Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Corvin stood outside Mothlock’s front doors, his hand poised to level the knocker against their barred front.
He glanced down at her beside him. “Don’t mind the gruffness of the other collectors.
The youngest of us do most of the traveling, and that leaves the old ones behind to mildew—and you’re not made of paper. ”
“I’ll try my best to seem interesting and worthy.”
“Try? You already are those things.”
The knock sounded against the door, and Lux swore she heard its echo in every direction behind it. She straightened her posture.
The doors swung inward to reveal a beanpole of a man all in black, save for his gloves, which were white. He inclined his head once he saw whom he addressed—a heartbeat before he sank to his knees. “Lord Corvin and guest. Welcome to Mothlock.”
Lux’s nose wrinkled, taken aback by the display. What was he doing, bowing before them like a sycophant? Her eyes snapped to Corvin, but the collector didn’t seem the least bit put out. Mistress Lefroy—in her relieved resurrection—Lux had almost forgiven and forgotten, but this?
Corvin didn’t move. Instead, he smiled at the man. “Manphry. I require a suite prepared for our guest. I think fourth floor, room seven would suit. Dinner, too, should be sent to our respective rooms as soon as possible.”
The man blinked twice, his eyes a washed-away brown. Like aged wood. “Certainly.”
When Manphry rose to allow them passage, Corvin gestured her in ahead of him. “And a message to Lord Kent. We will be needing his skill right away.”
Lux caught the sideways glance of Manphry before he cleared his throat. “I will see it done.”
The footman vanished on the heel of his words, and Lux stared at his vacated space. At the lacquered floors beneath her dust-spattered boots. She stepped back and noted her prints remained, marring the floor.
“Don’t worry,” said Corvin. “A place like this sees all sorts trekked through its halls. We keep a large staff for a reason. Soon, no one will have known you were here.” He followed her gaze upward. “What do you think?”
Lux stared awhile more at the massive iron ring suspended above her head, where hundreds of candles flickered a yellow light. What did she think? She spun a slow circle.
There was too much to absorb. The deep, shadowed corridors. The intricate architecture. The way the dark banisters of the wide staircase rolled toward her like waves. The painting on the—
“Who is that?”
It was the largest portrait she’d ever seen.
Larger even than Ghadra’s dead mayor’s, which she’d always thought had been inappropriately sized.
It hung upon the wall at the top of the staircase.
Bordered by ornate sconces, pointed arched windows, and twin ivory statues, her initial guess was that she gazed upon a shrine.
“That would be our founder. The Overlord of Mothlock’s Society. Alixsander Osric Alesso.”
Lux moved forward without meaning to, not stopping until her boots tapped the first stair. The dead founder stared down at her, his eyes the color of midnight and his hair the same. Even from her distance, she could see his features were expressive and maybe even kind.
But…Overlord?
“He looks like you,” she said. A perfect inverse, really.
“You’re not the first to say it. We’re relations. You can look at it closer if you’d like.”
Lux turned her head at the laughter in his voice. “Are you sure it won’t swallow me up if I get any closer? How long did something like that take?” All she could think of was Shaw, painting for days—maybe weeks—on end.
“I couldn’t say. But you’ll be safe, I swear. I was told Alixsander didn’t have a modicum of ill-will for anyone in life. I don’t believe his portrait does either.” Corvin gestured her up the stairs.
Lux acknowledged it and placed her hand on the banister.
She began to climb. All the while, she kept her eyes trained upon the portrait.
As it drew nearer, she realized how young he appeared.
Older than her but probably no older than the man beside her.
She reached the landing and stared up at his frozen features.
“He founded your society while so young himself?”
She glanced at Corvin and saw he studied it too. A tick had worked its way into his jaw, and she watched it feather until he noticed her stare. He returned his attention to her with a smile that wasn’t quite happy. “He founded it young, and died young too.”
“What happened?”
“Murder.”
Lux blinked, caught off her guard. “Tragic.”
“It was. A horrendous betrayal. When Mothlock began its transition into what it is now, there were some who didn’t agree with his mission.
He believed whole-heartedly in honoring the Saints while slighting the Devil, and that the best way to do so was to encourage one’s mastery of brilliance.
Mothlock was planned to be a place of learning in order to achieve this goal.
He didn’t consider there’d be those who would take advantage of his generosity. He was killed not a decade in.”
Lux stepped back several paces to better view the portrait’s features. Frustration filled her. “Why does everything good die young while evil lives forever? I will never understand it.” She scowled up at the painting. “Did they find his murderer?”
“They did not.”
“Of course, they didn’t.” She was all too familiar with murderers being allowed to walk free. Though, Shaw doesn’t count.
Her glance landed next on the ivory statues flanking the portrait. Full-bodied but vague, entirely without faces, and lit by the same flickering blue flames as the shop in Loxlen. Each were draped in long, flowing robes, both with crowns of thorns. Lux peered up at the one nearest her.
“What do these represent?” she wondered aloud.
“The Saints.”
“But faceless? I’ve never seen them this way.” Hardly any way, if she were being honest, but the sentiment was the same.
“It was purposefully done. So anyone might imagine themselves in their place.” Corvin drew a deep breath. “Shall we continue up to your room?”
Immediate awareness over the cling of her worn clothes and the emptiness in her belly overcame Lux. And though she had many questions—and a fair few concerns—she said, “You’ll get no argument from me.”
By the third floor, Lux draped bodily over the protruded balcony.
“You climb this every day?”
Corvin chuckled, not the least bit winded. But then he didn’t have the circles beneath his eyes like she did. “When I’m at home, yes. Your legs will adjust.”
Lux stared down and down, skeptical of his confidence in her.
Until her thoughts faltered. She saw something she hadn’t before: Words in the lacquered floor.
Burned or painted or carved in some way she couldn’t fathom, it would have been impossible to discern up close, blending in with the natural whorls of wood. But up here?
May Your Mastery Be Limitless
When a figure, cloaked and hooded, tread slowly across them, she reeled back.
“A collector,” said Corvin, following her stare. “Don’t be alarmed when you find me in the same stuffy garb tomorrow.”
She pressed a fist to her breastbone, willing the tightness away.
She couldn’t help imagining the phantom inside.
Imagining Riselda inside. Lux shoved herself from the railing.
That woman haunted her. Her nails cut into her palms only to keep the sudden fury at bay. Would she ever be free of the torment?
She cleared her constricted throat. “Seems bothersome while reading.”
“Well, it isn’t only reading that we do. But sure. I suppose it can be uncomfortable if it’s not laundered properly. Ready for the final stretch?”
Lux eyed the last staircase and groaned. “You collectors must live healthy, long lives with this routine.”
“Generally,” said Corvin, humor still in his voice.
“Fine. If only for your Manphry’s promise of dinner.”
“One more floor,” he said, coaxing. “I have faith you can make it.”
Lux did, indeed, make it.
Or she would have—if the toe of her boot had cleared the final stair. She stumbled. Corvin reached, his arm wrapping firmly about her waist to right her, and her cheeks flamed when he released his grip.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “I should have offered you my arm from the start. I’m not used to escorting anyone, and especially not someone I admire so much. I think it’s lapsed my judgement.”
Lux bit back a scoff and shook free of her embarrassment. “You admire me? Why?”
“I can’t believe you have to ask.” His gaze searched her face. “You’ve mastered necromancy, one of the rarest and most difficult of gifts. And it’s a feat you’ve managed all on your own. Of course I would admire you.”
Lux moved farther onto the landing, breaking his gaze and putting distance between herself and his admirations. Her attention settled on the balcony ahead. There were no more floors after this one that she could tell—only a lit corridor. Strange, considering she’d eyed a tower outside.
She focused on those things so she could focus less on what Corvin said. And how he’d said it.
It was a mesmerizing view from here. In the mayor’s mansion, the balustrades were trimmed in gold and often draped in ribbon in celebration of some frivolous event or another.
The architecture of Mothlock Manor would not stand for that.
It was comprised entirely of onyx, with sharp angles, blue fire, and dark woods, devoid of all frills.
Though the detailing left her intrigued, it was unaccountably imposing.
“Where do you keep the things you’ve collected?” she asked while staring upward, the beams arching far overhead.
“In the vault, under lock and key.”
Lux glanced over her shoulder at him, a bemused lift to her brow. “Why? You said the manor is only open once every year and by invitation.”
Corvin shrugged. “Our society is careful with every original work. Those of us who don’t take to the roads in search of new finds spend our days on the press, creating copies of what we already maintain. Hence the robes, to protect ourselves from the ink.”
“Was this the compromise to your founder’s vision then?”
Corvin traded his shrug for a beaming grin. “You’ve caught on. Yes. Alixsander wished the manor would be a place of learning. After his murder, a pivot was done to safeguard the society. We collect what would otherwise be lost and revive it.”
“A necromancer of books.” Lux found herself smiling back, though once she realized she did, it faltered.
“I don’t think I can claim anything so accomplished as that.” He winked at her. “Maybe a healer of books.”
Lux’s smile vanished entirely, thinking of what she’d tucked away only for herself. The Risen suddenly weighed heavily in her pack. “So they’re kept safe from rodents and sea air in this vault?”
“It’s more the stealing of them we’re cautious over.”
“That happens?” She turned from the balcony in surprise, facing him fully.
“Once. A long time ago. Before you and me.”
“But why would—” Her stomach clenched. A sudden bout of nerves had her skin pricking with cool sweat. It can’t be. “What sorts of books?” she managed.
Flames danced along the ice in the collector’s eyes. “A rare book of necromancy. And an unbound manuscript. Arguably the most important discovery of Mothlock’s time. One we’ve never found another edition of.”
Devil take me. Lux rubbed her knuckles against her chest. Her pack grew heavier. “Who would do something like that?”
Corvin glanced at the shadowed wall behind him, and Lux followed suit. Paintings of a more respectable size hung unlit. There were no shrines for these. “The last member of the prestigious family of this estate. Her.”
Lux no longer sensed the pain in her stubbed toes. She didn’t register Corvin near her side nor the remaining frames on the wall. Her vision tunneled instead to a single portrait. She crept forward.
It was of a young girl. Her expression fierce, her raven hair perfectly pinned. Her eyes were scorching, framed by thick lashes, her irises colored a vivid—
Lux’s hip knocked against a pillar.
The portrait’s eyes—the exact shade of Lux’s own—watched her retreat. Seemed to judge her for it too. Inside that frame was a girl who would never consider abandoning a cause no matter what stood against her. No matter if that cause benefited her alone. No matter if it ruined others.
No matter if it was heinous to start.
Lux could feel the child’s determination. She choked. “She did that?”
“So the story goes. Around that time, Mothlock was in the midst of being remade to better suit the society. And though her family had already surrendered the estate, she didn’t approve of the vision.
Of course, there was also the family’s mind disease.
No one should have been surprised when it surfaced in her too. ”
“Mind disease?” Goosebumps littered Lux’s arms, her chest beginning to thrum.
“Talk of tragedy. That was a family of broken brilliances, driving them each to madness at different ages. I know I said to you back at the Maidenway it’s extremely rare.
Lord Artemis, our healer, says he’s never seen it surface.
He believes it’s genetic—not caught or suddenly formed.
” Corvin sighed over the frames. “Their gradual fall brought about the biggest change in Mothlock. Sometimes that’s the only way through though, isn’t it? ”
Lux’s heart continued to beat as fast as a bird’s; she worried it might pulse right out of her chest. “Yet you still display their portraits.”
“Why wouldn’t we? This was their home first, and regardless of their unfortunate ends, they were the catalysts for propelling our mission. Many of the oldest volumes housed here were first collected by them.”
But this one stole and fled… And though the eyes weren’t what she remembered, that meant little when it came to the woman Lux knew. She would recognize that expression anywhere.
Lux’s desperate need grew until she couldn’t bear it any longer; she had to hear him say it. Her chin quivered the smallest fraction when she asked, “What was her brilliance? What was her name?”
Corvin turned his back on the painting to face her. “Healing. Riselda Grimrook. Of the late House of Grimrook.”