Chapter 25 Nikolai
Nikolai
To my surprise—and growing suspicion—my source behaves herself for nearly two days.
Sharing my chambers is easier than I expected, although Taera develops an irritating affinity for my bathtub, which is now occupied whenever I want to use it.
At least her warm, sun-touched scent isn’t unpleasant.
Meanwhile, I burn through amulets like paper, ensuring that my control remains perfect and not an eyelash slips when I’m asleep. There haven’t been any incidents.
Only three weeks left.
It’s too long, and completely her fault. I’m pissed at myself for getting tangled up in saving her, and the edge to my irritation sharpens as each day slows to a crawl: too many days, too many hours until I can travel home again.
I pray to the labyrinth that my sister can wait.
Feigning eagerness to work with Taera is its own private torture. Fortunately, a flirtatious smirk and occasional wink are enough to send rumors flying like sand on the wind. No one knows why I want to work with her, but everyone loves to gossip. Jezebel already hates my new source, as expected.
Taera inadvertently inflames her own reputation when she demands a pair of gloves from me. I’m more than happy to provide them, and snickers break out when we arrive in class. When she realizes she’s declaring her faithfulness to me, she practically rips them off, cheeks flushing bright and angry.
“She’s already begging Niko to take her to the masquerade,” Jezebel stage-whispers for everyone to hear. Taera goes red to the roots and pointedly ignores me for half a day, as though silence can restore her dignity.
Since classes are now a waste of my time, I risk bringing the book to class, heavily glamoured.
I have to break the cipher before the masters realize the text—or Taera’s pendant—is gone.
I still haven’t been able to decode these bloody pages.
The faster I read the lines, the quicker the characters change. I’m convinced the pendant will help.
First, I try copying the etchings from the wood of the pendant into the margins of the book. No luck. Placing the necklace directly on the page doesn’t help, either. It doesn’t even feel magical.
I sigh. Nothing about the Halls is ever straightforward.
And Taera will not stop talking.
She interrupts me every five minutes, pestering me with questions.
Finally, I explain that sources, true to their name, generate magic.
Conduits channel it. Yes, every magician is one or the other.
No, they can’t be both. Of course they’ve tried—countless experiments have failed to sever the dependency, most of them grossly inhumane.
That last tidbit mercifully shuts her up for a while.
I close my eyes and allow myself to imagine a life where I don’t have to suck up to Master Koroy or feed everyone’s favorite fantasies of me. A life unshackled from the Halls.
“You’re unusually studious today.” Master Koroy stands over my desk. My heart races, and I jerk magic out of my amulets to cloak the open pages in illusions. If Koroy finds out what I’ve acquired… Well, my punishment will probably begin with being exiled from the Halls of Glass, or worse.
“Color Theory, like you suggested,” I say, gesturing to the open page. I steady my breathing. I’ve memorized half a dozen pages from our textbook for situations like this, and I ensure the book in front of me displays only the recommended readings.
Koroy’s eyes narrow. “After three years, what inspired you to finally crack open a book?”
“I’ve become disenchanted with the practical aspects of magic.” I toss a glance at Taera. “At least until exams.”
Master Koroy humphs but wanders away. I let out a long breath. No one can know what I’m really working on. Taera is watching me, scowling, but doesn’t interrupt me for the rest of Rune Theory or Shadow Work.
Frustrated by my lack of progress, I summon an illusion. In the privacy of my own mind, I conjure a version of myself free to pace down the aisles and mutter ideas aloud.
“What if it’s an amulet? A talisman?” my illusion suggests.
It’s a reasonable idea. I take out the pendant, masking the movement, and focus on channeling magic from my amulets and into the wood.
It feels inert, like I’m trying to shove energy into a rock.
There’s nowhere for the power to go. I pull back, then—
The surface of the wood shimmers.
It is a talisman. I never would have guessed, given how plain it feels.
Concentrating on it feels slippery, like trying to tighten my hand around a bar of soap.
But when I offer the faintest trickle of magic, it starts to quiver in my hand.
The technique requires exceptional self-control, but I slowly encourage it to accept a little more power.
A hairline crack forms down the center of the wood.
I stop, nervously putting the talisman down. I can’t risk breaking it. But it doesn’t feel broken. It’s starting to feel alive.
Trying again, I press pinch after pinch of magic into the pendant. The wood warms, then glows faintly, then crackles. The outer layer begins to peel. I give it a little more. Wooden flakes come away where I’m touching it. I gently brush the reddish-brown, revealing glass underneath.
My breathing quickens.
It takes several minutes of concentrated flow before the amulet sheds its entire wood coating and emerges as the relic it is.
Even then, I have to continue feeding it magic to keep it from curling back into its disguise.
But this time, when I place the bare glass on the open page of the ancient book, the symbols go still.
I hold my breath, giddy as I lean over it. The text has never stayed the same for long enough for me to read full lines. I’ve decrypted enough to locate matching syllables, and every two lines end with the same pairing. Now the cadence snaps into place.
“Rhymes?” My image echoes my confusion, peering over my shoulder. I exhale slowly, praying to the labyrinth that I haven’t just acquired the Head Glassmaster’s favorite volume of poetry. But it was too well guarded.
I make guesses based on the frequency of letters, making steady progress puzzling out the alphabet.
“Shouldn’t we be doing that?”
Taera shatters my focus. Annoyed, I glance up to see she’s pointing to the other source-conduit pairs who are practicing together.
“Not with you,” I mutter.
“Then what am I supposed to be doing?” She’s vibrating, practically exuding magic. Like a bomb waiting to go off.
“Nothing,” I reply firmly.
Returning to my book, I begin decoding the text in earnest. I need to uncover its secrets as soon as I can, then get it out of my possession.
* * *
By the next day, I’m sure it’s a poem. It takes me all morning to transcribe the whole text. Around me, students murmur hushed excitement about the upcoming glass games. My new source—to my relief—is mostly forgotten.
The whispers trickle away in afternoon class. We all take cross-legged seats on the hard floor. Taera lags back, uneasily, until Koroy barks at her to take her position.
When we’re all seated and straight-backed, the master says the opening words to the three-hour meditation. Taera’s widening eyes grant me a moment of amusement. She’s terrible at hiding her emotions.
I burn into my amulets to toss up an illusion of dutiful, straight-back posture. Then I study my transcription.
The poem is infuriatingly childish, going on and on about two children dancing through a garden.
It details every bird and flower they meet: first a lark, then a lily, a rose, and so forth.
They roll under fences and leap over fountains, dancing round and round.
I study each line, and by the end of the three hours I have it memorized.
But my lips are tight; I’m no closer to understanding why it’s important.
I’ve just turned one indecipherable puzzle into another.
My source, rather impressively, manages to stay awake and upright for the entire three hours. Her eyes droop when we finally rise to leave the meditation hall. Everyone returns to giggling about the glass games, and my source glances at me, her brows furrowed.
“They’re too dangerous for you, little girl,” Jezebel says loudly.
“What?” Taera frowns. She really needs to learn to ignore taunts.
“The glass games, you idiot.” Jezebel cocks her hands on her hips.
Taera glances at me. “What are the ‘glass games’?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say.
“I bet your source doesn’t have the guts to join.” Jezebel smirks at me. Everyone is watching now. So much for keeping Taera quietly hidden…
“Join what?” Taera asks again, glaring between me and Jezebel.
“Just a fun little game of hide-and-seek,” Jezebel sing-songs. “In the heart of the Halls of Glass. Everyone joins in.”
“I’ll join.” Taera takes me by surprise. I raise my brows.
“It’s too scary for a little mouse like you.” Jezebel laughs.
Taera turns to me. “Will you be there?”
“Yes.” I frown.
“Then I’ll go with Niko,” Taera announces.
Her use of my nickname startles me.
Whispers and giggles flare around us, and I stiffen.
Taera shuffles closer to me and slips her hand around the crook of my elbow. Then she leans her head on my shoulder, batting her lashes, with all the grace of a dying moth.
I choke back a laugh, fixed on the awkward horror of her attempt to act flirtatious. I open my mouth to tell her she’s absolutely not coming, but Jezebel gets there first.
“Aww, what a sweet couple. You couldn’t possibly go without your source, Niko.” She says it loudly. I glare back into glittering, feline eyes. She knows I don’t like my source, and she’s calling my bluff.
Nice try.
I chuckle softly, then lower a smoldering gaze on Taera. “I’d love to bring you with me.”
Her freckled cheeks blush deliciously red, and I smirk. When I tilt my head lower to brush my lips past the shell of her ear, she stops breathing entirely.
Perfect.
“You want to play like this?” I whisper, voice velvet-dark. “You’re going to regret it.”