Chapter 4 #2
It was my turn to look at Friar. “I don’t have much time.
I don’t care what you and Friar are planning.
” She opened her mouth to cut me off, but I held up my hand.
“If I am still here when you need help, I will help. But until then, I’ve got to work on my own thing.
Now tell me what you read to Hansen before you were sick. ”
Collum didn’t look at Friar this time, fidgeting with her hands in her lap instead.
“I came here sick, Runa. I never read to Hansen. And with everything that happened with you and Leif and . . . Well, I’m not sure Leif knows I’m here.
” She looked to Friar again, who motioned for her to continue with a dip of her chin.
“That’s part of our plan—keeping me out of sight.
You know Leif and I don’t see eye to eye. ”
It was true. All they’d done was argue while I’d been imprisoned in Ralheim.
“But I do know Leif stole most of what Hansen has from Adis so . . . you can assume.”
I shook my head. “Leif’s a seeker, Collum.”
There was a gasp from Friar at my admittance, but I kept my gaze on my cousin. There was no shock in her reaction.
“You knew,” I accused.
“Yes,” she admitted with a puff of air. “I learned that when we were all still with Adis—from the coven.”
My eyebrows arched. During my imprisonment in Ralheim I’d learned my cousin had been far more involved in the Seid coven than I’d known.
While we’d all attended the monthly meetings when we were young, my parents had stopped taking Milo and me several years before the Purge, when we’d just barely entered our school years.
They’d said something felt off. And since the meetings were merely meant to help the Seid feel as if they were less alone, or so young me thought, my parents thought it safer to stop attending.
And they’d been right.
Adis had used the coven meetings to find his first targets. Two of which were Collum’s parents.
The memories burned, and I walked to the wall, leaning my forehead against it, trying to ground myself. So much time had passed, but I still felt like I was in the same place, trapped with a cousin I couldn’t trust. “Collum, why don’t you trust me?”
My cousin was silent.
I spun around.
“You’re too young, Runa.”
Those words reignited the flame in my gut.
“I’m too young?!” I screeched, stomping back over to my cousin as I yanked up my sleeve.
“I’m not too young to be taken from my home and forced into military service.
I’m not too young to be forcibly bonded to a male I can’t stand.
And I’m not too young to be branded not once, but twice, by people who have ulterior motives.
” I panted, the force of my voice stealing my air, but I didn’t stop.
“I was under the bed with you that day, Collum, watching my parents’ blood spread across the floor.
I haven’t been young in a fucking decade, and it’s time you stop treating me like I’m a child.
” The last word was a whisper, and tears spilled from the corner of my eyes.
I’d forgotten how I’d sworn not to be underestimated again, and here we were. And I was done.
“I’m sorry, Runa.”
Collum’s words did little to halt my anger, but I did appreciate the apology. I raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for the explanation.
“I just . . . I forget. I came to your family when you were young, Runa. I was like your second mother. But you’re right; I need to trust you.” Collum sighed, suddenly looking so much older than her thirty-five years.
My gaze moved to Friar, who was leaning her back against the stone wall, observing. I doubted my outburst would convince her to bring me into her plans, but I held out hope.
“Well, Astrid and I originally met in the Westwood’s coven and—”
I cut her off. “I already know that, and I know Signa.” I inclined my head toward Friar.
“We went and spoke to her the same day you arrived here.” Signa was the leader of the Westwood’s coven.
Though she had only just taken over in the last ten years—sometime after my family had stopped attending.
I couldn’t remember who had been the leader when I was a child.
“Oh.” Collum paled.
“What I really need to know is anything you know about the books themselves. Friar and I already know which ones were given to Adis by Signa, and I know that Hansen had one where you could hear the whispers of the dead and—”
“Mindreading,” Collum said with the shake of her head. “That book is well known, because anyone who reads it—if they aren’t in a secluded area—almost immediately goes crazy from the whispers. The coven spoke of it once.”
My mind flashed back to my brief experience with the book. “If someone has already read a book, then severed that magical power via meditation, can they re-read the book?” The words came out quickly, and I couldn’t stop the way plans were weaving together in my mind.
Collum frowned. “I don’t see why not. As far as I know, there is no way to permanently block magic.”
“Good.” I knew exactly where I needed to go after this. “What other books exist?”
Collum sighed. “Runa, I don’t know—”
“Just try,” I urged her. “I told you; I need to know what I’m dealing with.”
She ran a hand through her blond hair, glancing out the window even though the curtains were drawn, probably in an effort to keep her hidden. “As I mentioned before, the book where you could speak someone’s death is gone.”
But that wasn’t the book I was worried about. “What about the one where you could force someone to love you?”
She turned back to me, eyebrows raised. “Also gone. I can’t believe you remember that.”
I shrugged, not wanting her to catch on to where I was going, not until I was certain she actually trusted me as she claimed she did. “Where do the books come from, Collum? Is there a chance another one could be penned? Another book of forced love, for instance?”
She was pensive for a moment, biting her bottom lip as her eyes roamed the ceiling, “When I was young, my parents spoke of something . . . a Scribe—the third type of Seid, the ones who created the magic. But they only spoke of it once, and I was never able to ask about it again.” She grimaced, and I knew she was still grieving her loss, just as I grieved mine.
The triangle in my mind was complete. The Seeker and Reader as the base, and the Scribe as the point.
“But, Runa, there hasn’t been whispers of a Scribe for generations,” Collum added, likely sensing the direction my thoughts were headed.
It was my turn to shake my head. “Do you know anything about how they are trained? How they know what symbols to write down to create the magic?”
Collum frowned. “No. I wish I did. All I know is that there’s rumors that the books were made while we were still in communication with the gods, before, you know, they left us.”
I paced the floor in front of where Collum sat on the bed. While things were starting to make more sense than they ever had before, the fact that the gods were involved—the ones Heimland had long believed to have abandoned us—made this more complicated than I’d expected.
Still, I had my answer. “So, new books cannot be made, at least, not to your knowledge?”
“No,” Collum affirmed. I could feel her curiosity as it brushed my skin. I knew she could also feel my emotions, but they wouldn’t reveal what I was planning.
“Is there any way you know of to temporarily block powers?” I hoped she wouldn’t make the connection to my earlier question.
“Probably.” She twisted her hands in her lap before connecting her blue eyes to mine.
“Honestly, Runa, there is so much training and information we probably should have received but our parents were so focused on teaching us to read, and not to exhibit any other signs of magic, I don’t think anyone around our age has the skills necessary to do anything worthwhile with the magic.
Even the coven meetings had long become more of a . . . formality, than anything else.”
“I see.” That was what I’d been afraid of. Without waiting for Friar, I walked toward the door, pulling it open.
“Where are you going?” Collum called out from behind me.
“The library,” I called without looking over my shoulder. “I’ll be by to grab my potion tomorrow, Friar.”
I didn’t wait for them to answer before I closed the door behind me and made my way down the hall.