Chapter 18 #3
The bottle refills my glass and I blink slowly. “Well. There is something I need.” The crystal glitters as I swirl the amber liquor in my tumbler.
“Ask away.”
I wet my lips. “I need to speak with Viola, but Valen said she’s trapped at the estate. Is there something you can do to help?”
Vincentius ponders it for a while. “There might be a way… but it won’t be easy. Give me some time to contemplate this.” His blue eyes turn back to me. “But I do have a question for you. Or a small entreaty, if you will.”
My brows lift. “Oh?”
“Your brother is woefully unfit for the title. He needs to be removed, and quickly. Since you don’t wish to claim the title of Heir, I find myself in a difficult position.”
My gut clenches so viciously that I almost throw up my drink. I swallow rhythmically, pressing my glass against my mouth in hopes to keep it down. “And you’d like to…”
He waves a hand. “Nothing too dramatic. I will need to meet with the Council and other families who have similar doubts over the Heir. The Council wants a new prospect before moving against Atticus. If you could stand before them and state your intention to not return, it’ll help them to stop waiting for you. ”
My throat is tight, but I nod. “I could… do that.” I hate it. My skin crawls with the thought, but it’s a small ask for the chance to ensure Viola is safe.
Vincentius smiles. “Thank you, my dear. I knew I could rely on you.”
Something nags at me, something that is slow to come up under the fumes of alcohol. I tip my refilled glass. There’s no ice left. My brows furrow. My tongue is too lazy to form the words. “When I step aside, what will they do?”
Vincentius takes a small sip. “We’ll name an alternative.”
My heart stutters. “Any contenders?”
“Oh, only one.”
My eyes are too wide, my cold, pale hand too tight on the glass. “Valen.”
Vincentius nods. “Naturally. He would make an excellent Archweaver.”
The reaction inside me is visceral and violent.
Black flashes across my vision and a crackle of electricity singes my rib bones.
The glass in my hand shatters. Glass and liquor rain over the floor.
Shards embed themselves deep into my palm, but I can’t feel them.
My breathing is fast, my mind roaring. The title of Heir is mine.
No one else. Not Alasdair’s. Not Valen’s. Mine.
And I would die before I let anyone else take it.
Vincentius’ glass clicks on the desk. “I thought you didn’t want it.”
I draw in breath harshly and attempt to blink, but my eyes are too wide to obey. “I don’t.”
His gentle hand uncurls my fist to look at the glass in my palms. “Then you’ll have no problem supporting his nomination before the families.” He rips out a shard and I don’t make a sound, barely noticing the tug on my flesh. He sets the bloody piece on the desk.
I attempt to form something eloquent to say, but my brain is floating in all the liquor I drank.
My fingers tremble, blood dripping down to my elbow.
“It’s…” He takes another piece out. “It’s stupid and selfish, but if Valen is Archweaver, then it’ll be hard to get back together, since I don’t want to come back to the Order. ”
Oh, how I wish that were my sole reason. Dark selfishness curls in my chest. I don’t want to be Archweaver, but that doesn’t mean someone else can have it.
Not only that, when Alasdair dies, then the next Heir will be consumed by my magic. That was the point of the curse. It will go on and on until there are no contenders left and the Order will crumble without the power of the Archweaver.
If Valen becomes Heir… he will be infected.
My clammy hand trembles in Vincentius’ hold, my eyes burning. My palm heats and I gasp with the surge of agony that jolts up my arm. I look down at my wound, blinking at the mangled mess it is.
Vincentius inspects my hand, his magic clearing the blood. “That seems selfish, seeing as Valen was willing to be on your arm for your ascension.”
I need a clever reply, but nothing comes to me. Damn that refilling glass. I shake my head and it spins. I sway and my free hand claps on the armrest. “Um. Yeah. You’re right.”
I don’t know if I could tolerate giving my blessing, not when it would be Valen’s death sentence. I chew on my words before mumbling softly, “If you can get me to Aunt Vi, then I’ll forgive Valen and go before the Council to formally withdraw my name from the Heir running.”
Hopefully, he doesn’t notice me omitting supporting Valen. I can’t think about it, or I’ll lose what precious control I have over my emotions.
I could never marry another. My breath catches and tears well. I squeeze my eyes closed to keep them from escaping.
Vincentius methodically winds a bandage over my hand. The silence stretches and sweat beads along my brow and neck. I open my eyes to study his calm, expressionless face. Finally, his head tilts. “I think I know a solution.” He ties off the end. “Valen?”
The office door swings open to reveal Lucas pacing wildly and Valen leaning against the opposite wall with his hands in his pockets. Lucas surges forward and a shield crackles to life in the doorway.
Vincentius’ voice is menacingly low. “I called for my son, magician.”
Lucas’ eyes flare in poorly concealed rage and he ignores Vincentius. “What the hell happened to your hand? Did he hurt you?”
Of course, Lucas would do something so stupid as insulting a weaver of Vincentius’ caliber while still healing.
I shake my head, but Valen is already stepping around the other man. His elbow lightly brushes Lucas. Valen waves his hand over the doorway and the ward lowers. “Father. Please. It’s more trouble than it’s worth. Trust me on this.”
Lucas storms in and Vincentius’ lip curls, but he keeps his scathing words to himself. He steps away from me and Lucas takes his place. He kneels before me, his rings shimmering and his magic inspecting me. I shake him off. “I’m fine. I broke a glass. It was stupid.”
Vincentius turns to his son. “We’re going to make a visit to the Archweaver.”
Valen stills. “Are we?”
“Yes.” Vincentius takes a seat behind his desk, his fingers lacing together on his stomach. “We’ll sneak Astoria and her magician into the grounds. While we keep Atticus occupied, they’ll be able to search for Viola. She’s probably locked in her rooms. Anywhere else would be disgraceful.”
My breath shivers but I master my fear. I can do this. I must do this.
Valen’s bland tone is barely heard over my drumming heart. “Are you sure about this?”
Vincentius summons his drink over. “Absolutely. It’s the only way.”
Valen’s jaw flexes, his blue eyes darting over to me. My brows pinch, but his gaze flicks away. “If that’s what you wish, Father.”
“It’s settled, then.” Vincentius raises his glass to me. “May you be successful, my dear. And do think about what we spoke of. For the good of the Order.”
I can’t breathe through my tight chest. My mumbled reply is automatic, a response deeply ingrained into me from childhood. “For the good of the Order.”