Thirty-Three
Kyrith
Westley is annoying.
Why does the feline feel the need to curl around my ankles or swat at my skirts whenever I’m within striking distance? Worse, why does he insist on charming the patrons?
Hopkinson has started sneaking cat treats into the building. I’ve been turning a blind eye, but if any of the other patrons start, I’ll need to put my foot down. This is getting out of hand.
“You are a pest.” I pet Westley’s little white head with a groan. “And Lambert needs to answer for bringing you here.”
The cat has taken a spot on my lap, and now he’s distracting me from the sheets of paper spread out in front of me.
Pierce’s contract is filled in with immaculate looping black penmanship. Boxes crossed, additional details section meticulously detailed with what he wants in a relationship.
And reading it…confuses the living daylights out of me, because he’s been sincere. Either this is some elaborate scheme to humiliate me or…
“I just don’t understand him.”
Why would anyone who regards me with such scorn go to the trouble of filling this out? Does he even want me?
“I should slip another potion into his tea,” I murmur as the cat rolls around on my lap, sinking his little claws into my thigh. “Maybe I’ll do it with all of them.”
I seem to have misjudged just how complicated this contract would make things. But I didn’t come up here to my room to obsess over them. I’m here because I want answers.
With a wave of my hand, Pierce’s contract is filed away, leaving me free of distractions.
Closing my eyes, I reach for the core of power within me.
If Mathias Ackland has my grimoire, I want to know why he hasn’t used it against me. If Benny thinks that I’ve created bonds to the heirs, I need to know how deep they go. Knowledge wins wars, and it’s painfully obvious that I’m missing key pieces of this puzzle.
That can’t be allowed to stand.
It only takes a few moments to remind me why I don’t do this often. My power is indistinguishable from the Arcanaeum’s, and the Arcanaeum’s is vast. Vast and messy. A Gordian Knot that never fails to overwhelm me.
Thousands of books are tied to the well of power I share with the building. Hundreds of tiny threads fraying out from the immense ball of yarn that is our magic. The grimoires in the vault stand out like glowing stars, tethered to the Library by thicker strands. Some of them are brighter than others—those are the ones I use regularly to cast spells.
I need to find one which has never been used to cast at all.
Far away, my lips part on an agonised sigh, but I’m so deep inside my own mind that it barely registers.
Somewhere in the middle of the search, I notice the firstloose thread. Only…it’s not a thread. It’s too thick, almost like a rope.
“What in the world…?”
There doesn’t appear to be anything connected to the other end at first glance.
When I reach out to touch it, I jerk.
Lambert.
This thread feels like Lambert. Strange. I’d never considered myself well acquainted enough with his magic to recognise it so instantly, but the eager sunshine is unmistakable. It looks like a loose cord because I can’t see him on the other end, but he must be there.
This must be the bond Benny talked about. I’ve barely released it when I find another. This one is proud and standoffish.
Pierce.
They’re all here. Seven loose threads, tied to the Arcanaeum’s magic—to my magic—and yet separate from it.
