Chapter 8 #2
I suppose it isn’t just about what I don’t want anymore.
Becoming a scholar isn’t an escape route from a life of working for the Collector, ever longing for my freedom, or grieving a childhood that never was, without stability or fond memories beyond the moments with Dolly.
It’s more than that. It’s finding who I am, what I am capable of beyond the clutches of the Collector.
And being here now, in this library, I realise I desire this above all.
That I will fight for my place here, and if I must, be utterly ruthless.
I may not come from the right kind of background, haven’t been traditionally schooled.
I may not have had the stable grounding of some of the other hopefuls in magic.
But I know what it is to fight, what it is to beat every odd and walk away with a mark secured.
I’m still wondering as well if I’ll find some indication of my parents’ time here beyond the photograph Banks gave me.
I’ve already searched the walls of each hall after looking in the trophy cabinets for the name ‘DeWinter’, but there’s not an obvious echo of them here.
I don’t even know my mother’s maiden name to search for that and the photographs on the walls are all sepia-toned, so I can’t even look for eyes that are the same bright shade of green as my own.
There are group portraits dotted around with the sea in the background or the castle proper, but none of them are similar to the one I lost. And I can’t start asking questions, not when they could fall on the wrong ears.
Perhaps my parents were out of favour here, so I cannot ask the professors, and indeed if they were powerful with a lasting reputation at Killmarth, I don’t want any eyes turned towards me as a potential threat, not after what happened to Mallory.
I must bide my time and feel out the rhythm of Killmarth so I do not stumble into any unseen traps.
But I hope I find something of them here, some tangible, lasting legacy.
Reaching the letter P , I hold the lamp closer to the books, squinting at the titles.
P takes up a huge section of the stack, and it takes me a while to find anything of note.
The only reference guide I can find is by a professor studying the effects of poison ivy, and as I thumb through the pages, I realise it’s not nearly enough information.
I stuff it back into its space on the shelf and huff out a short, exasperated breath.
‘You’re looking in the wrong section.’
I whirl around, switchblade in hand to find a figure a few feet away.
He is also carrying a lamp, and I must have been so absorbed in my own reverie and searching for any works on poisons, I didn’t hear him at all.
Although Alden probably meant to startle me.
Something tells me he’s still getting even for my leaving him in that bar with only a kiss, and he still believes I only did that to get information from him about Killmarth.
Which is only partially true. ‘Do you make a habit of skulking around?’
He grins, an unnervingly cute dimple appearing in his right cheek as he leans against the opposite stack.
There’s a predatory air about him, but it’s almost contained here, in this world of books and paper and learning as he flicks those brown eyes slowly over my face, like he’s drinking in every inch.
A flush rises up my throat, and his eyes widen, delighted.
‘I would hardly call it skulking . I cleared my throat twice. It can’t be helped if you’re utterly unobservant. ’
I wince, inwardly cursing myself, knowing he’s right. I let my guard down. ‘This is the wrong section anyway.’
‘Of course it is. Any works on poisons will be listed—’
‘Under B for botany, I realised. I just like to be thorough.’
A hungry glint lights his chestnut and mahogany eyes as they roam my body. ‘Oh, I do hope so.’
I shoot him a look, tossing back my hair. If he’s trying to unnerve me, two can play at that game. ‘Just limbering up, Locke,’ I purr. ‘ My only hope is that you can keep up.’
He chuckles as I brush slowly past him, before sauntering off to the end of the stack. ‘I’ll try my best, DeWinter.’
‘Thank you, by the way,’ I throw over my shoulder, as I start back in the reading space, where I can find the correct stack and begin my search for the next section. ‘For giving me the heads-up last night on the food. But obviously, I do not owe you. We’re still even.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘You must have been mistaken. I did no such thing.’
‘You warned me about the salad leaves, you put down your fork,’ I say, frowning. ‘Then Mallory choked on his dinner, like he’d been—’
‘Poisoned?’ Alden sighs softly. ‘You assume because I’m a botanist that I know my way around manipulating the food on someone’s plate from several feet away without a single person in a room rife with botanists noticing?
I’m flattered, honestly. But also, do you really assume I would be so ruthless as to murder a fellow hopeful at the first opportunity?
For a start, it’s forbidden outside an Ordeal, and second … how uncreative.’
‘I thought—’
‘I mean, you’re right, if I had the opportunity and was sure I wouldn’t get caught or eliminated from the Ordeals, I would have gladly shoved Mallory down the nearest steep set of stairs.
He went to the same school as me and my brother, and I’d already been warned that Mallory’s game plan was to just start picking off other hopefuls in the Ordeals so he’d guarantee himself a place in the final twenty by default.
But that wasn’t me, DeWinter. You’ve got the wrong botanist. If indeed it was a botanist at all. ’
‘It really wasn’t you?’
‘No,’ he says firmly, walking alongside me. ‘All I remember is looking up and seeing you all dressed up, surrounded by Mallory and his cronies. I figured you could hold your own, but I didn’t like to think what would happen if Mallory or one of his ilk chose to target you.’
‘How comforting,’ I remark dryly. ‘Knowing I have a bodyguard.’
He chuckles again, the sound like silk in the dark. ‘Actually, I didn’t think you were the one in need of a bodyguard. And apparently, I was right. May the bastard rest in peace.’
I whirl on him. ‘Are you accusing me, Locke?’
He shrugs. ‘All we know for certain is that it appears we have a murderer in our midst. And you know what that means? The Ordeals have truly begun. There’s always at least one, but usually, they stick to the Ordeals themselves to carry out any underhand tactics.
Most don’t have the stomach for actually murdering people they’ve just met either, but if you’re desperate and ruthless enough, well I suppose it’s tempting.
It’s rare though for someone to risk their place as a hopeful so early on, or so I’ve heard … but I suppose it can’t be ruled out.’
I lift up the lamp so I can make out every shift of his features.
Either he’s a stone-cold killer and a very good liar, or he really does believe I might have poisoned Mallory last night.
‘All right. So let’s say you didn’t just murder Mallory, or warn me that his meal was poisoned.
And it wasn’t me, which you can believe or not; that’s really up to you.
Final question then, Locke,’ I say, pinning my gaze to his, searching for the slightest tell, the smallest hint that he’s not being honest with me. ‘How good are you at lying?’
His eyes glitter briefly, that dimple reappearing. ‘Lying is the most fun you can have with your clothes on, DeWinter. Surely you know that?’
‘If you’re referring to when we met in the Pickled Gargoyle …’ I say, flicking him a look, wondering how far I can push him. ‘-Perhaps it would have been more fun with our clothes off . You certainly gave me everything I wanted without having to remove a single garment.’
‘And you think you somehow won?’ he asks softly and, despite myself, a small thrill runs through me at the memory of his touch.
‘I always get what I want, Locke.’ Moving towards B for botany, I sense his presence once more, his gaze raking down my back. ‘Yes?’
‘Well, you’re in the wrong place if you want to prepare for the first Ordeal, partner. Unless of course you want to head back to Hope, and find out just how much fun we can have without our clothes on …’
Crossing my arms, I turn, a retort forming on my tongue and find him grinning.
‘It was too easy.’ He holds up his hands. ‘Seriously though, DeWinter. We need to train.’