Chapter 14
Fourteen
Kyrith
Inever thought I’d find myself in a gymnasium, but Lambert woke up this morning and gave me those round puppy-dog eyes. So now here I am, in a relatively quiet corner, trying to work.
To my right, Lambert and North are growing increasingly competitive about the number of pull ups they can achieve.
Beyond them, Jasper and his cousins have taken out honest-to-magic swords and set up a league table on the far side of the room.
Fencing is apparently a McKinley Clan hobby that they take very seriously.
So seriously that they’re not wearing masks or using safety equipment. I’m pretty sure those sabres aren’t blunted either, given the red streaks that decorate the lot of them. At least they take intermittent breaks to heal the more serious wounds.
I see now why Jasper is so popular and talented. He must have learned a lot of restoration spells solely to heal his over-competitive relatives.
Not that I’m objecting, given that he’s winning and shirtless. I do wince whenever one of them curses too loudly—which is often. The urge to scold them for the profanity lingers at the tip of my tongue.
“They’re showing off,” Eddy comments as she finishes drawing a line in her grimoire and double checks it against the textbook, scratching Westley behind his ears with her free hand. “All three of them. God, this is almost embarrassing to watch.”
“I’d be more impressed if they could bring this kind of enthusiasm to their schoolwork,” I mutter under my breath, copying the same runeform into my own grimoire.
The process is agonisingly slow, but it can’t be helped.
At least one added benefit of being chucked right back to beginner level magic is that I’m not alone.
Refilling the pages of this book is all I have to occupy myself now; well, that and the ensorcellment runeforms and star charts on the desk in my room.
The loss of the shortcuts I developed over years of using the Vault’s grimoires makes casting slower and requires me to use incantations that weren’t necessary before. Unlike Eddy, I know how those spells should be performed, so there’s no trial and error.
Simply endless repetition.
“Now that you’re out of the Arcanaeum, do you want us to get you a phone?” Eddy asks, picking up her own device to check something. “There are lots of online communities who read books—”
“Absolutely not.” I barely keep the snap out of my voice. “Magic, I can’t think of anything worse than having to deal with technology on top of all of this.”
“But you could join the group chat!”
“I’m not interested. If I want to talk to someone, I can.” I draw the next line a little harder than I need to and groan. “This is ridiculous.”
Why in all the years of arcane advancement has no one come up with a spell to inscribe new runeforms into a grimoire from memory? Must I do everything myself?
And how many of these spells will even be useful against Mathias?
I’m focusing on nullification right now, but there are illusion spells that might be better, depending on the circumstances.
I’ve always prided myself on having a balanced repertoire, developed from equal study of all ten schools of magic.
Prioritising one over everything else adds to the boredom.
I’ve allowed myself a few breaks to add in a couple of spells from the other schools, mainly conjuration.
One of those was only added so I could summon a cat tree beside us to stop Westley playing with my pen whenever I set it down.
Now he abandons Eddy’s petting to scale it, surveying the rest of us from the very top.
I’m grateful for Lambert and North’s peacocking. They’re breaking up the monotony, if nothing else.
A shadow falls over me, and I look up, wondering if they’re done, only to blink at the soft grey joggers in front of me.
How is it that Pierce Carlton still manages to look moneyed and expensive in casual clothing? More importantly, why is he standing over me, holding out a gift bag?
I must stare at it a little too long, because he drops to a crouch beside me, placing it on the floor.
“It’s traditional to thank someone for a gift and then open it.” He delivers the statement mildly, too mildly for me to guess what he’s thinking.
The bag is a brilliant turquoise, printed with a logo I don’t recognise. I reach for it slowly, half expecting him to tell me this is a joke.
But when I lift out the matching box within and flick it open, a stunning pair of drop earrings stares back.
“There are runeforms on the back,” Pierce explains. “They link to this.” He pulls up his sleeve to display a thin steel cuff. He has several, much like Benny. “If you tap them three times, they’ll tell me you’re in trouble, and I’ll come find you.”
Pierce…got me earrings for my protection?
I raise one brow, and he shakes his head, dropping his shoulders. “Look, I can get you something else if you don’t like them, but I failed to protect you once. I refuse to watch you get stabbed a second time.”
I take one out, tracing the blue and white stones with one finger, then raise it to my ear. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
“They’re white gold, with diamonds and colour-changing sapphires,” Pierce adds, almost as an afterthought, as I put on the other.
He opens his mouth, probably to say something else, but a towel smacks him around the back of the head. Twisting on one heel, he pins Jasper with a look.
“If you’re done wooing Kyrith with your millions, I could use some real competition.” Jasper throws a sword next.
Pierce catches it and twirls it experimentally. “Aren’t you worried I’ll give you a matching scar on the other side?”
Jasper grins and touches the faint mark that’s barely visible past his beard. “Naw. If you did, I’d just heal it.”
Wait. Was Pierce responsible for that? If he was, the Scot doesn’t seem bothered by it.
I flick to a new page in my grimoire, drawing a skin healing runeform in hasty strokes.
Jasper and his cousins seemed content enough with the small wounds they peppered one another with, only bothering to heal the more serious injuries.
I don’t trust that Pierce and Jasper will be the same.
They’re not usually as competitive as Lambert and North, but it’s better that I’m prepared.
All my thoughts flee as Pierce reaches over his head, fists the back of his shirt, and drags it over his gleaming golden hair.
I’m sure he only did it to preserve a piece of designer clothing, but my eyes are glued to his muscled shoulders as he drops the fabric on the floor beside the piste.
He’s perfect. Not a single blemish on him. It’s fitting. The immaculate Carlton heir never has a hair out of place, so why should I expect the rest of him to be any different?
“You’re perving,” Eddy whispers in my ear, as if we’re schoolgirls.
I know. And over Pierce, of all people.
“They make it hard not to,” I retort.
Pierce has always reminded me of a fairy-tale prince, so seeing him with a sword in his hand is surreal. And Jasper? Jasper may as well be Archangel Michael with his softly curling hair and guileless eyes. My cheeks heat as he spots me watching and shoots me a wink.
They step up to the lines, and Jasper nods to one of his red-headed cousins, who grins and calls, “En garde.”
The ringing sound of metal-on-metal echoes through the gym, and I belatedly realise that Lambert and North have stopped their competition to watch.
“Kick his ass, Jas,” one of the McKinleys calls.
From the grin on Jasper’s face, I don’t think he’s that bothered about the outcome. Pierce isn’t smiling—I’m not sure he ever does—but there’s an ease to the way he parries and ripostes.
Jasper said that Pierce used to fence with him while he was a prisoner, but I wrongly assumed that was a rare thing. They move with ready familiarity, easily anticipating which moves the other will make. It’s like they’re dancing rather than fighting.
Pierce draws back with a curse, and Jasper’s cousins explode with glee as he lifts his wrist to his mouth with a grimace.
“You’ve gotten lazy since we last did this,” Jasper taunts.
Pierce drops his arm, assuming the en garde position again. “My sparring partner left unexpectedly, and I fell out of practice. Best of three?”
“So,” Lambert says, dropping to sit beside me as they resume. “Pierce Carlton is giving you expensive jewellery. Does this mean he’s definitely a part of the polycule? Because I thought he was out after the whole Arcanaeum thing?”
Sucking my lower lip between my teeth, I ponder it. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I think…I think I’ve forgiven his part in what happened. He apologised, and there wasn’t anything he could’ve done. Plus…he signed the contract.”
Whatever his motives were for doing so, he hasn’t asked to be released from it. Technically, I suppose that means we’re in a relationship, for all that we’ve never even kissed.
Lambert leans in like that’s the most interesting piece of gossip he’s heard all day. “Pierce Benjamin Theophilius Carlton signed a sex contract? I’m telling everyone I know.”
“That’s his name?” Eddy’s unladylike snort is laden with humour. “Of course it is.”
“Fuck!” Jasper curses.
I jerk my head in his direction, only relaxing when I see one of his cousins already checking over the gash in his upper arm.
A few inches to the right… My hand tightens around the pen.
“It’s a relationship contract,” I protest, shaking off my nerves. “It’s not just about sex. And it’s not public knowledge—”
“I know, boss lady. I’m just teasing.”
Unfortunately, my eyes haven’t left Jasper since he was injured, and he notices before I can turn away. Something in his grin brightens as he reads the worry in my face.
“Are you going to come and kiss me better, lass?” he calls, gesturing at the still-bleeding wound.
“Didn’t you get your fill of her last night?” North retorts.