40. Brody
40
brODY
D ark magic. Dark magic. Dark magic.
Two words that were burned into my brain. Two words I swear are going to end up on my damn tombstone if I don’t get it together. Two words that are the key to the next step in protecting the kingdom, and I can’t find them anywhere.
What is the Mage’s library even for if not this kind of thing? I’ve checked every damn row of books three times, and here I am, trying again for the fourth pass in hopes of finding something.
There’s no way in Hell I’m going home without it. It’s here, I know it is, it has to be, but where ?
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I exhale slowly before taking in a few rounds of deep breaths to calm myself down. I’m exhausted beyond words, but sleep is for the weak. I spent all of last night hunting for the thorn in the kingdom’s side, Clementine, but neither hide nor hair. I just know there’s a lead, or at least some answers, on one of these shelves, there has to be.
I’ve been here for hours. It’s not fun. Not even a little bit.
Every time I come up empty handed, a pit grows in my stomach.
What if it’s not here because my father already has it?
Fuck.
I’m not supposed to be letting my mind wander and think the worst, but it’s impossible not to. My father, my own flesh and blood, was just as bad as the rest of The Council, and now, to top it all off, he’s off with Clementine and her followers. Sure, she broke him out of the council cells, but that’s beside the point. Why wasn’t I produced by someone who had even an inkling of compassion or selflessness?
Instead, I’m worried my father is one step ahead and already has the golden knowledge I’m searching for.
Cracking my neck from side to side, I take another deep breath before I lift my gaze and glance over the spines of the books in front of me.
Some are old, some are new. Most are worn, bound in leather, tattered and torn, on the brink of being lost forever.
Golden, ridged titles merge one into the next as I trace my fingers over them, noting that the embossing has worn thin on many of them, hoping it will help my focus as I desperately search.
It’s so quiet in here that when the soft click of the door sounds on the other side of the room, it echoes around the space, confirming that I’m no longer alone. It’s not the first time someone’s come in here and it won’t be the last. If they just stick to what they’re doing and leave me be, then everything will be fine. I don’t need a distraction right now, not a single?—
“Master Orenda, what a delight to see you here again.”
There goes my distraction.
“Mage Morgan, it’s a pleasure,” I murmur, not tearing my gaze from the man that stands an inch too close to me every time I see him.
I met him years ago when I was a kid, but he quickly made his presence known when we reported to Glacial Lake after the attack and he has a way of finding me every time I’m here. It’s like he has a tracking device on me or something.
“What brings you here, Master? When you left the other day, you predicted it would be at least another week, possibly two, before you returned.”
Dropping my hand from the spines in front of me, I turn to Morgan with a sigh. “I’ve told you, please, call me Brody.”
“But you are the Master of the Mages, it would be rude to not address you as so. Besides, that’s how?—”
“If you’re going to finish that sentence by mentioning my father, I’d advise you to stop there, Morgan. It’s not a comparison I consider a compliment. I am not him. I am not particular about how people address one another. My sole purpose is to help the mages thrive, among one another and the kingdom alike. My title doesn’t change that.”
He assesses me, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he tilts his head to the side. I feel like I’m under a magnifying glass every time he does this. And when I say every time, I mean every time he sees me he does the same thing. Like he’s waiting for all of my deep, dark secrets to trickle out between us so he can really get to know me. That’s not going to happen, but even if it did, there wouldn’t be anything to delve into that I’m ashamed of or embarrassed by.
“Sir, what has you here again so soon?” he asks, ignoring everything I said, but thankfully calling me Sir instead of Master, so we’ll take it as progress.
His question, on the other hand, leaves me somewhat unnerved because I don’t know how to answer him. With the truth? That I’m hoping to find guidance among these shelves. Or do I lie and eliminate any chance that he might offer to help and potentially save me an infinite amount of time spent scouring through these books.
The former option sounds like the best idea, but I need to understand who I’m dealing with before I commit to such a decision. If my father’s actions taught me anything, it was to never trust anyone. He proved it when he abandoned the kingdom and the rightful queen. Not how I would have preferred to learn that particular lesson, but mission accomplished all the same.
“Mage Morgan, how close were you to my father?”
He freezes, his eyelids twitch, and the smallest hint of his nostrils flaring gives me my answer before he even speaks. “Sir, I don’t think the topic of your father will serve you well in Glacial Lake,” he admits, the truth falling from his lips surprising me.
“I’m impressed. I almost thought you were going to give me some fake speech about how fabulous he was,” I muse, watching as his eyes widen in surprise like I didn’t just say that I wanted no comparison to the man in question.
“I mean, if we’re being specific, he was magical, a true master of his abilities, but his desires were always aligned with him and his own selfish needs.” I want to grumble at the praise aimed at my father, but I can’t deny that the words are true. He was— is —a master of his skills, but just as Morgan said, he’s a selfish prick too.
“What do you want to see happen around here?” I ask, and his eyes crinkle with the tilt of his lips.
“The same thing as you, Sir. We deserve to thrive. Not just to help others, but to help ourselves.”
Truth.
I may not be able to read the body language of someone with heightened senses like my friends, but I know how else to seek the truth from someone. It’s impressive that he’s not trying to say and do things to appease me because of my new rank and title.
“I’m afraid what I’m here for is the subject of a difficult matter, Morgan. One I can’t find despite my efforts, but one that also comes with concerns, potent consequences, and a list of so many unknowns they leave me worried,” I admit, talking in riddles, but he nods along.
“That’s what these books are here for, Sir. The mind of a mage must be filled with knowledge, and where better to find it than in these pages? They’ve been here for as long as time can remember. We honor our work, our facts and truths, and when the paper wears thin and the spines are broken, we rewrite them again and again and again to preserve not only our history, but our future.”
It’s almost poetic.
“The work here has always brought me wonder,” I admit, smiling at the man who still could do with taking a step or two back out of my personal space. “Before I became the Master of Mages, and before I attended Heir Academy, I always thought I would end up here, a scribe, rewriting history of our people,” I muse, and his eyes beam with a sense of pride.
“If you ever change your mind, you know where we are,” he says with a wink before waving the book in his hand at me. “I had just finished renewing this one. That’s why I’m here. What subject is it you’re looking for, Brody? Maybe I can help.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him, but the use of my actual name seals the deal further.
“It’s not positive, Morgan. Not even a little, but learning of the matters may help us piece together a positive end result.” I still make no sense, but he pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stands taller.
“I’m here to help.”
“I need anything and everything on all matters of dark magic. If we want to save the kingdom, I believe our lives depend on it.” My words hang in the air, dancing and twirling as Morgan blinks.
Just… blinks.
He doesn’t rush to tell me no such thing exists. He doesn’t brush me off and kick me out for good measure. He just… blinks.
Seconds morph into minutes as we remain frozen in place until he slaps his hand against the book in his hand. “Brody, I don’t believe you’re anything like your father.”
“I can’t promise that to be entirely true, but I can guarantee our purpose in life, goals, and attributions have never and will never align.”
“Your answer only makes me like you more.”
That’s great and all, but can you help or not?
I sink my teeth into my tongue, biting back the words desperate to edge him along, until he finally takes a step back and waves for me to follow him. He scurries to the end of the aisle, turning left and hurrying to the back wall. As he comes to a stop in the middle of the section, I sigh, acutely aware that I’ve looked here too many times myself already to have missed anything.
My lips part, ready to tell him just that, but his eyes meet mine before I can speak. He reaches for a worn black leather book, tilting it toward him with a sparkle in his eyes, and the sound of a lock clicking doesn’t come from the far door this time, it comes from right in front of us.
“Brody, I need you to know that when we step through this passageway, you will be my Master of Mages. That’s the reason I’m granting you access. Because I believe in you, like I always hoped to believe in your father. Don’t let me down the way he did.”
“Morgan?” I ask, my mind whirling as he releases the book to press against the bookcase itself, and I watch as the entire thing shifts, revealing a dark, secluded room on the other side.
“Master of Mages, let me introduce you to the restricted section.”