Chapter 33 Dine with Villains #2
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d finally figured out what I felt for her—this terrifying, all-consuming thing that had to be love because nothing else explained the way my chest constricted when she looked at me—and it was the worst possible timing.
How could I tell her when I couldn’t trust that the words wouldn’t come out wrong?
When every protective instinct was being amplified and corrupted by something that wanted to own her like a possession?
“ ‘Essence of Forgotten Dreams, lightly seared,’ ” Sebastian read aloud. “Is that meat?”
“Best not to ask,” Thorne advised, flagging down a server. “Just order something that was definitely dead before it got to the kitchen.”
We ordered—a process that took far longer than necessary thanks to Griffin’s need to understand the magical properties of every ingredient. And Sebastian spent five minutes interrogating the waitress about whether the vegetables in his salad were ethically sourced from willing plants.
“You know,” Griffin said, leaning back in his chair with a grin that made him look almost impish, “Sebastian and I have become quite the investigative team since that night at the Gallows.”
“Have you now?” I asked, grateful for the distraction from my own thoughts.
“Oh yes. We’ve been comparing notes on the various magical anomalies around the Spire. Sebastian has this fascinating theory about how the ley lines here interact with organic matter, and I’ve been developing a detection matrix that could—”
“Please don’t tell me you two are planning to experiment on the Spire’s infrastructure,” I interrupted.
“Not planning,” Sebastian said quickly. “Just… observing. Academically.”
“The same way you ‘academically observed’ the Bone Witches before inviting them to a ball?”
Sebastian’s cheeks colored. “That was different.”
“Speaking of academic pursuits,” Griffin said, his excitement bubbling over, “you’ll never guess who I ran into this afternoon!”
“The Bone Witches?” I suggested drily.
“No! Though that would have been fascinating. No, it was Emissary Pyrrha from the Ashen Wastes delegation. She’s an alumna of the Academia and apparently has quite a bit of influence there.
” Griffin was practically vibrating in his seat.
“She was at your wedding, saw my lightning bridges in action, and was so impressed that she wants me to give a lecture tomorrow! An actual lecture at the Academia of Malice!”
“Congratulations,” Arabella said warmly. “That’s quite an honor.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Griffin beamed. “I mean, the Academia is the most prestigious institution for advanced magical theory in the known world. To be invited to speak there—even just as a guest lecturer—it’s the kind of opportunity most enchanters only dream about.”
I watched Griffin’s enthusiasm with a mixture of amusement and concern.
On one hand, it was good to see him recognized for his talents instead of his disasters.
On the other hand, this was Griffin. Giving him a platform to demonstrate his innovations was like handing a pyromaniac a torch in a fireworks warehouse.
“What will you be lecturing on?” I asked carefully.
“The stabilization matrices I developed for the lightning bridges, of course! Emissary Pyrrha was particularly interested in how I managed to create a dynamic, self-adjusting network that responds to both physical and magical variables. She thinks it could have applications for—”
“Please tell me this lecture won’t involve live demonstrations,” Thorne interjected.
“Well, I was planning to bring a small-scale model…”
“No explosions,” I said firmly. “Charts only.”
“The bridges don’t explode!”
“Not intentionally,” Sebastian added helpfully.
Griffin shot him a betrayed look. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are. That’s why I’m trying to help you survive your own lecture.”
Their easy banter was distracting in a calming sort of way, if a reminder of how easily Sebastian fit in with our little family.
The fragment chose that moment to surge forward with a wave of paranoia so intense I had to grip the table edge to keep from lashing out. Traitors. They’re all traitors. The smiling ones are always the first. Remember what happened with—
I shoved it down again, but my hands were shaking now. I hid them in my lap, forcing my breathing to stay even.
“My lord?” Thorne’s voice was careful. “You all right?”
“Fine,” I lied, using the same excuse from earlier. “Just tired from the ritual.”
It was a convenient excuse, one that explained the tension in my shoulders, the slight tremor I couldn’t quite hide, the way I kept glancing at Arabella as if to reassure myself she was still there. Everyone accepted it because it made sense.
No one needed to know I was fighting a war in my own head.
Sebastian absently waved his hand, and tiny flowers began sprouting from the wooden chair legs.
“Must you?” I asked.
“Sorry. Nervous habit.” But he didn’t stop the growth, and soon delicate white blossoms covered half his chair.
What the fuck was he nervous about now?
While we waited for our food—I’d ordered something called “Temporal Beef” that supposedly aged backward and if you didn’t eat it fast enough became a live cow—Sebastian kept fidgeting. The white blooms released a sweet fragrance.
“It helps me think,” he said defensively when he caught me glaring.
I found myself struggling to focus on the mundane chatter. The memories kept intruding, flashes of a life that felt both mine and foreign.
The first time I’d seen Skyspire, it had been new. I’d raised it from the bones of the earth with will alone, each stone sung into place with power that made the world tremble. My citadel. My throne. My—
A bee buzzed past my ear.
Then another.
Within seconds, a small swarm had materialized, drawn by Sebastian’s impromptu garden. They settled on the flowers with enthusiasm, and one particularly ambitious specimen made a beeline—pun intended—for Arabella’s wineglass.
“Quit showing off,” I snapped, my patience fraying as I batted away a bee investigating my collar. “This isn’t a bloody greenhouse.”
Sebastian’s flowers withered instantly, sending the bees into confused spirals. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t think—”
“That’s the problem with you hero types,” I snapped. “Never thinking about consequences.”
“Kaz.” Arabella’s voice was carefully neutral, but I felt her concern. A gentle probe, asking without asking if I was all right.
I wasn’t. Perhaps dinner had been a bad idea, after all.
Griffin launched into a detailed account of his day exploring the Spire after they left the Academia, dragging Sebastian to various magical supply shops and one memorable incident involving a cursed mirror that showed your worst fear.
“Mine was apparently running out of ink during an important experiment,” Griffin said cheerfully. “Sebastian’s was—”
“Private,” Sebastian cut in quickly, color rising in his cheeks.
Probably something to do with disappointing people or causing harm through good intentions.
“Any trouble?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“None,” Sebastian confirmed. “Actually, people seemed to actively avoid us. One merchant practically threw his goods at Griffin rather than haggle.”
Good. Word of what I’d done to those thugs had spread. The God Spire respected few things, but decisive violence was one of them.
Our food arrived. My Temporal Beef appeared to be de-aging before my eyes, cycling through various states of doneness. Arabella had ordered something that might have been fish if fish had evolved the ability to photosynthesize. Griffin’s plate contained what looked like edible mathematics.
“So,” Griffin said, dissecting his geometric meal, “dare I ask how your meeting with the Alchemist went? You both look rather depleted.”
“It went,” I said curtly.
“We accomplished what we set out to do,” Arabella added, more diplomatically.
That was our agreed upon story, which was too sensitive for public conversation. Though after what I’d felt in that ritual, after touching those ley lines and feeling something dark and familiar stir in response, I wondered if we’d contained anything at all.
Maybe we’d just given it a clearer path.
“Does that mean we can go home, my lord?” Thorne asked. “I could send word to the Sky Serpent tonight.”
“No. We don’t leave until we find him.”
Thorne knew who “him” was. He lowered his voice so that neighboring tables couldn’t overhear. “I’ve scoured every corner of this place with your shadow warriors. No sign.”
My jaw tightened. Pip was here somewhere—I could feel it like an itch between my shoulder blades.
“It’s a vast place,” Thorne grumbled. “Lots of comings and goings. Dark corners everywhere. A rat could hide here for years if it knew what it was doing.”
“Keep looking,” I said quietly. “I want every shadow, every crevice checked again. We’ll start fresh in the morning, cover every inch of this place.”