Chapter 3
Three
Ivy
As we pass through the college gate into the outer courtyard, a steady rumbling sound carries across the field. I flinch instinctively in the instant before I make out the figures gathered around the ruined corner of the Quadring.
Several workers who must have a gift to do with building or mending are sorting through the rubble. In the glow of their lanterns, I can see a chunk of stone they’ve just raised melding back into place. More workers must be helping inside, handling the interior structure.
Julita speaks up for the first time in a while, though her voice is still more subdued than I’m used to. They started the repairs quickly.
Benedikt lets out a light chuckle. “In a couple of days, it’ll be good as new. Like nothing ever happened.”
A shiver runs down my spine. “Unless the scourge sorcerers rile up the daimon again.”
“Konram’s clerics should help with that,” Stavros says in the brusque tone that’s all I get from him now.
The college’s yards and hallways are empty other than the workers and a few soldiers standing guard. How many students fled during the chaos, and how many were simply ushered back to their rooms once the daimon settled down?
The quiet niggles at my nerves. It feels too much like the prelude to a larger storm.
Once we’ve stepped into the Domi, Stavros gives Benedikt a quick clap on the shoulder. “You should get to your room and sleep. We’ll all need our wits about us in the coming days.”
Benedikt’s gaze flicks between us, probably wondering why we’re not heading up the same stairs as him. The staff quarters are just above the floors that hold the student dorms.
But he doesn’t question Stavros. The bastard’s bastard seems to have deflated a little since I first spotted him at the top of the tower.
The way his half-uncle spoke to him raised my hackles on his behalf—but I’d be a real idiot if I told off the king. Frankly, there are about a dozen other things I’d like to tell the king off for after our conversation, if I happened to be feeling idiotic.
A few locks of my pale hair have drifted out from beneath my hood. Benedikt reaches to give one a teasing tug, a trace of his usual smirk returning. “Until tomorrow then, Knives. Try not to get into any more trouble without me.”
He heads into the stairwell, and Stavros nudges me forward in ominous silence. Past the dining hall and the main library doors, down the dimmer hallway with its old tapestries hanging on the wall.
When we stop and the former general grasps the sconce to activate the conjured secret passage, my gaze lingers on the tapestry of Signy beside us.
She stands at the top of her hill with that heroic golden glow around her, her sword aloft and her stance full of determination to push back the mass of soldiers below.
I’ve thought about the Veldunian hero who freed her country a lot since I took up this mission. About how she faced an entire imperial army while I’m struggling just to tackle a college conspiracy.
At least she had three men at her side who did everything they could to support her. Who weren’t contemplating hauling her to an executioner if she so much as blinked wrong.
When the thicker shadow that’s not really a shadow spills down the wall in front of us, Stavros glances at me with a twist of his mouth, as if he’s not sure whether he wants me ahead of him where he can see me or behind him where he can shield his comrades from me.
With a rough sound, he prods me to go first.
As I step into the passage, a faint hiss tells me he’s drawn his sword. Its tip grazes the scars on my back through my cloak.
He’s getting ready in case he feels it’s necessary to stab me.
The lump that rises in my throat nearly chokes me. My magic flares alongside it, yanking at my ribs, demanding I let it at him.
Good plan. Defend myself from stabbing by giving him a reason to stab me.
My magic might be potent, but it’s not especially wise.
Thankfully, launching my power at Wendos seems to have appeased the worst of its resentment at being ignored. A prickling sensation creeps through my innards at my refusal, but nothing like the vicious searing that’s brought me to my knees in the past.
I force myself to walk steadily down the hidden steps. The former general follows right behind.
When we emerge into the small archive room where we’ve held the meetings for our investigation, the two men waiting for us straighten up on either side of the desk.
Casimir’s face lights up with what might be relief—because I haven’t slaughtered Stavros with my riven magic so far?
Alek’s posture stays stiff, his hand resting on the belt that holds the sheath for the royal sword now lying on the desk. Stavros sent him off with it and the belt when we parted ways, I guess so he didn’t have to explain to the king how it ended up in my possession.
Looking at the sheath, an echo of the sense of solidarity that filled me in this room just this afternoon passes through me. My fingers itch as if I could reach out and snatch it back.
Any comradery I shared with these men was always fake; it was always based on a lie. But losing it makes my chest ache anyway.
“What did the king say?” Casimir asks.
Stavros grimaces. “At least until Wendos can speak, he wants us to continue our investigation. Ster. Torstem appears to be the cornerstone. We need to find out who else he’s roped into this madness.”
Alek glances at me before turning his gaze to Stavros. “How did you explain… everything?”
It’s obvious what specific part of “everything” he means.
Stavros’s grimace only deepens. “The thief spun a story about Wendos’s accomplices turning on him.” He taps my arm with the flat of his sword. “Was any of that true?”
I step to the side and lean against one of the shelves that holds heaps of books and loose records the librarians don’t consider important enough to include in the main collection upstairs. Having something solid at my back helps ground me against the impending interrogation.
“There really were three people with Wendos,” I say. “They were missing their hair, their eyes, their ears, their arms—at least one of them part of a leg. One of the women came from the brothel—that’s where Wendos threatened he’d have Torstem take her back to. Her name was Fyrinth.”
The tick of Stavros’s jaw tells me he recognizes the name too. He’s smart enough to put the pieces together like I did. “Torstem kept the children from the orphanage after they made their sacrifices and sent others to the temple in their place.”
I nod. “Prostitutes’ kids, I think.”
A shudder runs through Alek’s lean frame. “So they aren’t having dedicates die in sacrifice… just asking them to give up everything they can without dying?”
“It seems that way.” Acid sours the back of my mouth at the memory.
“But they did die. Just not to stop Wendos. After I threw my knife at him, he couldn’t concentrate quite as well through the pain.
He wanted more power. So he told them to provide it, and they all threw themselves off the tower in a final sacrifice. ”
“That’s why you called on your own power,” Casimir says quietly.
I brace myself. “Yes. Whatever magic he and the other sorcerers were imposing on the daimon, it was working. I couldn’t even move with the ones he had in the tower restraining me.
I could hear buildings falling below. I didn’t know how far behind you might still be. It was the only chance I had left.”
Stavros adjusts his stance, his sword at his side but still in his grasp. “I think you’d better start from the beginning. Where you really came from. What you’ve done with your powers before. All of it. No feints, no lies. If you can manage that.”
I can’t stop myself from glaring at him for a second before I rein in my temper.
I have been lying to them all along, if mostly by omission. And somehow the truth might be the only thing that keeps them from murdering me right now.
It’s not only them I’ve lied to.
Julita stirs in the back of my head. I’d like to hear this too.
I drag in a breath. “You’ve wondered about my upbringing. My parents run a printing press. Nothing fancy—they mostly handle posters and pamphlets—but I wouldn’t be surprised if a few of the newer books up there came from their shop.” I motion toward the main room of the library overhead.
Alek leans against the edge of the desk. “That’s why you’re such a reader.”
I shrug. “It’s a family calling.”
Stavros’s eyes have narrowed. “And they hid you—”
I shake my head adamantly to cut him off. “Not really. Not like that. I—”
My voice catches in my throat. I look down at my hands, which have twisted together in front of me.
I’ve never told anyone this before. Never talked about it out loud.
Dredging up the words sends the pain of the memory lancing through me even sharper than usual.
“It was my parents and me and my little sister Linzi. When I was seven and Linzi was five, our mother got sick. One of the wasting fevers. It ate at her for two weeks until she could barely roll over in bed, she was so weak. She wouldn’t eat, coughed up any water she tried to drink…
The medics my father brought around couldn’t do much, it was too far spread through her body. ”
Casimir’s mouth slants at a sympathetic angle. “Even the palace medics can’t combat certain types of illness.”
“I know.” I gird myself and hurtle onward.
“One afternoon, my father was in the shop handling an order—he didn’t like to leave my mother like that, but we needed money for the medics.
Linzi and I were with her. And all at once, her breath got so thin and creaky, like she could hardly draw it, and her body went limp—I knew she was dying right that moment.
And just as I realized that, I also realized I could save her. ”
I halt, my own lungs constricting with the images washing over me. Stavros motions with his sword for me to continue.