Nine
Kyrith
North is late for Hopkinson’s lecture. When he arrives, he falls into the spare chair between Jasper and Lambert with a stiffness that speaks of barely concealed pain. His dark hair is brushed forward in a poor attempt to conceal his slow-blooming black eye, and his black shirt is stuck to his back in a way that makes me suspect he’s bleeding underneath.
This has to stop.
I’ve been discreetly lingering in a bookcase to their left, enjoying the lecture, but I shift to float invisibly behind him to get a better look.
“Riviel Treame,” I utter. “Cinciel megir donetre.”
A huge stripe of golden light, invisible to everyone but me, bisects his spine diagonally, along with the fainter glow of a broken rib and muscles pushed to the point of strain. I bite my lip as I debate how well he’ll take being healed in the middle of class.
It will be uncomfortable, but surely no more so thantrying to focus on Hopkinson’s slideshow on arcanist law like this? The Arcanaeum is already combining herbs in a flask in the clock tower, starting the heat to brew something to ease the muscle pain.
“Don’t react,” I whisper in his ear.
“Kyrith—” He grunts as I murmur a healing spell too softly for the rest of the class to hear.
The skin of his back stitches together, and North’s stiffness doubles, a hiss of air whistling out from between his teeth. Lambert glances over in concern, noticing with a grimace the white-knuckled grip that his friend has on the arms of his chair.
The rest of the class is oblivious, their attention on Hopkinson as he flicks to the next slide.
“Fuck off,” North growls under his breath. “You’ll just make it worse.”
Jasper jerks, then relaxes as he realises he’s not the target of North’s aggravation. He unerringly pinpoints my location with those warm brown eyes, sending me a secret, welcoming smile.
Surely that was just luck? I suppose I should be grateful that he’s not smiling at the ceiling like a loon. I certainly should not be smiling back.
Reluctantly, I release the magic healing North.
“We’re going to talk about this,” I tell him sternly.
The Ackland heir just rolls his eyes, slumping a little lower in his seat, which I take for acquiescence. Unfortunately, Hopkinson catches the gesture and frowns, pointing directly at their table.
“Northcliff, how about you?”
There’s a guilty pause, where it becomes painfully evident that North wasn’t listening, and Hopkinson huffs.
“Try to pay attention. I was referring, of course, to Necromancy. As the parriarchs are responsible for upholding the lawwithin their own families, they are also the ones responsible for dealing with anyone practising the forbidden school. For this reason, the parriarch isalwaysthe most powerful member of their house.”
I scoff under my breath, because that’s all well and good in theory. If the parriarch is the most powerful arcanist, they should be able to overpower any necromancer. However, the fatal flaw in that plan is that when the parriarchs themselves take up dark magic, no one else can hold them accountable. Few even notice.
The other members of their family could, in theory, group together to deal with them. To my knowledge, that’s never happened.
Yet, I know for a fact that at least six parriarchs have practised it in the past. Statistically, there’s likely more, but most necromancers are only caught when they try to take power for themselves.
Collectively, the parriarchs control all arcandom. The only position more powerful than theirs is that of the rector; a title that’s mainly symbolic and transfers between the families in a fixed cycle. The deterrent of the others has so far prevented any one of them from trying to break that ancient power-sharing agreement.
“Now, necromancy is punishable by…” Hopkinson surveys the room, but one of the students at the front answers without raising his hand.
“Public execution, by magical overload.”
North frowns, scribbling the last two words in his notebook, circling them, and adding a question mark.
“It’s where a parriarch forces so much magic into their body that they’re torn apart,” I advise him sadly. “It’s unpleasant, but it will be your duty once you ascend.”
Beside him, Jasper looks almost queasy at the idea, andLambert won’t even look up from his textbook, but Leo simply sighs, resigned.
