Chapter 3
Three
Pierce
My lip still stings, which is a ridiculous thing to notice while watching the light slowly fade from Kyrith’s beautiful doe-brown eyes. Unfortunately, I learned long ago that focusing on one tiny hurt makes it easier to endure my mother’s torture spells.
My knees are locked. It’s the only reason I manage to stay on my feet as the Librarian’s lips part on a final breath.
The last warm air from her lungs turns to vapour in the chill that’s settled over the Vault.
Her eyes flutter closed just as the pool of her blood finally breaches the edge of the altar, cascading down to the floor in a river of red.
Her begging is still ringing in my ears.
I couldn’t do anything. I thought—
No. Trying to move would’ve just led to my collapsing from the pain. I wouldn’t have saved her. At best, we’d both be dead. I couldn’t have done anything. I couldn’t.
The flames around us flicker, dimming until they’re completely extinguished. We’re plunged into darkness. My mother summons a handful of wisplights that float around us. She must’ve used a scrap because the pain zapping down my spine doesn’t let up.
It takes seconds for Kyrith to bleed out.
Mathias leaves the dagger in her chest for a long minute, and I swear I see the moment her soul passes through it. A shimmer of light flashes down from the spire, and along the black and gold handle, before disappearing inside her chest cavity.
Odd. Surely the magic is supposed to travel in the other direction?
Mathias wrenches the dagger free, wiping it clean on the hem of her skirt in a callous final desecration of her corpse.
Is the golden blade cracked? He sheathes it before I can get a good look. I swear I just saw…
“Isidora, I trust your boy can dispose of the bodies while we make the necessary plans?”
I’m going to be sick. I yank my attention away from Kyrith’s face. Breathe, damn it, breathe.
My mother’s hand finally lifts from her grimoire, and my agony comes to an abrupt end. The sudden lack of pain makes me stagger, which earns me a derisive scoff.
“Of course he can.”
Her book snaps shut, her eyes narrowing on a silent warning as she follows Mathias up the stairs. I feign a wince, my hand flying up to cradle my cheek, and I know I’m not imagining the way the corner of her mouth tips up in response.
As far as my mother is concerned, I broke a covenant. I’m loyal.
Perhaps that’s why she’s decided to spare me one of her trademark exhaustion ensorcellments. Or maybe she’s just too preoccupied with her victory to think about it.
The moment they’re out of sight, I straighten and open my grimoire.
The revenant’s corpse is already degrading, and a quick spell turns it to ashes before the stench can become any thicker. I should do the same with Kyrith to spare her from becoming a puppet if Mathias changes his mind.
She deserves better than that.
The red grimoire the revenant left behind is covered in stickers.
I know without asking that it’s Edlynn’s.
Scooping it up, I take a limping stride forward, grimacing as residual pain shoots up my spine with each step.
The stone beneath my shoes is slippery, and bile rises in my throat as I realise I’m stepping in Kyrith’s blood.
Stars, I hate this.
“I didn’t want this to happen,” I whisper at her corpse. “I tried.”
I’d hoped if I played along, I could get to Leo before Mathias managed to break through the Arcanaeum’s wards.
Together we might’ve been able to escape before anything serious could happen.
He had the knowledge to undo the tracking spell at the base of my spine.
The two of us could’ve evaded them until the Library reopened.
I had no idea that the lich already had the revenant in place, working against us.
By the time my mother and I reached his home, the Arcanaeum was already under siege from within.
Magic only knows if Leo’s still alive. Last I saw, his body was lying on the floor of the Rotunda, and I couldn’t check for a pulse without arousing suspicion.
Robotically, I place Eddy’s grimoire on the altar and start undoing the shackle over Kyrith’s head, taking her right hand in mine as soon as it’s free. She’s already cool to the touch.
This shouldn’t affect me as much as it does. I admired her, sure, but she was frustrating. Bossy. We could barely even call ourselves allies. I should’ve known better than to allow us to get even that close. Everyone I give a damn about ends up dead. She was never going to be the exception.
But she saw me, even when I was spouting bullshit. Looked down her nose and straight into my soul when I ripped into her for not dealing with Mathias earlier.
How long has it been since anyone looked beyond the Carlton heir and saw Pierce? The only other person in this world who’s ever bothered is probably my grandfather.
My head starts to pound, and I lift her hand to my lips, kissing her ink-stained knuckles before releasing her.
I’ve been raised around death, but somehow, hers cuts through the numbness I’ve cultivated over the years. The shock makes my hands tremble as I reach for her shackles.
The Arcanaeum stopped revolting once Mathias had the dagger. Now it remains silent as I pry apart the restraints. With each one, I can’t help but remember what my grandfather said; Kyrith relived her death every night for hundreds of years.
No wonder she snapped and begged me. No wonder her eyes were full of ghosts when she cried out my name.
Damn it.
Shoving those memories into the box of unpleasant things in the back of my mind with brutal efficiency, I take a deep breath. I need to survive long enough to find my grandfather. We’ve lost our most powerful ally. Things are bleak, but he’ll have a plan. He has to.
He trusted me to defend the heart of the Arcanaeum, and I failed.
I also still have that tracker in my spine.
There’s nowhere I can go that Isidora won’t find me.
The fake covenant mark on my cheek won’t fool her forever either.
It took weeks of research to create the spell that would slice into my flesh in a perfect replica of the real thing.
Even now, the wound stings, adding to the symphony of aches and pains singing through my body.
I’ve just undone Kyrith’s last shackle when a rhythmic squeaking breaks the sepulchral silence. I whirl, grimoire rustling as it flies out of my holster.
There, trundling out of the stacks of grimoires on my left, is a rickety old book cart. It wheels to a stop beside the altar, expanding slowly until it’s just long enough for a person to lie on.
Like a fool, I gawp at it until it nudges my hip. It doesn’t look particularly stable, but I can take a hint.
Kyrith is practically weightless as I lift her corpse from the altar and deposit her gently on the cart. The second she’s ready, it rolls away.
Where is it taking her?
“Hey, wait.” Damn, it’s faster than it looks, and it’s dark down here.
Did I accidentally just give her over to Mathias? Or is the Library still… No. That’s not possible…right?
I’m panting as I struggle to keep pace, my marrow protesting each and every step.
A thin door, nestled almost invisibly between the shelves, flies open on my left. The cart turns sharply, disappearing through it without waiting for me. I step across the threshold and wince.
It’s a crypt.
The walls are the same grey stone as the floor, and they’re inscribed with hundreds of lines in ornate script. Kaye McKinley, Elizabeth Winthrop, Maureen Carlton.
It doesn’t take a genius to realise that these are the names of the dead liminals the parriarchs used to power the Arcanaeum. The building must’ve created this place to remember them.
The cart rolls over to the centre of the room, lowering and slipping Kyrith’s body onto a dais. Just one more in a long line of sacrifices.
My fingers trace the names on the walls as my gaze falls on the cat tree in the corner. It’s so out of place, a lone pop of colour in this gloomy little room. The white cat Kyrith adopted is currently snoozing in one of the hammocks. He opens one eye, spots me, and meows a greeting.
At least he’s safe. Maybe I can find a way to sneak him out of here. Unfortunately, he’s not exactly small or inconspicuous.
Like magnets, my eyes are drawn back to her. The Arcanaeum has cleaned her and changed her clothes, replacing them with a soft velvet wrap dress and a warm cardigan. That’s good. It’s cold down here…
Not that it really matters to her anymore.
Only…
Her blood is gone.
Her wound is still there, but it looks days old. Scabbed. I close the distance between us, kneeling on the floor beside her as I brush aside the neckline of her dress to check for myself.
That’s when I notice the tiniest magical drain where my fingers brush her skin.
I stand so quickly that my knees protest, and I stagger backward.
Kyrith is bound to us by magic. My grandfather made me pay attention to my magical well when I cracked her, and the feeling I experienced then was eerily similar. Testing the theory, I bend and stroke her knuckles again.
Definitely the same draw. Is her wound healing?
Even if it is, I can’t fix her alone. I need my magic, now more than ever, and it took all six of us to crack her last time.
I need to get the others here. Now.
Only…the Arcanaeum is still closed. I have no idea what Mathias’s plans are. Will he reopen it to other patrons?
As long as he has that dagger, he has control.
My teeth grind as I pace across the flagstones.
Stars, there are more names on the floor.
I was raised to think of liminals as little better than inepts, who in turn were barely better than animals.
I’ve long since abandoned those beliefs, and even if I hadn’t, I’m not sure I’d be able to remain unmoved by the scale of the mass murder that led to this.
There must’ve been hundreds of other women who probably begged for their lives, just like Kyrith.
Even if we get her back—and we might not—she’d be stuck here. We need a plan to deal with Mathias and…
The door behind me creaks open.
“What do you want me to do?” I demand of the Library. “How do I save her?”
In answer, the door knocker slowly bleeds into a single number.
6
Its meaning couldn’t be more obvious. Get the other five heirs here. Get them to touch Kyrith.
I can do that. One step at a time.
I straighten my spine, bracing myself, and step back into the Vault. My disappearance now would only make things worse. I have to keep playing along until the other heirs inevitably make their move.
The moment this place is open, they’ll come running back. I just have to make sure they don’t get themselves killed before they reach her.
Easier said than done, given that Lambert and North share a single brain cell and Jasper has as much guile as a pebble.
First, though, Leo.
Last I saw, he was sprawled on the floor of the Rotunda.
Kyrith needs him alive, which means I need to kick his ass out of here before my mother and Mathias decide to put his life force to better use.
If I give him Eddy’s grimoire, maybe the others will get the hint that she’s been taken and rescue Kyrith’s friend.
Decision made, I set my features into a casual mask of disinterest and check the pile of scraps in my pocket. I have half a dozen left before I need to make more. My fingers heat again as I pluck one out and it bursts into flame.
My breath leaves me on a hiss as the mark flares with renewed pain.
It can’t be helped. The covenant mark couldn’t be an illusion if it was to fool my mother.
Unfortunately, if I continue reopening the wound, I risk the scarring on my cheek becoming permanent.
Ugh. Still, scarred and alive is the best outcome I can hope for at this point.
Maybe Jasper can do something about it.
The door shuts quietly behind me, like it’s as afraid of detection as I am. Then the damned thing disappears.
How am I supposed to get the others to Kyrith if I can’t even find my way back to her?
I really hope this old place knows what it’s doing.
Mathias can’t have the same level of synchronicity with it as Kyrith did, given that he’s controlling it through the dagger.
With luck, he won’t be able to monitor the Arcanaeum the way she did.
That gives us some leeway when it comes to sneaking around, but not much.
I just hope it’s enough.