Chapter 27 #2
The edge of the page crinkles beneath my fingers.
Frustration builds within my chest at the never-ending puzzles and partial answers this book gives me.
“I have an idea. Let’s try a different approach, shall we?
” I say. “You answer in layman’s terms and stop speaking in riddles, we’ll keep it simple. Now, who buried these secrets?”
You did.
I stare at the words.
“What secret did I bury?” I ask, hesitation making the words come out soft. I’ve yet to be decimated, but my good mood certainly has been.
The page stays blank for a minute or so. Words begin drifting across in deep ink, almost as if they’re being etched into the pages.
The answer is not what you buried. But who you buried.
I lean in close to the pages, my heart palpitating. “Are you insinuating that I killed someone and don’t remember? And then buried them?” I laugh a bit hysterically.
This time, the page doesn’t wipe itself clean. It just continues in large, loopy script.
The mirror will give you the answer you seek. You are so much more.
“I don’t have a magical mirror, Silver! I also didn’t kill anyone!
What is even going on right now?” I ask, frustration obliterating my earlier mood.
“Why are you saying these things to me? Is this what you do? Just create chaos and watch the world burn around you. You’re not being very helpful.
” The words come out rushed and annoyed.
You didn’t ask for help. You asked for truth.
The writing sinks into the pages, disappearing from view.
I look toward the ceiling and pray for patience.
Elegant scrawl writhes under my fingertips.
You demand, yet you do not give.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” I scream at the book. So much for patience.
Angry letters dig into the parchment.
HONESTY.
That’s it. Just the one word.
If it’s just one simple ask, why does it send chills up my spine? “Ask me anything and I’ll answer. Unlike you,” I snap, hunched over the book and waiting.
Are you ready to be a Liminal? To lift the veil and see what truly lies beneath?
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.
You are more than a manifestation. You are a vessel. A give and a take. A corrector of invisible threads. A weaver.
There’s a pause, and then more words appear.
Find your lock. It will undo you.
Then underneath, in sharper scrawl—Seek it anyway.
I stare at the words scribbled in red ink.
Appearing like a prophecy disguised as a blood omen.
The pages wait with a humming pulse as if they want me to deny them.
My fingers hover above the angry red letters.
Maybe if I smear it, the book will take it back.
“Would Ambrose know anything about this key?” I ask in a cautious tone.
It’d be nice to have someone at my side, someone to help me unravel the shit show going on all around.
Without hesitation, red splashes across the page.
No.
“Is he part of my destiny?” I ask, waiting with bated breath.
You are asking the wrong questions.
The words disappear, and the book firmly shuts on its own accord.
I exhale and lean back, tossing it to the end of the bed.
A vessel. A weaver. I’m a soldier, not a seamstress. Besides being a moody bitch, the book at my feet hasn’t done anything but leave me more confused each time I converse with it.
I throw off the covers, dress quickly, and head out. I need answers, not rest.
The study hall is empty when I poke my head inside. All except for a headful of curls bent over a book in the back. I figured he’d be here. I shut the door firmly, and his head whips up, hazel eyes wide. The moment they rest on me, they relax, and a lopsided grin appears.
“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” Finnley says, his eyes twinkling with mirth in the glow of the hanging lanterns.
I roll my eyes and walk over to him. “Taking this studying thing a bit seriously, huh?” I ask, turning his book toward me. Paragraphs about the intricate layers of alchemy cover each page.
“Well, these looks only go so far,” he says with a wink, closing the book and leaning back in his chair.
I plop down in the chair next to him and kick my feet up on the table. “Huh, I didn’t know you were taking alchemy. Care to study for us both? I’m only drowning in defeat in most of my classes.”
“I don’t take half of your classes, Nori. Not sure I’m going to be much help in that department.”
“Lucky you,” I say on a sigh.
“Where have ya been? I feel like we never see each other anymore with classes and”—he gulps dramatically—“responsibilities.”
The chair creaks beneath me as I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous. And as far as where I’ve been—I’ve been around. Just busy, you know.”
He pins me with an understanding look. “Yeah, I get it. Double the class load, double the work. Doesn’t leave much time to get out,” he acknowledges.
“It doesn’t,” I agree. “Hey, speaking of getting out, I was in the Witchwood the other day.” I won’t mention I was hiding in the sticks and eavesdropping on someone.
“I stumbled across a couple of people who were discussing something about an attack on Casacia. You haven’t heard anything, have you?
I don’t know why, but I feel like maybe it’s all linked to what’s going on here, with the missing object and professor. ”
“I haven’t heard anything,” he says without missing a beat. “But I’m sure if something like that happened, the academy would alert us. That’d be a pretty big breach of the walls.”
I tap my fingers along the table. I could have asked Kingston directly, but I have zero expectations that he would confide in me.
“You’re probably right.” I blow out a breath, changing the subject.
“How’s the manifestation coming along? You haven’t filled me in yet.
Did you get something really cool? Ice wielder or maybe a shape shifter—”
“I’m still working out the kinks. We’ll revisit this later.” He laughs under his breath. The laughter doesn’t meet his eyes.
“Oh. Okay, yeah, sure.” I’m not going to press him, but I’m starting to get worried. He’s holding something back, and from the dark circles under his eyes, it’s taking a toll on him.
He scans the room before he leans in. “Nori, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, though. I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but it seemed odd to me, and I think you should know.”
I lean forward. “Yeah?” I ask, focusing all my attention on him.
“It’s probably nothing,” he counters in an even tone.
“Tell me anyway.”
“It’s just the other night I was walking back to my room, and the door to Professor Tainey’s room was slightly cracked.
I didn’t think much of it and was going to just walk past, but I heard a familiar voice that sounded angry.
” He rubs the back of his neck. “I stopped to listen, and someone was demanding to know why the test he was smuggled was useless and nothing like the test used for the Asylamation assessment—”
I gulp. Ambrose.
“Which I thought was an odd thing to say, but not my problem, you know? Anyway, I was going to leave, but stopped when I heard your name. It was Ambrose speaking.” He pauses before continuing.
“He was telling the professor that because of his mistake, you didn’t place Veil and ended up as a Liminal.
That you were going to find out the truth because of Tainey’s carelessness.
I pressed my ear to the door, and the professor was apologizing and saying he did his best,” he says.
“Something was thrown across the room, and Ambrose practically growled that if you find out about your father, he’ll come back and personally cut Tainey’s throat. ”
Time ceases to move.
It slows to a pace where I can see the particles in the air.
I don’t speak. I can’t manage to form a coherent thought, let alone an intelligible sentence. Ambrose never even met my father. The written assessment was never going to be enough to land me in that Veil uniform.
Something I now understand but refused to acknowledge then.
“Nori,” Finnley calls. His hand lands on my arm, and I raise my eyes to meet his.
“What else did he say?” I ask, my voice slightly breaking.
Finnley sighs. “Not much. It sounded like Tainey was on the verge of tears, and Ambrose told him he’d better pray he doesn’t have to come back.”
No one but my mother knows who my father is.
She never even told me. Regardless of how many times I asked, she never told me.
The only information I could peel out of her was that he was a fellow soldier, whom she mistakenly gave her heart to, and he broke it.
It’s been a massive void in my life—the feeling that a part of my identity has always been missing—and it’s my fault.
I’m the reason he left. I’ve been reminded of the fact numerous times throughout my life.
But why would Ambrose say these things to the professor—especially behind my back?
I feel like I’m going to puke.
“Are you okay? You look a little pale,” he says through the pressure in my skull.
I slowly nod.
Am I okay? No. Definitely the opposite of okay, but I’m not putting that on him.
A slight frown appears on his lips, and concern swims in his eyes.
Breathe, Heathen.
I inhale sharply.
“What’s wrong?” Finnley asks, leaning in.
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I answer. “Nothing, I’m fine.”
Get out of my head, Henchman!
A dark laugh vibrates through my skull. Henchman? I like it. How adorable that you’ve given me a nickname. And one so fitting.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Shadows. Burning candles. Blood.
A little blood never scared me, he says in a low, throaty hum.
Ugh.
At least you’re breathing again.
GO AWAY!
A dark laugh resonates before I’m left to my own thoughts again.
Finnley grabs my hand. “Nori, you good?” he asks with a worried look on his face.
“All good,” I reply quickly. Too quickly. “I hate to leave, but I’ve got something I have to do.” I stand quickly, push the chair in, and head for the door.
“No worries,” he calls after me. “Catch you later?”