Chapter 12 Kasira
KASIRA
AS KASIRA FINISHED HER ROUNDS AT BENLO’S PEN THE NEXT MORNING, she looked at the beast with fresh eyes.
Her research had revealed their long fangs were for spearing fish, though they preferred to scavenge for bugs and plants, and the book theorized they had developed their incredible speed as a means of escaping predators.
Their skeletal figure was also typical of the species, not a sign of underfeeding, though every time she saw the beast, he was snuffling through the grass for a snack.
Benlo perked up when she set a foot on the lowest rung of the fence, leaning her forearms on the wood.
The light filtered through the brown feathers of his ruined wing, giving them a reddish glow.
He had an idle air to him, every action slow and focused, and it lulled her into a sense of complacency, watching him as the sun gently warmed the back of her neck.
“You know,” she said so quietly only he could hear, “there was a time when I would have thought you remarkable.”
As a child, she would have been in awe of him, but it hadn’t just been the priests who drove that wonder away.
It had been the children, the townspeople, everyone—save Loraya, who had always sought knowledge the way a flower turned toward the sun.
They had watched each other’s backs in the orphanage, been each other’s guiding lights, but she hadn’t realized the depth of Loraya’s loyalty until the day Kasira had been forced to drown the Talowell.
Loraya had found her crying out back and thinking it the pain of her punishment, tended to her burn without saying a word.
Afterward, when Kasira told her what had happened, Loraya had found a Silas Toad to put in the priest’s pillow.
They had heard his yowl halfway across the church as they fled the orphanage.
It wasn’t until later that she learned Loraya’s entire family had been killed by beasts.
She had never forgotten the way Loraya had put that aside for her—for something Loraya should have detested. It was the first time she had realized she didn’t have to be what the world made her—a lesson Belvar and the Malikinar had spent seven long years undoing.
It was strange, having these two parts of herself brought in contention with each other.
The curious child she had been and the cynical woman she had become, who was being forced to recognize that perhaps the child had known more truth than the woman, as children often did.
How many beasts had she killed for acts of aggression that were actually something else entirely?
What a foolish question, she thought.
It didn’t matter what the beasts’ intentions had been.
All that mattered was that they were beasts.
Aggression or defense, the Malikinar would see them dead, and Kasira had only been doing the job required of her to survive.
Just like she was now. It didn’t matter if the beasts were innocent, didn’t matter if the Library was everything she had once dreamed of.
The consequences of failure were too high, and she would not let Loraya down again.
Truth, she thought and didn’t allow herself to dwell on it further.
Benlo’s nose twitched, and he sneezed, looking startled that the sound had come from himself.
Kasira scooped a handful of nuts from a pouch outside the fence.
Holding out her hand, she began to hum softly.
Her reading had taught her that Relins hummed to their young to signify safety, and it was a habit they used with each other once grown; the mages often sang while working with them.
Gradually, Benlo ambled over. When he stretched out his long neck to sniff her hand, she had to fight the urge to jerk away.
Beasts are vicious; they’ll tear you apart.
Beasts are sinful; they’ll damn your soul.
Benlo’s lips curled back, baring rows of flat teeth, and the urge to have a knife in her hand flared. She didn’t move, refusing to let her fear win. A warm, soft snout brushed her fingers, and Benlo gently lipped the nuts from her palm, crunching away contentedly.
“I guess you and I aren’t so different,” she said. “Neither of us are ever going home.”
Benlo wasn’t the only beast at the Library that had been harmed in some irreparable way. Most had something preventing them from returning to the wild: torn wings, missing legs, scarred eyes. How many of these injuries had come from the Malikinar? How many was her own unit responsible for?
For Kasira, home was a distant memory, her childhood before the streets a blur. She remembered dreaming, flying high and fast as a summer wind, and she remembered fire, remembered watching the painting of that house by the lake curl and wither into ash.
There was nothing else.
She turned to find Allaster watching her from the Library entrance, his expression careworn.
She stared back, one eyebrow cocked, expecting him to make some caustic comment or imply she had been bothering the beast. But he merely frowned and snapped his fingers, disappearing in a blink of silver light to reveal Elyae behind him.
Kasira had been waiting for this.
The girl had gone to Allaster with an accusation, and he’d wanted to see for himself.
But instead of a fearful Kal, he’d witnessed Kasira hand-feeding a beast. She turned back to Benlo and nearly leapt when she found Allaster standing beside her, close enough that their arms brushed.
There was an edge of exhaustion to the set of his shoulders and a weariness in his gaze heavy enough to crush a mortal man.
He spun a dark metal ring about one finger. “May says you’ve been tending the beasts. Elyae says you’ve been trying to stab them. I wish you would make up your mind.”
Kasira snorted, her arm tingling faintly from where his had touched it. “Elyae has decided she doesn’t like me, and I suspect anything she has to say about me will reflect that.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s wrong.”
Allaster had no idea how right he was. Or perhaps he did, and therein lay the crux of her problem.
He had a predetermined opinion about Eirlana, the scale already weighed against her, and every positive action she took brought it a little closer toward neutral.
But she didn’t have time for small victories.
The two months Vera had given her to earn Allaster’s trust and win her magic were swiftly dwindling.
“I am not your enemy,” she said.
Those depthless eyes evaluated her with nothing short of cold calculation. She didn’t look away, even when holding his gaze sent a shiver snaking down her spine. There was something about their steely color that left her disquieted, as if he could see more than anyone else.
As if he could see her.
“Come with me,” he said and snapped his fingers.
They reappeared in the portal room, Kasira on steadier legs than previous teleportations. Iylis had been right, and the nausea had grown manageable, but she still detested the entitled way Allaster ripped her from one place to another. More than that turned her stomach this time though.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
In the midst of her study last night, she had developed a plan. Letting Allaster see her feed Benlo was only the first part of it. The second was already in play, and Allaster had just taken her very far away from it.
“What could you possibly need me for?” she asked tersely.
“Seeing as you’ve clearly decided not to train me as your Assistant.
” After weeks of playing by his rules, it made sense Eirlana would begin to lose patience, but more than that, she was hoping he would change his mind about whatever this was.
If she left now, she could still get back in time to keep her ploy from falling apart.
Allaster gave her a look as if to say he honestly didn’t know what else she expected. “Ambassador Vera has requested a meeting with us and the High Mage of Miraval. She specifically asked that you be there, so here you are. Try not to make a fool of yourself.”
Any retort Kasira had to that withered to ash in her mouth.
Vera hadn’t mentioned any plans to visit.
Had she changed her mind about this whole ordeal, or had the spy reported something unfavorable about Kasira?
She swallowed her budding panic. Vera was the Kalish Ambassador to the Library.
It made sense she would have business here outside of Kasira, but why did it have to be now of all times?
The Miravi symbol of an open book glowed silver on one of the doors.
Allaster opened it, and a thick-shouldered elderly man trundled through, leaning heavily on a cane.
His white beard hung to mid-chest, and he had the darkest blue eyes she had ever seen, set beneath the same prominent brow as Allaster.
A row of different colored tassels adorned the chest of his robe, each one marking an academic achievement.
She had heard it was a high honor to receive even one, for in a realm dedicated to scholarship and study, the competition was fierce.
This man bore five.
“Brother,” Allaster said distractedly. “Eirlana Corynth. Corynth, High Mage Ambric St. Archer.”
Kasira smothered her surprise by dropping into the respectful bow Eirlana would surely give. If Allaster’s brother was the High Mage of Miraval, it practically made him royalty—which explained why Allaster maintained communications with Ambric when he was meant to have cut ties with his family.
Though the Librarian’s authority was absolute only over magical matters, they were uniquely positioned to serve as a political liaison between the six countries.
In addition to being a neutral party situated at their center, the Librarian and their Assistant possessed a vast depth of knowledge about the other nations, enabling them to mediate international disputes and facilitate conversation.