Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Ivy
When I slip into the dining hall late in the evening, it’s nearly empty, as I was counting on.
I wasn’t counting on my employer being one of the few figures lingering around the tables.
As Stavros saunters over to intercept me on my way to the counters, he arches his eyebrow. “Didn’t you get your fill during our dinner earlier? I seem to recall you shoveling quite a healthy portion into your mouth.”
The dry teasing somehow sets me more off-balance than any other attitude I’ve gotten from him in recent weeks. I know how to brace myself against his hostility, and I can accept his contrition and his aggressive protectiveness even if I find both a little baffling.
This… This feels like the old Stavros. The banter that started to take on a hint of affection rather than criticism in the last few days before the battle in the All-Giver’s Tower exposed my magic.
I don’t see how we could ever really go back to the way things were. But hearing the warmth in his drawl makes my pulse flutter no matter how much it shouldn’t.
I decide it’s safest not to look at his stunningly chiseled face directly. Instead, I focus on the last scattered appetizers from the dinner spread.
“You’re back here too,” I point out as I pluck up a couple of delicate pastries, a spiced egg, and a half-roll topped with frothy cheese. “I don’t recall your plate being particularly sparse before you polished off the meal.”
“I’m not here to eat. I had a student ask if we could discuss her progress while she had her own late dinner.”
Ah, that’d probably be the brawny woman I passed on my way in, who marched out looking like she was ready to conquer an invading army all on her own. I guess Stavros gave her a good pep talk.
I add one more tidbit to my plate. “I’m not going to eat either. These are for something else. I had an idea.”
Stavros folds his arms over his chest. “Now I’m intrigued.”
I cast my gaze past him to our few other schoolmates who are taking their evening meal late. This isn’t the place to discuss my ideas about tackling the scourge sorcerers in any detail.
“I’ll fill you in if it gets me anywhere useful,” I tell him. “I promise it doesn’t involve anything death-defying. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
I bob in a curtsey that’s purposefully mocking, because we are supposed to be at odds as far as the rest of the school is aware.
Stavros takes the supposed insult in stride. “Just make sure you’re not out so late you’re groggy for our morning class.”
I let sarcasm color my tone. “You have my full dedication.”
I hold my head high as I carry the plate through the doorway.
The royal guards are so used to bizarre but innocuous behavior from spoiled nobles that neither of the two stationed by the front gate remarks on my cargo. They don’t care where I eat my apparent late-evening snack.
As I head down the road between the college’s walls and the Temple of the Crown, I tuck the small plate close to my side under the fall of my cloak. A few worshippers leaving the temple glance at me on my way up the steps, but none of their gazes linger.
What I’m doing isn’t against any law or standard of propriety, but it is a little unusual. I’d rather not encourage questions.
The vast inner worship hall still overwhelms me when I step beneath its looming ceiling. I swallow thickly and push myself on toward the base of the central tower, the thick column that extends from the ground floor to high above the rest of the roof.
The tower where I sealed Wendos’s fate and in some ways my own as well.
I haven’t set foot on the spiral staircase since that evening. Girding myself, I begin the climb.
Julita’s presence stirs. Are you sure this is the best place to reach out to the daimon?
I shrug. “We know there were some up here when Wendos was orchestrating his plans. And they’re divine spirits, right? They probably like hanging out in temples in general—when they’re not making mischief elsewhere.”
Let’s hope they don’t decide to hassle you too badly.
“I don’t think we need to worry about that.
” The city’s wandering spirit-creatures haven’t disturbed anyone at the college since that night.
I doubt they wanted to fling around glass during the ball or knock down part of the Quadring—it was the scourge sorcerers imposing their magic on the invisible beings.
But my brief encounter with a couple of them in the woods near the conspirators’ bonfire reminded me of how much they might still be affected by the tactics inflicted on them. The scourge sorcerers manipulated them before—and maybe still are in some way we haven’t uncovered.
The daimon might be able to reveal things I haven’t learned through other means. Anything I can do to bring our investigations and my cozying up to the scourge sorcerers to an end, I’m all for.
I keep climbing until I reach the first slightly wider platform above the level of the roof. Narrow marble pillars frame an alcove with three arched windows. The floor is bare, but lingering traces of wax speak of previous acts of worship.
I set the plate in the middle of the alcove and kneel next to it. No one’s sure that daimon ever actually consume the traditional food offerings people leave for them, but I hope they at least appreciate the gesture. This is a finer spread than the scraps of meat and fruit they’d typically receive.
Bowing my head, I extend my senses to check for any trace of magical presence. Nothing catches my attention, but that’s not totally unexpected. The spirit-creatures roam all through our world, but I’ve only noticed traces of their energy when they’re particularly riled up.
I inhale slowly, listening hard to confirm there are no human lurkers nearby, and launch into my plea in a low voice.
“Daimon of the city, I offer these delicacies in thanks for the peace you’ve given us in the past few weeks.
I know you were forced to harm us. I’d like to make sure that never happens again.
If there’s anything you can show me about the people who manipulated you so I can expose them and stop them, I open myself to your help. ”
Closing my eyes, I will my breath to even out. Will the tension out of my body, as much as I’m capable of it.
If I’m too tightly guarded, who knows if the daimon will be able to convey anything at all?
For the first few minutes, there’s only the cooling breeze drifting through the windows and the pang spreading through my knees from my position on the hard floor. Then a quiver of sensation brushes past my arm.
My pulse hiccups, but I hold myself still and calm. The quiver grazes my skin again, tickling over my neck and across my scalp. Another faint impression glides over my hands.
An emotion that isn’t my own seeps into my chest: a pang of regret that feels like an apology. Then a tremor passes through my mind, giving me a flash of that high tower room, my fall on the steps, the pressure of the spirits pinning me down.
A lump rises in my throat. “I know it wasn’t your idea to hurt me. He was controlling you. Do you know how he managed it? Or what else the people like him were hoping to do? Who else was working with him?”
The memory fractures into a blur of jumbled images that I can’t make any sense of. Maybe that’s the daimon’s way of indicating they’ve got no answers to my questions.
I settle my nerves as well as I can and give it another shot. “Are they leaving you alone now, or are they still trying to push you around?”
That question results in an immediate jolt of distress. A rush of heat sweeps through me, tightening around my body.
Behind my closed eyelids, I catch a glimpse of billowing flames. But it’s dark inside the fire, so dark and cramped, like my very soul is being squeezed—
The sensations fall away, leaving me gasping. My eyes pop open of their own accord, but I can’t make out the daimon in the dimming light around me.
“What was that?” I whisper. “What are they doing to you?”
Either the spirit-creatures can’t answer me or they’re reluctant to. Or they’ve fled completely at the signs of an impending interruption.
Voices are carrying up the stairs, along with the distant rasp of footsteps. My heart skips a beat.
I’m not doing anything wrong, but I’d rather not have to answer to a devout—or worse, a cleric. And if it’s anyone with ties to the scourge sorcerers, they’ll wonder why I of all people would be attempting to appease the daimon.
Not for the first time, I’m grateful for my scrawny frame. I tug the plate off to the side of the alcove where it’ll be less noticeable and then tuck myself between the wall and one of the columns. There’s just enough room for me to pull all the way back into the shadows beyond the nearest window.
I can’t see much other than the alcove now, but there is a narrow gap between the column and the wall that gives me a view of the stairs. I peer through it, waiting to see who’s bothering to climb the tower this late in the day.
A member of the Crown’s Watch appears first, making me even more grateful that I decided to slip out of view. Then my gaze catches on the ornate silk robes of the figures following him.
There’s Hessild, the royal family’s lead magical advisor, looking as poised and polished as when I saw her during Sabrellia. Next to her treads the unnervingly lopsided man who’s a secondary advisor—Lothar, Stavros said his name is. Along with warning me of the man’s hatred of the riven.
The third advisor, Tinom, strides along behind them, a little faster to keep up with his shorter stature.
They’re in the middle of a conversation. Lothar sighs as he passes my column. “I simply feel it’s questionable to put just as much money and energy into celebrating a woman who isn’t even Silanian as we do honoring the godlen.”
Hessild tsks her tongue. “Signy is an important figure to the people—a symbol of our freedom from our former conquerors. If we had a hero from Silana who’d made anywhere near as much impact, I’m sure—”
She goes on, but my mind stops processing her words when I see who’s following behind the three advisors.
There’s no mistaking the chocolate-brown curls or elegant features of the guard who’s taken to badgering me. As he passes by, bringing up the rear of the procession, a trace of the magic he always seems to be emitting pricks at my skin.
I go even more still, holding my breath.
The advisors proceed on up the next flight of stairs without a glance into the alcove, still debating the merits of the festival for Signy that’s happening in a couple of weeks. The guard pauses at the base of the steps and turns toward the alcove.
I can only see a sliver of his pale face—only one of those unsettlingly bright blue-green eyes—but I can tell he’s noted the offering plate. He cocks his head.
His gaze skims the alcove and comes to rest on the shadowy nook where I’ve tucked myself.
My heart thumps faster. My magic twitches in my chest, eager to thicken the shadows and ensure he doesn’t see me.
But does it really matter if he does? Is he going to arrest me for skulking in the tower? There aren’t any laws against that.
It’s certainly not worth risking whatever magical backlash I’d cause.
His mouth twitches with what might be… a hint of a smile? Before I can decide what to make of that, Tinom calls down to him. “Everything all right, guard?”
The guard whips around and hustles up the steps. “Yes. My apologies for falling behind.”
I wait in my hiding spot until I’m sure the tower’s other visitors are well out of hearing. Then I ease out and crouch by my offering again.
Any serenity I’d cultivated has scattered with my thoughts. I take a few deep breaths and try to return to my meditative state, but I’m too aware of the possibility that I could be interrupted again.
No more images waver through my mind. No tingles of magic pass over my skin. The daimon might have wandered off anyway.
I leave the plate behind in case they decide they do want a snack, however exactly ephemeral beings who don’t have mouths or stomachs would consume noble appetizers, and dart down the steps the way I came. I’d prefer to be gone before the advisors make the same trek.
As I hurry back to the college, I contemplate what the spirit-creatures did convey to me. It seems as if the scourge sorcerers have continued meddling with the daimon, just in some new way that has different effects.
They’re being trapped or caged somehow? In a place with fire?
Maybe the conspirators are gathering a whole bunch of them to unleash on the city all at once? If they can control a whole horde simultaneously.
But I have no proof of that or anything else they might be plotting. It’s mere speculation based on the vaguest of impressions.
I’m just passing through the college gate, charting my path through the conjured maze to this week’s obnoxious phrase—Leering freaks return for rotted lunch—when my palm prickles with a burst of warmth. I jerk my hand up and catch the brief message as it glows across my skin.
Welcome to the Order of the Wild. Be ready for the call to your initiation.