Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Kyrith
“Good afternoon, sleeping beauty.”
Jasper’s rich burr, normally so welcome, is a grating assault on my eardrums. I bury myself in the covers to try to escape it. On my belly, Westley stirs, his warm weight shifting as he too protests the interruption.
The bed dips. “Come on, lass. There’s a fry up with your name on it, but if you eat it on Pierce’s fancy sheets, he’ll kill us both. He’s probably already having kittens over the cat hair.”
Pierce’s sheets? They are rather soft.
Magic, my head hurts. Opening my eyes seems like a bad idea. So why is Jasper turning down the covers?
“Leave me alone,” I grouch as Westley gives up on sleep and prowls over to the evil angel grinning down at me, demanding attention.
Jasper tsks under his breath, rubbing around the cat’s folded ears until he earns a steady, thrumming purr. “I sweet-talked Ma into making tattie scones for you.”
“Leave them on the table.”
“And miss your face when you see your new pyjamas?”
Pyjamas? I frown, then huff out a breath and wrestle myself free of the covers.
If someone has meddled with my clothes, I’d rather know before Lambert has a chance to take a photograph.
It takes my dry, crusty eyes a second to focus on the white fabric, and a heartbeat longer for me to brush aside the neat plait I don’t remember braiding and read the writing covering my chest.
“He did not.”
A tray lands on my lap before I can leap out of bed and attack Pierce with a baldness spell. Westley makes a gallant attempt at snatching a piece of bacon but is carefully shooed away by Jasper.
I don’t notice any of it.
‘Future Mrs Kyrith Carlton’ is embroidered over my breasts in gold lettering.
Kyrith. Carlton.
I rotate my jaw, praying for patience.
This isn’t a romantic notion. No. This is a puerile taunt aimed at the rest of my men. If North or Dakari had seen it, he’d probably get the reaction he was looking for, but Jasper just hands me a glass of something bright red and fizzing.
“Eat up. We’ll get Pierce back later.”
“Let me guess, with a shirt that says, ‘Future Mrs Kyrith McKinley’?” I grouse.
“I mean, I’m nae opposed, but I think ‘Future Mr Jasper Childerhouse’ sounds better.”
I choke on my drink.
He raises a single brow at my surprise. “Dinnae act shy now. You’re the one who put a ring on it.” His grin and pointed head tilt in the direction of his crotch lighten my hangover almost as well as the mouthful of sausage and potato. “I’d say we’re pretty committed.”
I hum under my breath, cheeks heating as I scold myself for wishing he’d delivered breakfast wearing nothing but the cage.
My head throbs again, and I rethink that position.
“Indeed,” I splutter. “I don’t suppose you have a hangover scrap?”
He reaches over and taps the tray. “Way ahead of you, lass.”
I didn’t notice the tiny piece of paper before, but I grab it gratefully now, funnelling power into it until it burns away. When the grogginess has passed, I take another mouthful of food, then glance at the clock.
It’s three in the afternoon.
Oh stars, I am never drinking again. “I’ve wasted an entire day in bed.”
Jasper is about to reply, but a loud whoop comes from the corridor, cutting him off.
“Congrats, bro! That’s awesome!” Lambert’s voice cuts through the door so clearly he might as well have been right next to me.
Thank goodness I used the scrap before he forgot what a reasonable human volume sounded like.
Whoever responds is inaudible, but Lambert whoops all over again.
“We’ve got to get cake. No more booze for you, though. Not after last night.” The door handle turns. “Boss! Guess what—No, wait. You tell her.”
Leo’s sigh is distinct this time. “Lambert—”
The man himself bursts into the room, dragging Leo by the lapel of his long woollen coat. Magic. He’s bouncing again.
“Tell her. She’ll be impressed.”
Leo shrugs out of his brother’s hold, clearing his throat as he looks anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
“Tell me what?” I ask, curious despite myself.
Lambert is still rocking on the balls of his feet. I haven’t seen him do that since we lost the Arcanaeum.
In contrast, Leo is much more reserved as he holds out a piece of paper.
“You’re a magister.” I recognise the wax seals at the bottom of the parchment. There are seven, six representing an examiner from each family, and a larger, silvery one representing the dean of the Divination department. “Congratulations.”
My tone is level, but my heart does a tiny flip in my chest. He promised he’d do it, and he did.
“Not only that, he aced it,” Lambert crows. “A hundred per cent.”
Sure enough, there in perfect cursive letters is his score. Sixty out of sixty. A perfect ten from each examiner.
My smile becomes a little more genuine. “I never doubted that he would.” I turn my attention to Lambert. “You can ask him for tips so when you take the test, you’re better prepared.”
He groans. “Nope. Jasper is next, not me. He’s already learned master level magic. North and I have years of university to survive first.”
“Hey, dinnae drop me in it.” Jasper folds his arms.
Lambert just grins wider. “You’re already acting parriarch.”
“And Isidora still hasn’t announced a Winthrop vicegerent. Maybe you should take the exam so you can fill the position before she picks someone awful.” Jasper’s words don’t succeed in dimming any of Lambert’s glow.
Honestly, if the suggestion weren’t so unrealistic, I would be pushing Lambert to do exactly that. Unfortunately, he’s nowhere near ready.
“We have to celebrate,” he insists. “I’ll bake something. Salted caramel brownies again? You liked those last time.”
I have a horrible feeling that I’ll have to strap Lambert to a desk and threaten him to get him to a point where he’s prepared to take his magister exams. Even then, he has no desire to become parriarch.
Leo dips his head. “Later. I’m heading back to Whiteabbey. Got to tell the old man he can finally step down. Should make him happy…” His mouth turns down, realising the irony of his statement. “Or as close to it as he can get.”
“You can’t leave straight away,” Lambert protests, eyes wide and pleading. “Brownies will only take an hour, tops!”
“I promised I’d become parriarch and pledge ó Rinn’s support to the Librarian.” Leo finally shrugs out of his brother’s hold and offers me another nod. “I’ll—”
SCRRRRREEEEEEEE.
Everyone in the room clamps their hands over their ears as a visceral screech tears through the castle.
It’s unending, high pitched, and agonisingly loud.
A squalling spell.
No. No. This is a distraction. I’ve read about it. An old tactic from the early years of enforcement.
My grimoire flips open on the bedside table, searching for a spell as something inside my ear pops.
I rip my hands away from my ears, screwing my eyes shut against the renewed onslaught as my palm lands on my grimoire.
“Scaellsolinci eriell!” The paper heats as I force as much power as I can into the runeform.
I don’t know if it worked. I can’t hear anything beyond the strident ringing in my ears. My eyes water as I scour the room, searching for all three men. Jasper’s hand lands on the bed beside me, dragging himself up, but I’m already moving.
This was a debilitating attack, but it’s just the beginning.
Then, because things aren’t bad enough, my vision starts to twinkle, the ringing in my ears wavering in pitch.
“Feck you.”
Mathias tuts in my ear. “Always a pleasure, Artemius. Now. Let’s get on with it, shall we? I have an appointment in Scotland, and I really can’t be late.”
Not now. Please, not now.
“Artemius ó Rinn.” I force out. “Mathias is after—”
“I’d like to see you try.” Artemius has always been apathetic, but his bored tone cuts through the threat of Mathias’s words like a blunt knife.
My stomach lurches, and suddenly I’m back at hip height, watching a magical battle between two old men, completely powerless to stop the one that’s begun back in Orkney.