Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
The law office was, by human measure, elegant. A polished walnut desk gleamed beneath the lazy whirl of a ceiling fan. Leather chairs were polished to a muted sheen, their cushions smooth and supple. Brass lamps threw warm pools of light across shelves lined with immaculate volumes.
Splice stood in the center of it all like a fracture in the veneer. He could feel the facade straining around him. Beneath the parquet floors, the fevered pulse of the land throbbed.
Three lawyers huddled at the desk, their collars already damp, their hairlines shining. Paperwork spilled in tidy stacks that trembled whenever Splice’s vines twitched at his collar.
“For the twentieth time,” he said, voice grinding low, “no.”
A lawyer wearing a red tie winced as Splice pushed aside yet another document. Thin things, but each page coiled with a binding as sharp as any thorn. Human language wrapped around his god’s name like chains.
“You must sign to acknowledge receipt,” the red-tied lawyer insisted, dabbing furiously at his brow. “The transfer is automatic. It has already occurred. All we require is—”
Splice slammed his palm flat on the desk. The lamp rattled, its chain clinking against the brass shade.
“What I require,” he roared, “is to reject this inheritance. I was not present at its making. Mycor was not present. How can this bind what was never consulted?”
A second lawyer, thin and austere in a grey-and cream houndstooth jacket, raised a finger as though lecturing a classroom. “The will does not strictly state that rejection is possible. You would need to name an inheritor of your own. That is the only permissible route.”
“Then let it return to the Trust,” Splice snarled.
Another lawyer, a neat little goblin in a pinstripe vest, shook his head.
“Impossible. Truckenham’s clause forbids it.
The Trust cannot reclaim the majority share under any condition.
That stipulation was baked into the original charter, as a contingency against…
well.” He coughed delicately. “Against rivalries.”
Splice’s vines writhed at his throat, snapping against his skin. “You speak in circles. Show me this clause. Now.”
The sweaty lawyer mopped his brow, eyes darting. “We can’t. It’s classified.”
“Classified?” Splice surged forward, towering over the desk. “My god withers, and you clutch your files as though they will keep your walls from cracking?”
“It’s not—” the red-tied lawyer stammered, his knuckles white around his fountain pen. “We’re not keeping this information from you to be difficult. It’s simply how the documents are structured.”
Splice leaned forward. “You strangle my god with paper and call it structure.”
The goblin lawyer licked his lips. “Even if you were to cede the land, the magical clause would remain intact. The transfer is not merely legal, it’s binding.
That is the nature of a magical contingency.
Irrevocable, although mutable. Given time.
And—” his eyes flicked up warily, as though expecting vines to lash across the desk, “—through legal channels.”
Splice drew a slow breath through his nose.
The urge to tear and storm and break burned hot in his chest, but he forced it down.
They already eyed him like kudzu waiting to strangle their fine little office.
Magical contingencies. Irrevocable, mutable—their words coiled like bindweed.
Something meant to be broken, if only he could find the right blade.
His mind snagged on Goldie—the memory of her voice, brisk and bright, talking of digging through vaults and chasing history through dust and ink. It had been several days. Surely she had uncovered something by now.
The thought of her stilled something in him, just for a breath, the way sunlight stilled the restless tremor of leaves. He did not want to think about it. Did not want to name the comfort. But it was air in a stifling room, and it unsettled him almost as much as it steadied him.
He glanced at the tall window. Morning light slanted across the polished floor. He had come here before the office even opened. It was still early. She would still be home.
Splice straightened. “I wish to adjourn this meeting,” he said flatly. “You will be called when I am ready to discuss further.”
The lawyers blinked, mouths opening and closing like fish, then hurried to scoop their papers and retreat.
Alone, Splice rubbed a hand down his face, the vines along his neck twitching with restless agitation. Yes. He would go to her. She would help him break this clause, find the seam in the binding. Once the chain was severed, the rest could follow.
It had to.