Twenty - Isabel
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The more Iread Theory of All Magics, the less I was convinced that the answer Felix needed was hidden in the pages of the book. I still wanted to read it. It was as fascinating as it was frustrating. But now that I had lost my conviction that Demeret had the answer, the node pulled me away if I tried to devote all my working hours to reading the book. I had a curse to break.
And no idea how to do it.
For a while, the node allowed me to explore the library. I tried to decode the magical system of organization, but even if I knew where to find certain books, what good would they do me? The answer Felix needed wouldn’t be in a book, but a scroll. I didn’t need to master magical theory or understand how the node had been locked. I needed to understand how Duke Valois had used the node to create Truths. There was no other node like the one at Truthhold, the power stretching beyond the accepted limits of magic. I’d find answers in the archives, not the library.
With the magic itching against my sternum, I sought out Felix. “I need you to get Marc out of the archives for an hour.”
The duke looked up from the journal he was reading, his ears swiveling in my direction. “Why?”
“Because I want to explore the archives without him watching my every step and questioning my reasons for being down there. Can you keep him busy for an hour?”
“I’ll ask him to transcribe my notes from this latest journal.” Felix paused, his paw holding the journal open. “Better yet, you can go downstairs and tell him I require his services as a secretary.”
“Perfect. I’ll do that now.”
I was more than halfway to the door when Felix spoke again. “You’re welcome.”
I glanced over my shoulder at him. “I believe that’s my line. I’m the one working to reverse the curse, after all.”
“I don’t get any credit for the help I’m providing?” He sounded amused rather than irked.
“I’ll say thank you when you do something that is neither an apology for the wrongs you have already committed nor an action that ultimately benefits you.” I turned back toward the door. Let him think I was still mad; it would be good for him.
He didn’t stop me this time as I left the office where he read.
I went downstairs, schooling my expression into one of annoyance, which was no longer my default after talking with the duke. Given Felix’s desire not to let Marc know that we were aware he was working against the duke, it would be best not to look too eager about getting him out of the archives. In fact, I’d follow him upstairs when he went. I’d make my way to the library, then double back downstairs after the secretary was in Felix’s office.
Marc sat at his desk, the light from the window streaming in and casting a warm golden glow over his hair. He had a single scroll unrolled on the desk, but though his eyes were trained on the parchment, they didn’t move back and forth like he was reading. The scroll granted the impression he was working, while allowing him to do nothing.
His head came up slowly when he heard the click of my shoes against the floor. “Isa. Did you find anything useful in the scroll I gave you yesterday?”
“It was an interesting read.” Let Marc wonder if I was hiding anything. “That’s not why I’m here this morning, though.”
“Oh?”
“His Grace sent me. He wants to write out some notes from his recent reading. He’s waiting for you in his office.”
Marc slowly re-rolled the scroll in front of him, then placed it in a drawer of his desk. “He made you play messenger, did he? You’d think, with so few of us here, he might forget to insist on the privileges of rank on occasion.”
Despite my magic, I wasn’t sure what Marc intended with that comment. There was genuine frustration behind his words, and a refusal to see that Felix hardly insisted on the deference a duke might expect from his employees. I couldn’t tell if it was because Felix tended to be more informal when he and I were alone and so Marc’s impression of him did not match mine, or if he wanted to remind me of the gap in our ranks.
In my mind, having a title was an accident of birth and nothing more. Even if my introduction to the duke had happened under different circumstances, I still would have offered him only basic courtesy, not subservience.
“A duke is a duke,” I told Marc, not wanting to delve deeper into the topic. “Even when he’s a cat.”
“I suppose so.” The secretary walked around his desk and to my side. “How is your own work for the duke coming along?”
We began the walk to the stairs, our footsteps echoing through the room. “It is hard to say. I can’t access the node. Even if I could, I am only a truth-reader. I have ideas, but I can’t implement them myself.”
The misdirections falling from my lips surprised me. I had always preferred blunt honesty, not seeing the need to skirt around an issue. Nor did I think a misdirection was any better morally than a lie. If I truly felt the need to deceive, I didn’t usually bother with such careful phrasings. Nevertheless, I had enough experience listening to silver tongues mangling the truth that words came easily.
And despite his experience twisting the truth to his own ends, Marc did not expect the same of me. He took my answers at face value and let the conversation slide into silence.
I bid him farewell at the blue salon door. After waiting long enough for him to turn the next corner, I slipped back into the hall and returned downstairs.
Working with the constables, I had learned to never ignore a potential clue. It wasn’t wise to focus only on finding the answers you already sought, when there might be a question you hadn’t even known to ask. So, instead of going directly to the archives, I made my way to Marc’s desk. I opened the left drawer and pulled out the scroll. I unrolled it, scanning over the lines until I was convinced it was a prop he used to make it look like he was working and nothing more. Only then did I return it to the drawer and make my way to the archives.
I pulled the map Felix and I had made from my pocket. I had drawn out a path to take me back to the area where Marc had pulled the heir’s contract from the shelves earlier. My memory of all the twists and turns was by no means perfect, but I thought this route would get me in the general area. It seemed as good a place as any to start my search.
Even consulting the map, I felt lost as I turned right and left, skipping that path, and following another shelf around in a way that I would have sworn I was making a circle if I didn’t know better. Once I thought I was close, I closed my eyes and listened.
Magic surrounded me, but I refused to let it overwhelm me. I had held the heir’s contract for quite a while the day before; I ought to recognize the sound. Even with so many threads of power in one place, even when they all resonated with the same pitch, they were still unique. When I concentrated on one, it became distinct, the rest blending together in my mind. Then I could shift my attention to the next strand, slowly working through them all. Eventually, I heard the whisper I was looking for. I followed the sound, tracing the path with my hand as I kept my eyes closed. Then my hand bumped against the wooden shelf and I opened my eyes. I was in the wrong row. The strand of power extended beyond the shelf.
I consulted my map and saw that it would only take three turns to reach the aisle behind this one. I hurried through, trying not to lose the strand of power, even when I had to go in the opposite direction before swinging back around. This time, when I followed the power, my hand landed on a scroll. I pulled it from the shelf, unrolled it, and confirmed it was the same scroll I had studied the day before.
My first experiment had been a success, but I needed to know if I could find other scrolls the same way. I pulled out a different scroll and focused on the magic. It didn’t take long to identify the power wrapped around the scroll, but this time there were two strands: a mellow hum and one with a reedy timbre. I touched the next scroll over. Again, I heard two distinct threads of power twining together. The same on the one after that. Unrolling all three, I confirmed that each had been signed by two different parties in addition to the Truthholder duke who had witnessed the contracts. Two signatories, two strands of power.
Well, that explained the myriad of timbres I heard, but there were also different tempos and beats, everything echoing through my mind at the same pitch. If one person signed two contracts, would the rhythm differ?
I stepped away from the shelf, trying to get as much distance from the scrolls as I could in the narrow passageway. With my eyes closed, I sifted through the strands of power once more. I let more power wash over me this time, controlling the flow less. Several times I had to stop, blinking away the disorientation as too many wisps of power blended together. Eventually, I heard what I was looking for. Two strands of power with the exact same timbre. But though they shared a metallic tone, they pulsed at different tempos.
I followed the first, with a sort of da-da-dah beat that made me think of a truth spoken out of desperation. I had to consult my map over and over, but eventually I found the scroll tied to that strand of power. Next, I followed the strand with a quick beat that reminded me of a truth that hid a minor indiscretion that had quickly turned to regret. I wondered if I’d hear the same beat on the contract Felix had signed bringing me to Rose Castle.
It took longer to get to this one, the path taking me deeper into the labyrinth, but finally, I held both scrolls in my hands. I unrolled the first and studied the signatures. I unrolled the second, and there it was. Michel Rasbemon had signed both. The second party in each contract was a different person, and though the witness had been the same, I felt confident declaring that what I heard as the timbre of the magic imbued in each scroll corresponded to the person signing.
All I needed was a single Truth scroll, time, and a lot of patience, and I could track down any other truth scroll written by the same person. Assuming the Truth scrolls worked the same way.
I moved through the aisles of the archives, paying just enough attention that I could find my place on the map, and mulled it over. My hands trailed over the scrolls at hip height as I went. My magic manifested as sounds, but I had found that touch increased my sensitivity, as if it allowed the vibrations direct access to my magical ear. I listened to the power as I walked, even though I wasn’t truly concentrating on the magic anymore.
My thoughts were occupied calculating the odds that Truth scrolls treated the signature the same way other scrolls treated the witness’s signature—a means to imbue the node’s power, and nothing more. The heir’s contract had a distinct strand of power, but that was also a regular contract, though one signed by only one person. Would a Truth, imposing the node’s power on the environment and not the signatory, work the same?
I stopped, something nagging at my mind, an unrecognized thought demanding attention. I brushed my hand back and forth, trying to tease out the thought. Then my hand drifted back farther, hitting the same scroll it had been on when that thought first appeared. I closed my eyes to concentrate more easily on what the magic was telling me.
There was only one strand of power in the scroll, a note of crystalline purity that sounded like the node—except this bit of power pulsed at a quick tempo rather than continuing in an eternal, steady hum.
I snatched up the scroll and unrolled it. A quick read told me I had found a Truth. It hadn’t been written by the first duke, however. The lone signature at the bottom read Sebastien, Second Duke of Truthhold.
I stared at the scroll, wondering if it was better or worse that I had found a Truth written by someone other than Duke Valois.
The sound of footsteps on stone carried over the shelves, and the scroll snapped shut as one hand rose to my mouth, muffling my gasp. I had taken too long. Marc was back.
With the Truth scroll held tightly in my grasp, I considered my options. Should I walk out of the archives and try to explain away my presence? Or I could refuse to tell Marc why I had gone hunting through the shelves on my own. Did it even matter? I hadn’t wanted him to observe me as I worked, but my presence in the archives didn’t need to be a secret.
Before I could decide, a sickening sense of the world dissolving washed over me. Except it wasn’t the world dissolving, but me. Though dissolved, my stomach still existed, and it wasn’t pleased with this development.
Then everything snapped back together.
I was in Felix’s office, the duke sitting on the table in front of me, his ears pricked forward.
“You only asked for an hour. What was taking so long?”