Chapter 28 Allaster
ALLASTER
THE RIVIAIREN AIR WAS WARM AND LACED WITH THE SCENT OF JASMINE among the graves.
Allaster had always liked the way the Riviairens honored death, their graveyards serving as homes to art and history as much as final resting places.
There were headstones carved in mimicry of the lives they marked, others sculpted into the flash of wings or the crook of an oak tree’s branches, the backs inscribed with the history of the deceased’s life, which was more important to them than what came after.
Mora’s was simple, a square headstone engraved with Amorlin’s sigil.
Her hometown of Kelmir had wanted to build her a monument honoring her as Librarian and the many ways she had given back to the town, but Mora would have hated that.
The idea that her grave could become an attraction for visitors or some sort of shrine had made her purse her lips in disdain and say, “You bury me right, Allaster, or I’ll claw my way out of the earth and hunt you down. ”
He’d believed her. There wasn’t much he would have put past Mora.
From his first day at the Library, she had seemed like a god to him.
Her magic, her knowledge—he’d wanted a fraction of what she had, and she had shared it all freely.
In time, he forgot his homesickness, forgot his yearning for the salt air of Spenshire and dreams of dragons, and had become a piece of something so grand, so vast, that it had felt like being part of the ocean or the sky.
Something infinite.
But that had been back when he’d thought nothing could touch her. A time before he came to understand that even gods could die.
Allaster set the simple stone he’d brought on Mora’s grave marker.
He was alone in the graveyard in the gathering night, only the sound of the wind through the long grass keeping him company.
Now, more than ever, he wished he had her at his side.
To advise him, to guide him. Then again, perhaps even Mora wouldn’t know what to do in a situation like this.
“You wouldn’t have gotten taken in by it in the first place,” he muttered. All this time he’d been afraid Eirlana was Vera’s pawn. It had never occurred to him to suspect that she wasn’t Eirlana at all.
“Kasira Vitalis,” he said, the name sharp on his tongue. “Kasira.”
A con artist. A thief. A beast hunter. She was everything she had told him she was and none of it at all, and the worst part was, he was relieved.
Relieved because, despite granting her the Library’s magic, there had been a part of him that still wasn’t sure about her.
Relieved because he had begun to care for her, and he couldn’t afford for that to happen.
Not when she didn’t know the full truth.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered to the wind. “How can I trust her now?”
How could I want to? The question left him feeling hollow, because he did want to.
He wanted it the same way he had wanted to wipe away the pain in her eyes when she spoke of Belvar, the way he had wanted their hours spent sparring alone in the arena to stretch until dusk.
She had given him something he had once thought impossible, had made him feel alive again in ways he had forgotten, reminded him of the joy of the Library, the wonder.
It was because of those things that this hurt so much, because he couldn’t ignore that, pawn or not, Kasira had deceived him, deceived them all.
Yet the way she had spoken to him just now, the raw emotion in her every word—it had been unlike any conversation they’d had before.
There had been something different about her, about the way she had looked at him, as if desperate for him to see her.
He’d felt her pain through the magic, even as he’d tried to close himself against it.
The urge to reach for her had nearly overwhelmed him despite the ache in his chest, and it persisted even now.
He turned the cuff of henolite over in his hand.
How had Vera even learned of it? The metal was his salvation and his prison, a substance once found only in the now-barren ice caves of Avaria.
Its uses had faded into history, until Allaster, desperate to stop the curse, had uncovered it.
He had hunted down every ounce of it that had trickled across the continent, reforging it into rings and bands, all to stop Mora from becoming a creature she could not control.
But in the end, the curse had consumed her, as it was consuming him, and Kasira—Kasira would be next, and she knew nothing of what awaited her.
Did not, and could not, know, because if he could not depend on her, if she did not have the Library’s best interests at heart, then this truth, this knowledge, it would make him vulnerable. Make the Library vulnerable, and he would never allow that.
IT WAS DAWN by the time Allaster arrived back in his office to the sound of voices—and cleaning.
Iylis sat in the middle of the room, his tail curled about his paws as, around him, the room slowly reorganized itself.
Books were shelved, teacups stacked and vanished to the kitchen, figurines placed on windowsills.
He chatted animatedly while a figure dusted the mantel, her dark curls in a loose plait down her back, her militaristic dress a rich sapphire.
“Oh dear,” Iylis said when he spotted Allaster. “He’s back.”
Nyelle turned from her ministrations, the duster hefted like a weapon as if to fend Allaster off should he try to stop her, but he didn’t have the strength.
The idea of waging yet another war, even one as small as this, left him utterly exhausted, and the new henolite cuff he had snapped about his ankle had begun to itch.
“And here I was certain you would be moping for at least another hour,” Nyelle remarked with a curve of her lips.
“I do not mope,” Allaster grumbled, dropping heavily into his desk chair.
Nyelle’s too-keen gaze took in his sagging posture, set jaw, and general air of dishevelment and said, “You’re right. It’s much more of a brood.”
Allaster groaned into his hands, then scraped them back through his unruly hair. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Nyelle?”
She released the duster, and it floated exuberantly into the air to return to its duty, courtesy of Iylis.
Then Nyelle poured them each a hefty glass of whiskey from the mantel, a sure sign that whatever news she had brought was certainly about to ruin what remained of his spirits, and joined him at the desk.
“Drink this.” She set the glass down in front of him. He downed it, and she settled into one of the armchairs across from him, folding one long leg atop the other. “I’m here on behalf of Ambassador Vera.”
“Does she command you now too?” Allaster asked coolly, wishing he had a second drink.
Nyelle slid her full glass across the now clutter-free desk to him. She always had been able to read him, a thought that made his chest ache. Between her and May, they were the only real allies he had left, and even Nyelle didn’t know of his curse.
May, he thought with a wrenching feeling.
Kasira’s deception would impact her too.
Allaster had found May presiding over a fresh batch of dough in the kitchen after her return, and he’d listened while she recounted the trip, glad to hear that she and her wife had left things in a better place.
But how much longer would Taya really wait?
“I volunteered,” Nyelle replied evenly. “I wanted Vera to know I had not been cowed, and it gave us a legitimate reason to meet. That, and I was concerned that should she deliver her message herself, you might start an international incident.”
“It would not be the first time,” Iylis remarked as he joined them.
“Are you finished with your assault on my office?” Allaster surveyed the neatly organized room, in particular the vast expanse of open space that now existed between the door and his desk. It felt cavernous.
Iylis lifted his head as he sat. “You weren’t here, and I could not leave Lady Nyelle to wait in such a mess.”
“And the rest of the boundless Library we reside in was clearly uninhabitable for her as well?”
“Oh, leave him be, Allaster.” Nyelle pressed a hand wearily to her temple. “Vera is sending you a new mage candidate. He’ll be at the portal door in an hour.”
“Where he’ll stay.” Allaster pitched forward in his seat to snatch Nyelle’s glass. “I’m not letting another beast slayer into my Library.”
Iylis’s tail thumped indignantly against the floor. “Lady Kasira is far more than that.”
“Do you mean a liar, a cheat, and a fraud?” Allaster asked flippantly, though every word scraped at him.
“If I have to answer that, you haven’t been paying attention.”
Allaster groaned, well used to Iylis’s cryptic answers and far too drained to parse them. “The point is, I don’t want another Kalish pawn in the Library.”
“You don’t have a choice.” Nyelle’s voice softened, which was an even worse sign than the whiskey. “Unless you have proof that Kasira was not a part of some ploy by the Library to defraud Kalthos of its choice of candidate for Assistant?”
Allaster downed Nyelle’s drink, relishing the burn.
“Of course I don’t.” Meanwhile, Vera had a host of witnesses who would swear that, upon discovering the deception, Allaster had refused to turn Kasira over.
He might not have initiated Vera’s scheme, but he’d upheld it, and that gave Vera leverage.
“Saints.” He slammed the glass down hard enough for it to crack, and Iylis’s tail twitched.
But the safety of the leopard’s glassware was the least of Allaster’s concerns.
This new mage was yet another reason why he’d needed so desperately to trust Kasira.
For while the King made peace with the Yadoras, Vera had set her sights on the Library, and Allaster had no doubt she intended to use it as a platform upon which to build herself support, starting with that mage.
Nyelle reached across the desk to squeeze his hand.
“We’ll make it through this, Allaster. We always do.
” She stood to go, but Allaster didn’t let go of her hand.
It had been years since they had been together, decades even, in which Nyelle had found a new partner who had since passed, but she had always made him feel steady on his feet.
And with Mora gone and May leaving and Kasira … He had never felt more alone.
But he had ended things with Nyelle, and she had had a full life since then, a partner she had deserved for what time they’d had together, and so he let her go.
“I have a favor to ask,” he said as she straightened. “I need to know everything you can find on Kasira Vitalis.”