Chapter 5
Five
Ivy
“And that,” Stavros says from his lectern at the front of the classroom, “is why you should always check your boots before shoving your feet in them.”
He offers a wry grin to his students as laughter ripples through the class. I set the quills I just collected in the storage case and resist the urge to fidget.
Seeing him banter with his pupils in his usual confident way only drives home how much his demeanor has changed with me. In the last day and a half, I’ve barely gotten more than grunts and brusque remarks—when he bothers to acknowledge my presence at all.
Of course, the alternative would be meeting the hangman, so I can’t really complain.
The ringing of the palace bell—the smaller substitute while a proper new one is being constructed to replace the one the daimon broke—marks the turn of the hour and the end of the Field Strategy lecture.
As the students get to their feet, Stavros catches my eye.
His expression tenses just slightly, but he gives me a small nod.
He informed me of the afternoon’s schedule—curtly and coldly—this morning. He’s off to check with the king’s people about their progress in their own investigations, and I’m speaking with Alek to get the low-down on the bug club before our usual larger meeting.
It took about a half hour of arguing the other night before Stavros conceded that my plan to infiltrate the conspiracy is a good one.
For all the same reasons I could have cajoled the bug club members into thinking I might be a kindred soul, I’m the only one of us who’s unknown enough at the school that Ster.
Torstem might believe I’d go all in on the scourge sorcery thing.
He’s telling his followers to watch for ideal candidates. So I need to find out whose attention I should be catching.
I follow the stream of students into the hall. Their chatter is more subdued than usual, many gazes darting nervously at a rasp from down the hall that turns out to merely be another professor adjusting the position of his desk.
The daimon haven’t stirred up any more trouble since my confrontation with Wendos. When I step out into the early afternoon light in the inner courtyard, the corner of the Quadring I watched fall to pieces two days ago looks startlingly solid. You’d almost think it never fell.
But we all know it did. And most of the students don’t even understand why.
I assume everyone else is somewhat comforted by the greater number of soldiers now patrolling the campus, sometimes with a cleric in tow. The sight of the blue uniforms makes my skin crawl.
No one’s come for me yet. No one’s realized I lied about what happened in the All-Giver’s tower.
I’m safe as long as the three men who do know my secret keep believing they’re better off with the riven monster alive than dead.
Entering the Domi, I smooth my hands down my skirt. It’s hard to take any pleasure in the feel of the turquoise silk, even though I’ve come to think of this as my favorite gown. Wearing it now feels even more like a charade than when I first laced it up.
But it’s perfectly designed for my needs, thanks to Casimir’s thoughtfulness. The layers of fabric that rustle around my legs overlap to conceal slits at the sides of my thighs, allowing quick access to the knives strapped over the divided underskirt beneath.
I left my favorite knife behind in the tower. I’m not even sure where it ended up after Wendos yanked it out of his shoulder. Stavros didn’t give me a chance to poke around the scene of my crime.
Students are coming and going from the main library entrance with a couple of soldiers watching over them. I stride by with the best haughty noble air I can summon, as if my nerves aren’t jangling with apprehension.
A couple with their arms twined hustles past me from the corridor of tapestries, their faces flushed in a way that makes me suspect they were using the quiet passage for a hasty tryst. As long as they’re not in my way, I’m not going to judge.
When I’m sure no one’s in sight, I slip down the conjured stairs into the archive room.
I’m not at all surprised to find Alek already sitting at the desk, scrawling on a piece of paper with a quill. The scholar is ever dedicated to his work—whether his studies or our investigations together.
He glances up, and his stance tenses for an instant at my arrival. Then he forces a quick smile. “I’ve made a lot of progress with the entomology club. You should be well-informed about Ster. Torstem’s people when we’re done here.”
“Perfect.” I walk over, pretending I haven’t noticed his discomfort at my presence. But when I grasp the back of one of the chairs to pull it over beside him, his posture stiffens again.
My fingers curl around the carved wood as a thread of loss coils around my stomach. Just days ago, Alek was grinning through our schemes together and gathering me in his arms when he thought I was wounded.
I swallow thickly. “If you’d feel better about it, I can sit on the other side of the desk. Keep my distance.”
Julita lets out a huff. He’d better not be an ass about it. Stavros is bad enough.
Alek blinks at me. His mask conceals most of his reaction, but his mouth slants as if he’s chagrined. “I—no, it’s fine. It’ll be easier for us to go over the information together if I’m not constantly having to flip the pages around.”
I don’t move. “You don’t have to act as if you’re okay with… with me. I can understand why you’d feel uneasy.”
It’s the first time we’ve been alone together since he found out what I am. Alek spoke up for including me because he believes at least one of the godlen approves and because I’ve been useful, but that doesn’t mean he loves the idea of having a riven sorcerer hanging around.
I’m still alive, I remind myself. I have that. Just that is more than I should have hoped for.
Alek looks at the papers in front of him and then at me again. “You said you haven’t used any magic in years—not until Esmae attacked you,” he says abruptly. “Are you sure nothing ever slipped through, maybe without you even meaning it to?”
Is he worried I worked my riven power on him in some way?
I smile awkwardly and sink into the chair even though it’s still a couple of paces from the desk. “I’ve had a lot of practice at keeping my power under control. I swear to you, no matter how much it hurt, I kept my grip on it.”
I can tell Alek’s eyebrows have drawn together just above the holes in his mask. “It hurt, stopping yourself from using it?”
A startled laugh spills from my lips before I can catch it. He hasn’t put those pieces together.
“Yes, it hurt,” I say. “Starting about a year ago, I started feeling as if the magic was lashing out at me from the inside when I refused it. More and more, the more I resisted. You’re the one who found me when I collapsed in the library—you saw how I was after King Konram’s visit to the college.
I wouldn’t have put myself through that agony only to let a little sorcery slip out some other time. ”
Oh. I always wondered— Julita shudders. Gods above, Ivy, that power of yours really is a monster. It was vicious even to you.
I suppress a wince at the thought of all the times I lied to her about the pain I was in.
Alek’s mouth has dropped open, but it’s a moment before he manages to speak. “That—that wasn’t an attack from Anya or anyone else? That was your own magic hurting you?”
I guess I didn’t make that aspect clear with my explanation before.
I find myself yanking my gaze away from the shock in his bright brown eyes.
“Yeah. The power acts up worse when I’m in danger but shut it down anyway.
And I’ve felt more in danger here than I did in my old life.
In the library—I was scared of the guard, that he’d realize what I am.
And then having the king right in front of me…
I saw him just a few weeks ago talking about how wonderful it was that so many riven had been executed. ”
“And your magic thought you should strike out at him first?”
I shrug. “It thought I should do something. Shove them away, run for cover, disguise myself—anything to stop them from seeing me at all, from having any chance of arresting me.”
“But you didn’t. So your magic—” Alek’s voice roughens. “Ivy, you were coughing up blood. It was literally tearing into you.”
I aim a tight smile at him. “I know. But that was better than letting it hurt someone else.”
For a few seconds, he simply stares at me. Then he scoots forward on his chair so he can reach my hand where it’s clenched on my knee.
Alek’s slim fingers slide around my own with a reassuring squeeze. The tenderness of the gesture makes my breath catch.
“I always knew you were strong,” he says quietly. “But you’re so much stronger than I even saw. I’m sorry I wasn’t giving you credit for that.”
My innards have completely tangled. “You didn’t know. I’m sorry I lied to you about it, though I imagine you can see why. And I’m sure you had plenty of your own concerns to focus on.”
Alek lets out a wry scoffing sound. “I once thought I had it hard being a devoted scholar in a family of weapons mongers and soldiers. I’d take all the derision and disappointment ten times over before trading it for what you’ve had to deal with your whole life.”
I cock my head. “You said you were the son of a merchant.”
“A merchant whose specialty was all things warfare, including when it came to his two other children. The idea of someone preferring to spend their time with books rather than swords was absolutely ridiculous to all of them.”
My next smile comes a little easier. “Well, I’m glad you pursued your passion anyway—that you’re here to help us tackle the scourge sorcerers. And fill me in on all the things I need to know. And—thank you for keeping my secret. I know it’s a lot to ask.”
Something shifts in Alek’s penetrating gaze that I don’t know how to read. “It isn’t. It shouldn’t have been at all.” His grip on my hand tightens. “Is it still hurting you—your magic?”