Seven
Kyrith
He’s early, bouncing on the threshold like an excited puppy. His grimoire, holstered at his hip, is tapping against his thigh with each rock from heel to toe, and his blonde hair is half up, with tiny braids littered in it like a Viking of old. I almost reveal myself, but stop when I catch sight of a second, slighter figure behind him.
“I didn’t agree to tutoring anyone else,” I say, and the words echo menacingly across the hall.
Lambert opens his mouth, but Galileo steps forward, a tome held up in offering and his face set in careful impassive lines. “I brought a new book for the Arcanaeum. One that isn’t in the catalogue already.”
That stops my anger in my tracks, and the pages of the books on the shelves rustle in interest. Without meaning to, I appear before them both, keeping careful distance between us as I inspect it.
“Are you bribing me?”
“Is it working?” Lambert asks, raising one brow.
Maybe. It depends what the book is. I hold out a hand wordlessly for the tome, grimacing at the amount of foxing on the pages as I levitate it in front of me.
“Early Arcanist Efforts to Divine the Future,” I murmur, translating the Latin title as I flip over the embossed cover. “An original hand illustrated edition… Where did you get this?”
This tome must be as old as I am, if not older. An impressive feat.
Galileo shrugs like it’s nothing. “It was on the shelf at home.”
My jaw locks at the casual reminder of the Ó Rinn family’s wealth and their lack of care for precious tomes. I’m tempted to accept just to protect the poor book. Even without bonding it to the library, I can tell that a few of the pages are missing. The poor broken spine calls to me like a wounded child.
“Once I accept this, there is no taking it back,” I warn. “The Arcanaeum will always draw it home, even if you try to remove it.”
Already, it’s itching to begin making a translation for the collection. The original Latin script will be completely useless to most modern scholars.
He nods once. “Understood.”
The building doesn’t hesitate, snatching the book from my hands like an eager child.
I’m well aware I’ve just been successfully bribed to accept not just one dangerous arcanist but two into my Arcanaeum during the private hours I typically guard zealously. This is amistake, some tiny voice in the back of my mind hisses.
Most days, I listen to that voice.
Unfortunately, today is not one of those days.
“Follow me.” I wish they’d take the weariness in my voice as a hint and leave. No such luck.
The building has allowed them entry via a pastel blue arched door that just happens to be perilously close to the stairs to theparapet and my clock tower. I don’t trust that one bit. So I lead them away from the Shrouded Hall, down to a cosy corner of the Ruinous Hall. The books here focus on destruction, but this study nook is one of my favourites.
“Sweet.” Lambert throws himself onto one of the chairs on the far side of the table, flicks open the leather straps at his hip, then drops his grimoire onto the table with a careless, dull thud.
It’s a deep saffron orange with a heavy dark buckle strapped around it to hold the many scraps poking out from between the pages in place.
“Right. Where are we starting?”
“Where are you struggling?” I reply, evenly.
“He failed every exam last year,” Galileo answers for him, perching smoothly on the edge of the table.
“Shut up.” There’s no heat in Lambert’s answering rude hand gesture. “We can’t all have doctorates, you know.”
“It’s an inept qualification. It barely counts.” Galileo opens the satchel at his hip and withdraws the textbook from before. “Lambert hates alchemy. He banjaxed three alembics last term alone.”
Note to self, supervise Winthrop constantly.
