anyone would expect me to keep the heart.
I rub my thumb across the large gem in the hilt as I glide across the space and back again, thinking. The jewel is the only part of the blade that’s cold, slick, and oily beneath my touch.
“Kyrith?”
Eddy’s voice breaks my contemplation, and I whirl to face her. Magic, I was so caught in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice her open the trapdoor.
“Fuck these stairs,” she groans, pressing her hand to her side as she reaches the final step.
“This place is still technically off limits,” I remind her, replacing the blade on the altar and casting a hasty shield spell over it followed by one for invisibility. “There are artefacts down here that could hurt you if you’re not careful.” I pause. “How did you even get down here, anyway?”
I could’ve sworn I locked the trapdoor, but the heirs have me distracted. Lesson learned.
“The Arcanaeum opened the trap door for me because weird shit is happening upstairs, and North is… Well, he’s in a mood.” Her tone turns apologetic at the end, like she’s somehow to blame for her brother.
Weird shit…? I shoot a questioning thought at the Library, which gives a little sigh, directing my attention to Conjurer’s Hall. Someone is wandering through the stacks up there, testing out books that won’t leave the shelves because they don’t have a library card.
“Oh. Never mind, it’s a visitor.”
“Visitor?”
I’m not sure I have the energy to explain the oddities of the Arcanaeum right now, so I simply wave the subject away. “I’ll deal with it. Go to bed.”
It’s late.
“But what about North?”
“What about him?”
She gives me a meaningful look, and I sink a little lower in my bones. “You really think that anything I say will help?”
Her shrug isn’t reassuring. “It can’t hurt.
” She takes a last look around at the shelves, her face lit in shades of melancholy purple by the flames in the braziers.
Her next words are thick with weariness.
“I just… He won’t listen to me, and he’s wearing himself out trying spells he’s not ready for because he thinks it’s the best way to protect us. ”
Oh. “I see.”
To someone like North, realising the scale of the danger we’re in—that his twin is in—must’ve hit a nerve. No doubt, having Mathias swoop in and take over the house didn’t help those feelings of powerlessness either.
He’s gone from being under Josef’s thumb to something worse.
“I’ll talk to him,” I promise. “If only to stop him before he hurts himself.”
Unfortunately, I can only see this ending one way—with us doing what we usually do. Arguing.