Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
“So let me get this straight, you’re telling me that big, brooding specimen of a man threw Makon off you?”
I roll my eyes rather dramatically. “It’s really not that big of a deal.
I think he was just pissed they didn’t follow his instructions and started weapons training.
Something he clearly thinks I’m not ready for.
” Mallory looks at me like she disagrees, but doesn’t say anything further on the matter.
With another history class finished, we stuff our texts into our packs.
I look over at her. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay after for a minute to speak with the professor.”
She throws me an easy smile. “Sure thing. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
I throw my pack over my shoulder and make my way down to the dais. Professor Hawkins is shoving loose pieces of parchment into the front of a roughly bound text, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose repeatedly and muttering under her breath.
I open my mouth to speak and then close it. I’m not even sure how to approach this. Gripping the strap of my pack, I step forward. “Sorry to bother you—” I start.
“Oh. Hello, Norissa,” Professor Hawkins interrupts without looking up. She looks as discombobulated as usual.
Her sharp, birdlike eyes dart around her desk.
I clear my throat and try again. “Sorry to bother you. I was hoping I could steal a few moments of your time.”
“Of course, what can I do for you?” she asks, clearly distracted.
A flicker of apprehension washes over me.
This could be a colossal mistake, but there are no rewards without risks.
I’m just not sure this one is worth the reward.
“I know this is going to sound…crazy, but I’ve been playing around with a theory and am practically treading water at this point.
I’m conducting some research on Salaryan’s history,” I inform her, trying to get to the point but also not sure I want to.
She pauses, looking through the clutter on top of her desk, then stands completely straight, her entire focus now resting on me.
I adjust my collar, the fabric suddenly confining. “I’m trying to determine whether the realm, at any point in time, had an affiliation with a monarchy. I know this is a far-fetched theory,” I say, but stop when her eyes widen briefly before she quickly masks it.
She forces a smile, too tight to be natural. “That is quite the theory,” she says with a soft laugh.
I fidget with the strap of my pack. She’s hiding something. “I know,”—I laugh nervously—“like I said, far-fetched. I just have way too much time on my hands, apparently.”
“I find that hard to believe with your current class load.”
“Trouble sleeping. Frees up some extra hours for me,” I say, clearly trying to evade. I’m not sure I like the intense scrutiny I’m suddenly under. This wasn’t a good idea.
She sits down in the wooden chair at her desk.
“Listen, Norissa, you’re incredibly bright.
The entire faculty is very interested in your path as a Liminal.
There hasn’t been one for a very long time,” she states, placing her hands on top of her desk.
“That being said, you’re watched more than the typical student at Kintoira.
Be very careful what you dig into or ask about,” she warns.
“Okay,” I quickly agree.
The tapping of her fingers along her desk makes me want to jump out of my skin. “The major and his staff are notorious for taking offense at the slightest indiscretion. The last thing you want to be labeled as is treasonous or draw their ire,” she says quietly.
That is definitely not on my bucket list. Traitors are banished. Banishment is being sent to the other side of the wall. A place of ruin and murder. Everything wants to kill you, especially the biggest threat of all.
Wraiths.
I gulp and nod. All at the same time. “Understood.”
I turn to leave, tucking my curiosity right back where it belongs.
“Norissa,” she calls, stopping me in my tracks.
I look over my shoulder.
Her translucent complexion appears paler than usual. “Your answers will come in due time. Sometimes the resolution we seek is that much sweeter when flavored with patience.”
I furrow my brows in confusion.
“Enjoy the rest of your day, Ms. Caderyn.” She returns her attention to her desk, her dark, severely cut hair partially covering her face. I’m very clearly being dismissed.
I head straight to my room, skipping astrology class altogether.
Dropping my bag, I bend down, and pull out Dark Objects and Their Origins from under my bed.
The book is heavy in my lap. The worn black leather cover is smooth from age and soft beneath my touch.
The pages are delicate from use and faded with time.
The text inside is blunt with short sentences and few adjectives, much like a typical Noctryn.
The book pulses beneath my fingertips, just like it did in the old bookshop.
I flip through the pages. Some of the chapters are written in what I think is Casacian, the native language of Casacia, but I can’t read it, so I skip over those.
I’m not even sure how many from Casacia can still speak the language.
Solarish became the predominant dialect throughout the realm, and since then, many languages have disappeared.
Casacian is now pretty much a dead language.
Somewhere around the midsection, the language changes to the common tongue, and the author starts discussing the process of creating dark objects.
Ha! I don’t need you to teach me, Kingston. I have it all right here.
The text says that they’re primarily used for stabilizing.
They are created when a Noctryn combines their blood, melted iron, and the desired object.
The ritual is finalized with an oath, which they sadly didn’t include.
Once the dark object has been created, only the individual or a blood relative can use it to stabilize their powers.
The text says that not having a stabilizer is to welcome madness for those powerful enough.
I find it ironic that only the dark ones have the ability to create a stabilizer.
They give up their birth-given abilities to be able to wield dark magic, but are given the ability to create.
It proceeds to say that if a Veil attempts to possess a dark object, it would be catastrophic to the user, and the object would be rendered useless.
A light wielder cannot perform dark magic, as light and dark cancel each other out.
This applies to all wielders except Liminals.
Oh my gods.
It’s discussing Liminals!
I hunch over the book, my nose so close it’s almost touching the pages.
The page states that the only time the cancelation process has been known to fail is during the phenomenon known as Liminals.
Instead of revocation, these individuals gain both attributes.
Light and dark. They’re incredibly rare and appear only every four to five generations.
Their powers have been known to be monumental but closely guarded.
That’s it.
There’s nothing else on the subject.
I rapidly turn the pages, and there is no further mention of them.
Tapping my fingers against the spine of the book, I try to figure out why this subject is so taboo.
It’s like they are deliberately making this difficult for me.
I flip to the back of the book. There’s a lot of information about predominant figures throughout history and the dark objects they created.
A spear, a dagger, and a ring, among others, decorate the pages.
My fingers halt over one of the names. Sanderson Thurboult.
The same name as the author.
An older man with wiry white hair and stern eyes looks back at me.
He has a quiet but powerful aura. Dangling from his neck is a black locket.
I squint my eyes. On the front, a crown is etched into the delicate metal, with twin swords crossing behind it.
It doesn’t say much about him except that he was a Noctryn who specialized in blood magic and lived a few centuries ago. The exact date isn’t listed.
I release a loud, drawn-out sigh.
Tossing the text to the side, I reach under my bed for one of the others.
I scan the cover, but it’s the astrology book.
Flinging it away, I blindly reach under again for my other Moorechester purchase, but my fingers land on something smaller.
I pull it out. It’s the little silver book from my bag.
I’d tossed it under the bed with the others and forgotten all about it. Full of nothing, yet it feels heavy.
There’s always some kind of mystery shrouding everything I touch these days.
Nothing is just given freely. Not even information.
The night I found this little sucker in my bag, I tried everything to see if words would appear.
I looked at it under the faint glow of moonlight and sang to it. I even tried to negotiate with it.
Silence.
I crack the spine open, even though I know the pages are still blank.
I’m careful not to touch any of the rust-colored stains throughout.
I’m not sure, but I suspect those stains are dried blood.
It’s slightly disturbing that someone just kept handling the book while bleeding on the pages.
Luckily, the majority seems to have buried into the spine.
I scoff.
Always something bleeding or demanding blood around here.
Always something bleeding…
My hand freezes over the parchment.
Always something demanding blood.
No fucking way.
I reach up in the drawer of my nightstand and pull out the dagger Ambrose gave me.
I quickly make a small cut along my fingertip and flip back to the first page.
Blood drips onto the blank sheet. Drip. Drip.
Drip. The majority of it runs off into the crevasse, sinking deep into the spine.
An audible gasp flies from my lips. A bit absorbs into the page itself, disappearing.