Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
Kyrith
My fingers flutter nervously over my skirts, then fiddle with the bracelet on my wrist, then back to the paisley-print fabric, checking the hidden holster beneath for the hundredth time.
The dagger resting against my skin is held together with scraps of paper loaded with runeforms for strength and reinforcement.
That ornate golden blade has been completely mummified.
The bracelet Jasper gave me is now etched with spells for illusion, giving me the appearance of my former ghostly blue skin.
My solidity will quickly become apparent to anyone who tries to touch me, but Dakari insisted.
I understand why.
Being physical makes me vulnerable. That’s a weakness that the Librarian has never had before. Revealing that I can be touched, bruised, possibly even killed, would only make me more of a target.
Pretending that nothing has changed will stop most from bothering to try.
Right now, I’m stalling, and the quiet glances the others are giving me speak volumes. They’ve noticed.
All seven of them, including Eddy, have bracelets of their own. They allow them to turn invisible on a whim. That way they can continue the ruse of the Library being exactly as it once was.
Lambert, of course, has decided that this makes them assistant librarians. I didn’t have an argument for that. However, I did draw the line when he conjured seven badges of office and tried to get the others to wear them.
This institution is many things, but it will never be tacky.
Right now, Eddy is the only one using the bracelet. She’s up on the Gallery, ready to act as backup should we need her. My bonded surround my desk, waiting.
Focusing on the dagger at my thigh to control the building gives me the same heavy sense of guilt I would feel for using harsh words on a friend. I’m not used to commanding the Arcanaeum’s obedience, and no part of me enjoys it.
At least it works.
The doors around the Rotunda creak open, connecting the building to the offices of professors and magisters throughout the UAA, along with two others.
Halinor and Artemius are the only ones expecting the invitation, and so they’re the first to enter. The latter is leaning heavily on a cane, his other side supported by one of Leo’s older cousins, a woman with shocking blonde-and-pink hair who rolls her eyes as he tries to shrug her off.
“I can walk by myself,” the elderly man grumbles, then he spots Leo. “Oh, good. You’re here. Olivia has stolen my stash.”
Leo pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s praying for patience, but his cousin just harrumphs loudly.
“Yeah, because you smoke like a fecking chimney, and the Librarian would kick you out for lighting up in here.” Olivia, whose name I vaguely remember from her time as a student some years ago, glares at him. “Now, sit your arse down before you fall.”
Artemius’s lips purse, but he collapses into the chair she summons for him beside my desk with a heavy thump and a wince.
I’ve missed Halinor’s entrance, but she’s hugging Jasper with a grateful smile. “Your mama has been on the warpath, boy. Visit soon before she fattens up the entire clan with her cooking.”
Jasper’s grin is wry as he pulls away. “Aye, I’ll try. I did send a note—”
Halinor raises a brow, and he blushes with the embarrassment of a son who knows exactly how his mother would’ve reacted to such a message.
“Yeah. I’ll visit.”
Someone clears their throat, and I settle myself as I realise it’s Magister Hopkinson, looking at my desk and the parriarchs and heirs around it, with a kind of awkward curiosity.
“I’m glad to see you well, Librarian,” he offers.
He’s not wearing his normal robes; in fact, he appears to have hastily thrown a brown pea coat over what Eddy would call slob-wear. That makes sense. After Isidora’s announcement, he’s no longer eligible for employment by the university.
I’m counting on that being the case for a large portion of those I’ve invited here.
“Thank you for coming, magister.” I force myself to stop fiddling with my skirts and rest my hands on the leather top. “If you’ll just hold off on your questions for a moment, we’re expecting a few others.”
One by one, the other professors step through the doors, and soon the Rotunda is teeming with faculty.
“Good morning,” I begin, raising my voice a little to reach those at the back. “I hope you aren’t too inconvenienced by this invitation.”
“Why are we here, Librarian?” Goodberry demands, surrounded by a group of other professors, all of whom are nodding. “And why has the Arcanaeum been closed—?”
“You’re here because I felt you were owed an explanation. You are free to leave any time you wish.” I stand a little taller. “There will be time for questions at the end, but right now it will be more beneficial if you listen to what Parriarchs McKinley, Talcott, and ó Rinn have to say.”
Dakari stops leaning against the desk, and several of our audience shuffle back to give him even more room.
Their reaction is almost comical, but I can’t deny it helps our cause.
The aura of hostility that lurks around him is out in full force today.
Fear isn’t respect, but in this instance, it’ll do.
Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect on me. I find myself rubbing my thighs together before I realise what I’m doing.
He looks left to Halinor and then right to Artemius, then states, “Mathias Ackland is a necromancer, and so was Isidora Carlton until he murdered her and turned her into his reanimated puppet last week.”
“Subtle,” North mutters.
His dry comment is lost in the outrage that follows. The uproar is as predictable as it is annoying. I sigh and cast the silencing scrap I prepared for just this reason, then gesture for the parriarchs to continue.
“My nephew was held captive by Isidora and Mathias for ten years,” Halinor says. “And if you won’t listen to his testimony, or ours, perhaps you’ll believe the Librarian.”
My gut flips, but I hold my head high as all eyes fall on me.
I drop the silencing spell, reach underneath the desk, and pull out a book. “Those who need proof can consult this. It’s volume two of the history of the University of Arcane Arts. Mathias’s portrait from 1470 and a list of his contributions are written on page ten.”
A professor on my left scoffs. “That’s one book. Besides, family names and a resemblance to an ancestor aren’t proof.”
A fair point. I would criticise such a small pool of evidence myself. So I pull out Mathias’s autobiography and several others in which he’s mentioned. The pile grows taller and taller. I loathed having these volumes in the Arcanaeum, but at least they’re finally becoming useful.
“I have served you faithfully for centuries,” I remind them. “I knew him then. I promise you that he is the very same Magister Ackland mentioned in all of these books. You know I’ve always operated outside of the parriarchy and their politics. Why would I lie?”
“Why do you suddenly feel the need to start interfering now?” someone counters from the back of the room.
“Isidora and Mathias have been working to sow division between arcanists. You’re educated people.
You must’ve noticed the manipulated statistics they used to kick liminals out of the university.
” Several of them nod. “You all saw what Mathias did when he seized control of the Arcanaeum. He will continue attacking this institution and any other that disagrees with him. Thus, we have a proposal.”
I mumble another spell under my breath, laying my hand on my grimoire briefly. Dozens of bundles of papers fly from beneath my desk, passing themselves around in a neat, orderly fashion.
Some start reading straight away; others merely skim the precis on the front.
“You want to make a rival university?” Hopkinson’s brows rise.
“No. I’m merely offering to host those educators and students who were affected by Isidora’s discriminatory ban on liminals.
” I have to hold my hands up for silence again.
“It is the role of the Arcanaeum to ensure education is available to all. If you wish to continue to hold your classes here, then I will facilitate that.”
Goodberry opens his mouth, and I sigh.
“Yes, Professor, that includes destruction classes, so long as they remain contained to the designated safe practice area I have chosen.”
Did I have time to make those changes to the western garden? Not really. But I knew he would ask, and I didn’t have it in me to deal with him again.
Choosing my battles is not the same as capitulation. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
“You’re dividing arcandom,” Magister James Winthrop, one of my regular patrons, objects. “Creating a second campus with access to better resources than the adept students who remain at UAA receive. It’s a two-tier system.”
“If you read the booklet,” I begin, silently praying for patience. “You’ll see that these classes are open to all arcanists. I’m doing this to prevent a two-tier system where liminals are denied the same education as their adept peers.”
“As for dividing society,” Artemius grouches. “Don’t you think having a murderous necromancer in charge might be a wee bit divisive, James? That Ackland bastard tried to murder me. He killed Georgina Winthrop and Abe Talcott, and probably a good many others. Got anything to say about that?”
There’s a deadly pause where the other man’s face cycles through a dozen expressions before he drops his gaze.
Artemius scoffs. “Thought not. Read the damned thing before you ask any more eejit questions.”
“Anthea Carlton killed Abe Talcott,” someone else objects.
“We all know Anthea has never had an original thought in her life,” Halinor snaps back. “Her awful mother and Mathias have been orchestrating the deaths of anyone who might get in their way for months, if not years.”
“Remember Riley Carlton?” a woman on my left says, nodding sagely. “I always said Isidora framed him because she didn’t want the bad press that came with a divorce.”
My eyebrows shoot up, but I’m not about to engage with gossip.