Chapter 50
Talisa
The first thing to fade was the blood. One moment it was there, dark and wet and impossible to look away from. The next, it thinned like mist burning off the river at dawn. Then it faded away entirely, leaving the floorboards and carpet dry and unstained.
Next, the wounds on the magical construct corpses blurred.
The slash across Mira’s replica throat softened rapidly, the ragged tear smoothing into a neat line that dissolved entirely.
Its open, screaming mouth relaxed, lips sealing, eyes closing.
The crushed pulp of the Juno-construct’s hand transmuted into a bundle of rags knotted around a mop handle.
Her shattered legs reverted to a crumpled pair of her stockings.
Piece by piece, the horror dismantled itself. My replica’s broken arm turned into a wooden clothing-bar from my armoire wrapped in my chemise’s sleeve. The face melted away, becoming my pillow.
By the time the door swung open behind me, nothing remained of the constructs except the mundane objects used to anchor the glamor spells.
Elio charged into the room. “Talisa! Are you all right?”
His face was flushed with rage, the lingering bruises from the Trials standing out like shadows against his brown skin. His amber eyes burned with fury that made the air around him feel several degrees hotter.
He took in our sitting room with one swift sweep, and I watched understanding settle into his features like a stone dropping into still water.
Behind him, Assistant Chatelaine Julissa entered.
She wore a thick woolen robe belted tightly over what looked like a lace-trimmed nightgown.
Her graying blonde hair was pulled back in a severe plait that emphasized the sharp angles of her face.
A floating personal mage-lamp hovered at her shoulder, casting her features in a harsh light that carved shadows under her cheekbones and turned her eyes into hollows.
For a brief instant, she looked murderously angry.
“Miss Bernswick, this had better be an emergency like Mr. Ferraro claims.” Her voice was clipped. “It’s after hours and I expect to be left in peace unless something is bleeding or burning.”
“I—” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again.
“There was a glamor. In this room. Three magical construct corpses, replicas of me and my sisters. With blood everywhere. And a nasty note pinned to—to my replica’s clothes.
” I reached into my pocket, fingers searching for the heavy cream paper.
And found nothing. My pocket was empty.
I checked the other one. Also empty. I patted down my skirts and turned the pockets inside out. Nothing. The note had vanished.
Julissa’s expression shifted. The impatience didn’t leave—it never left—but something harder settled beneath it, a cold, evaluating certainty. “Another note? Well, let’s see it.”
“I swear to you, it was pinned to my replica. Heavy paper. Cream-colored. The same stock as the notes from the theft.” The words tumbled out faster than I could shape them.
“It told me to swim back to my island or next time the blood would be real. But it seems to have disappeared at the same time the constructs dissolved.”
Julissa’s gaze drifted around the room, pausing on the pillows that had anchored the construct’s heads and faces, then moved on to my chemise with a wooden clothing-rod sticking out of a rip in the sleeve.
Her expression grew increasingly sour as she studied the mop, stockings, and underclothes scattered over the floor.
I knew they were all ordinary items that looked nothing like the horrifically mutilated corpses that had confronted me when I first opened the door. Now, only the faint prickle of lingering spellwork remained in the room, and even that would soon dissipate, leaving no trace behind.
“Miss Bernswick.” She heaved a deep sigh and folded her hands at her waist. Her tone crackled with brittle patience as she continued.
“I understand the stress of the past several weeks has been considerable. The Aurelian Trials. The misplacing of your awards. The constant tension between you and other students here. It would be entirely understandable, if regrettable, if your mind, under such strain, interpreted ordinary objects arranged in an unfortunate configuration as something more sinister.”
“But Mira and Juno saw it too!”
“Children are highly suggestible, Miss Bernswick. Especially twins. They share an emotional bond that can magnify perceptions.”
Her words landed like a slap. I felt my face heat, blood rushing to my cheeks and the tips of my ears. “With all due respect, Assistant Chatelaine, my sisters are thirteen, not three. They know the difference between a magical construct and a pile of pillows.”
“Be that as it may.” She shrugged. “Since these supposed constructs and the note have very conveniently vanished, there’s nothing I can do other than note this incident in the daily log.”
“But someone worked a powerful spell here,” I protested, even though I knew it wouldn’t do any good. “Can’t you feel it?”
Juno added from the doorway. “And it’s against rules to use magic outside of classes!”
“Indeed,” Julissa’s tone was frigid now. “And who’s to say that you three didn’t work an unauthorized spell here? These are your rooms, after all, and your twin mentioned the door was locked when you arrived.”
“It’s not fair!” Mira protested. “Lord Lukhan and his friends have been playing pranks on Talisa for months now, and trying to hurt her! He probably did this!”
Julissa sucked air sharply through her teeth. “And I will, once again, remind the three of you that making unsubstantiated accusations against your fellow students—particularly those of noble birth—is a serious breach of academy conduct. One that Chatelaine Lirelle takes seriously.”
She turned to leave, her robe swirling around her ankles. At the door, she paused.
“Clean this up before you go to bed. And Miss Bernswick? Get more sleep. You look exhausted.”
The door banged shut behind her.
I stood in the center of the sitting room with torn clothing at my feet and the coppery reek of blood still clinging to the back of my throat, and I watched my sisters realize that nothing would come of this.
Julissa’s investigation—if she even bothered with one—would be cursory and conveniently inconclusive. No one would be punished because the academy’s prohibition against working spells outside of classes was only enforced against commoner students.
Elio stood by the door, his shoulders rigid, his jaw working as if he were chewing on something bitter.
“I believe you.”
He crossed the room in two strides and pulled me against him.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in the side of his throat where his skin smelled like lemon soap and the faint, lingering trace of the herbs he kept in his clothes chest. Even through the layers of clothing separating us, I felt his heart hammering against my breasts.
“We’re going to find who did this,” he said into my hair. “And when we do, they’re going to wish they’d never set foot in the Western Tower.”
I laughed. It came out ragged, half a sob. “That sounds dangerously close to a threat, Mr. Ferraro.”
“Call it a promise.” He drew back just enough to look at me.
His thumb brushed my cheek, tracing the track of a tear I hadn’t felt fall.
“You matter more than life to me, Talisa. You and your sisters. Whatever comes next—you’re not alone in this.
I’ll help you, and so will everyone else in the Circle of the Open Hand. ”
He bent his head and kissed me. This time, it wasn’t the quick, celebratory thing from the arena or the slow, gentle kiss on the path to the banquet.
This was urgent and deeper, a kiss that had weight and intention behind it.
His mouth was warm and hard against mine, and I felt the anger in him expressed as passion.
“Ew!” the twins exclaimed together.
We hastily broke apart.
Elio’s forehead rested against mine. My lips still carried the imprint of his mouth.
“Together,” he said. “We’ll defeat the bastards at their own game.”
∞∞∞
Lukhan
It had been a week, and Father’s letter still sat unopened on my desk. I’d propped it against a stack of books where I would see the monument to my cowardice every time I sat down to study.
Father’s seal—that damned wolf’s head superimposed on a fir tree, that had once opened doors throughout the imperial capital—stared at me with accusatory eyes.
After breakfast, I was deep in thought as I walked to the Second-Year Quad for my first lecture of the day.
The Custodes wanted a demonstration of loyalty from me. Something public. Something that would cement my place in their ranks before the academic year ended.
If I could combine it with something to drive Miss Fishwife out of the academy, even better.
I rounded the corner into the eastern colonnade and stopped dead.
Damien stood in the shadow of a marble pillar, his back to me, facing Cresta, Bernardo, and Ormond. He had them backed against the wall, all three of them, and he was speaking in a voice I had never heard him use before—low, controlled, and absolutely furious.
“—will leave Talisa of Bernswick and her sisters alone.” Each word landed like a hammer strike. “Do you understand me? Whatever game you’re playing ends now.”
I stood frozen and watched my best friend defend the girl who had spent the past five months roaming through my nightmares.
A flush climbed Cresta’s throat, mottling the olive skin above her collar. “How dare you talk to me like that, Mr. Corvellan!”
“How dare I?” Damien scoffed. “Your ugly prank was the work of people who’ve forgotten what honor looks like.”
Bernardo flinched.