Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Kyrith
There is, I think to myself, something decadently scandalous about watching a man walk through a crowd, knowing that your own personal stamp of ownership is wrapped around his cock.
Jasper is clothed. There’s no evidence of the cage in the way he walks, or how he drops into his chair beside North, waiting for Hopkinson to arrive with the other students.
Yet, I know it’s there, and that knowledge alone is doing things to me.
Woven into the glyphs on his new jewellery is one that connects to the runeform on the back of the bracelet he gifted me. If he takes it off, I’ll know. I put it there as a safety measure. It’s not the only one.
There’s a tracker hidden in amongst the rest, too. Just in case.
Jasper remains in danger. I won’t see him locked away for another decade.
Thankfully, he didn’t object; in fact, he burst into laughter when I told him about it.
Then he asked if I planned to AirTag the others’ dicks as well.
I didn’t understand the reference, but it didn’t seem to matter.
He kissed the living daylights out of me and then told me I could track his ‘baws’ to my heart’s content.
The Magister trudges into the classroom, waving a hand at the projector with a forced smile. “Good morning, class!”
He’s not quite his usual enthusiastic self, and I don’t think it’s just the effects of a particularly enervating Monday morning. The reason becomes apparent when he taps his grimoire with an impatient forefinger, summoning forth a small army of papers that float across the room.
Eddy’s low groan assures me that it is what I think it is.
“Hey! I thought the test was on arcane law,” Lambert objects.
“This one should only be quick.” Hopkinson stumbles over his words. “Then we’ll get to the real exam. The rector asked us to hand this one out today. All of the classes are being tested to submit data on our students’ capabilities, for funding reasons.”
A chill runs up my spine. It could be innocent; in fact, I hope it’s nothing, but if I were a lich looking for a promising restorationist to replace the one who’d escaped me, this would be a good place to start.
Pulling myself free of the fabric of the building, I hover over Leo’s shoulder, staying invisible as I read the page.
“Do tests normally ask for blood-status?” I ask as I watch him fill out his name in curling black ink, followed by ‘adept’ on the line below.
The incremental shake of his head confirms my suspicions. All around me, the Library seems to shrink inward, worry pouring from both of us.
That swiftly, the Lineage Room is closed.
The bookshelves are sealed with wards that crisscross the spines like chains.
If Mathias Ackland and his ilk want to start dragging us back to the days when an arcanist’s worth was weighed on the scales of some genetic lottery, then he won’t be permitted to use our records to do it.
Then the Arcanaeum nudges my attention to the open trapdoor of the Vault, and I almost jump out of my skin.
“Pierce Carlton!” I snap, appearing before him on the spiralling staircase of the atrium. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“If I can get this far, your security is lacking,” he critiques, in place of answering. “Mathias would’ve made it to the dagger by now.”
He’s still walking, brushing by me as if he has every right to be down here.
“This place is restricted, and you should be in class.” I appear in front of him again, but he merely rolls his eyes at me.
“I’m here to protect the heart. I can’t do that if I don’t even know what’s down here.”
Good point, but still. I don’t trust him. He knows that.
And his unhurried pace makes it clear he doesn’t care.
My body isn’t down here anymore, I reason, drifting ahead of him. I’ll stay hidden, keep myself separate. I can monitor him from among the shelves. Then when he’s gone, I’ll triple the protections.
If only it were so simple.
Pierce isn’t content to pretend that I’m not here.
“The lighting is a concern,” he begins. “Brighter would give intruders fewer places to hide.”
Perhaps. But this isn’t just some room for storing valuables.
“Darkness is important for the preservation of the older texts. And this is a tomb. Fluorescents are hardly appropriate.”
A tiny frisson of tension enters his shoulders, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes.
He’s a good actor.
That only makes me trust him less.
“Am I going to find corpses at the bottom of this staircase?” he asks.
“No. Not anymore.”
I’m not sure where my body goes when I switch to my ghostly form. I have an awful feeling that somehow the Arcanaeum absorbs it and then recreates it at my whim, which would mean I only exist as an extension of it.
The altar comes into view, cutting off my existential crisis, and Pierce tsks under his breath.
“These defences are basic.” His hand lands on his grimoire, and the basic invisibility spell I cast over the dagger is ripped away, followed by the shield.
I don’t like the way his eyes narrow on the blade, or how they linger at the tiny chip in the smooth stone below.
“Is this where you were sacrificed?” He glances at the spire above as his fingers trace the runeforms on the altar. “It would’ve been smarter to get rid of it rather than leave it all set up for Mathias to pick up where he left off.”
“These are immensely powerful magical artefacts. Even if destroying them were a matter of simply clicking my fingers, I don’t fully understand what they do or how they would react to my efforts.” I pause. “Things down here are better left alone.”
“Typical. Let me guess, it’s tied into your stupid impartiality somehow?”
The temperature in the already cold room drops another degree. The Arcanaeum doesn’t appreciate his callousness either.
“Not at all. I just respect the dead.”
His grimoire snaps shut, lordly grey eyes roving over me. “You’re too emotionally connected to this place to adequately protect it.”
“You’re treading a dangerous line.”
“Would you rather I protect that dagger or your delicate feelings?”
“Why bother when it’s clear you don’t want to do either?”
His jaw flexes. “I’m capable of putting the good of arcandom before my own personal wants.”
Unspoken is the barbed accusation that I can’t do the same.
I don’t understand why he holds me in such contempt. I really don’t.
“What more would you have me do?”
It’s not as if I can run out there and demand Mathias stop this. Challenge him. I tried to influence the parriarchs, and it went wrong. I’m sheltering all six heirs. I’m advising them as best I can.
Pierce’s mouth opens, then closes. “You’ve had centuries to help, and you didn’t.”
“I had no idea he was even alive!”
“You didn’t care enough to find out. You shut yourself away with your books in your smug little fiefdom and left the rest of us to deal with everything. Until the Arcanaeum was threatened, you didn’t give two shits about what Mathias was up to.”
That argument isn’t logical, but when I try to float away, he’s there, grabbing my arm and forcing me solid.
“You could’ve stopped him years ago. All you would’ve needed to do was pull your head out of your ass long enough to pay attention to the world outside of these walls.
With all the power at your fingertips, you could’ve rescinded his banishment and crushed him centuries before Jasper ever set foot in that cell. ”
We’re chest to chest now, his fingers scorching my wrist where he’s still holding me.
“I didn’t think it was necessary!” I shoot back, all emotional distance cast aside as fury blasts through my veins.
“I banished all seven of them minutes after they murdered me on that altar. As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it. I thought he was dead. Blaming me for whatever he’s done since then is irrational. ”
How dare he insinuate that what happened to Jasper is my fault!
Did he hear my confession to the McKinley heir a few days ago, or is it pure luck that’s allowed him to reach into my soul and drag free the slivers of self-blame that still linger despite Jasper’s reassurances?
Pierce’s grip on me tightens. There’s a whole lot of accusation in his gaze, and I hate that I can guess where it’s coming from.
I’m willing to bet his life of privilege hasn’t spared him from Mathias.
If anything, as Isidora’s son, he’s probably been witness to many of the horrors the lich has inflicted on others.
The burning need to argue, to defend myself, is smothered by sorrow as a memory of Hopkinson’s lecture floats back to me.
Pierce’s father was executed for necromancy.
Was Mathias responsible for that? Benny’s comments and Isidora’s strike replay in my mind.
Is Pierce blaming me for what happened to Jasper or for what happened to his family?
“I am sorry for everything that you’ve been through,” I whisper. “But I truly didn’t know.”
The air between us seems to thicken, the inches separating us shrinking with each shallow breath.
“And now?” he finally asks. “What are you doing now, besides propositioning arcanists?”
To my absolute horror, his free hand reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls free a copy of that damned contract.
The blood drains from my face. Mortification, sour and scalding, steals my words. I need to say something. To explain that this isn’t like that.
Why did the Arcanaeum give it to him, anyway?
Probably because of my own insistence about staying impartial.
“Nothing to say, Librarian?” Pierce says, voice gone silky with smugness.
He taps the corner of the folded document against my sternum, and I blink when I realise there’s…writing on it. My gut flipflops as I snatch it from him, crumpling it in my grip.
“If you hadn’t been given a copy, you would’ve complained of favouritism,” I retort. “But believe me, you have nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t proposition you if you were the last man alive.”
He leans in close, and the scent of his cologne surrounds me in an expensive fog. “Oh, naturally. That’s why it was waiting on my pillow.”
Great. The building couldn’t have left it on his desk or somewhere normal?
“If you hate the idea so much, why sign it?” It’s a wild guess, but it hits home. His jaw ticks once.
His regal shrug undoes me. “Like you said, we can’t let you get away with favouritism.”
Magic. I hate him. I hate his smug superiority. I hate that he wants to hold me accountable for Mathias’s evils. I hate him even more because he’s beautiful.
Urgh. I hate myself for noticing it, now of all times. This situation is intimidating, not arousing, but my body isn’t getting the message.
Maybe what happened with North screwed with my brain. Or perhaps I’m simply addicted to pretty men after so many years alone.
Those gunmetal grey eyes drop to my lips. Is he thinking about kissing me? What would that be like?
I shove him away, but it doesn’t work. He may as well be a boulder.
“Pierce.” My complaint just makes him smirk harder, and that pisses me off.
I’m about to jerk my knee upwards—and then whack him with a book for good measure—when an unexpected voice breaks the moment with the subtlety of a gunshot.
“You’ve got to be fecking kidding me.”
My head whips around, to the stairs where Leo glares accusingly down at us both. Eddy has a restraining hand on his arm, and my gut sinks.
Oh no. I’m not oblivious to what this must look like. Pierce and I are pressed against one another, and from Leo’s angle, he won’t have seen the fury on my face.
Just Pierce’s head dropping towards mine.
“I told you to leave them alone,” Eddy grumbles, pulling his arm. “Kyrith, there’s a letter for you on the desk.” Her eyes fall on the altar behind me, and the dagger there, with a wince. “But I’m sure it’ll keep.”
At least she understands.
“Like everything else, apparently.” Leo runs a hand through his hair before storming back up the stairs the way he came.
Pierce still hasn’t moved, and Eddy lingers, clearly unsure whether to stay or go.
I wrench myself into my ghost form, putting the altar between me and the Carlton heir as I struggle to regain my composure.
“I’ll admit I was remiss in protecting the dagger properly,” I finally say.
“That will be corrected posthaste. But I will not stand here and let you or Leo lecture me on how I spend my time or my past mistakes. You have no idea what it’s like to be trapped in a building for five hundred years, unable to touch anyone.
And I may not have stopped Mathias before, but I am working on it now. ”
I run my hand over the place where he gripped me, convinced I can still feel it, even though I’m no longer physical. “And you’ve just excluded yourself from anything more, contract or no contract. I require respect from my lovers. I don’t think you know what that word means.”
The Arcanaeum helpfully drops a dictionary on the altar beside him, flipped open to the relevant definition.
“Are you going to use nullification?” Eddy asks, startling me, because I’d almost forgotten she was there. “Can I stay and watch? We’re studying it at the moment, but I learn so much more from you.”
It’s a flimsy excuse. She really should be upstairs in class, but I suspect my friend has caught on to the uncomfortable energy between Pierce and me and is asking to stay in case things get heated again. Either that, or she’s doing her best to avoid the arcane law exam.
“Fine.” I offer her a small grateful smile. “But please be quiet. I need to focus.”
“You got it!” she promises, taking a seat on the bottom step.
Without another word, I get to work. As much as I want to go up there and tell them all that I am not down here with Pierce for carnal purposes, I don’t trust him alone with the dagger.
An inkling that’s proven right as he silently starts trying to rip apart every shield that I create. On an intellectual level, I recognise this is just him testing the defences. Helping—in his own way.
After all, if my spells can’t withstand Pierce, they’ll be less than useless against Mathias.
Still, it becomes a battle of wills. I create; he destroys. Over and over. I win when he finally stops trying and retreats with a slump of his shoulders an hour later.
Good riddance, I think at his retreating back.
As if sensing the scornful thought, he glances back as he reaches the staircase, lifting one eyebrow in challenge as that steely gaze lands on my hand.
The one still clutching his contract.