Watching the vein in his temple pulse at the refusal is satisfying.
“You’re refusing to cooperate with the parriarchy?”
“On the contrary,” I reply, gliding away. “I would have had no issue helping you apprehend someone, had you come alone, approached the desk, and sought my assistance as your people have in the past. However, this display of hostility within the Arcanaeum’s walls will not be tolerated.”
“The suspect killed a parriarch,” he objects. “The circumstances necessitated extra precautions.”
That freezes me in place…
The last time a parriarch was murdered was… Magic, it must’ve been some sixty years ago. A crime of passion, if I remember rightly. Didn’t his wife stab him in his sleep?
“Who?” I ask before I can stop myself.
It’s only natural that I should need to know. The Arcanaeum will be dealing with the parriarch’s replacement for years to come.
Of the six, Josef, Abe, and Isidora are in their prime. Halinor is older, but far from an easy target. Artemius Ó RinnI could see dying of natural causes, given his age, but he’s malicious enough that any attempt to murder him would be risky.
Georgina Winthrop isn’t as strong as the others, but she spends a lot of time and effort on alliances and pandering to her supporters’ ideals of adept superiority. Popularity can be its own shield, but who can really trust one’s friends? I shrink a little as I imagine telling Lambert that his aunt is dead, then deflate as I imagine him as a parriarch.
He’s not a magister yet, so there’ll be a few years where a vicegerent will have to take care of things on his behalf, but?—
The Arcanaeum tugs my attention to the vault, to a brand-new grimoire already shelved and catalogued, and I realise my mistake. No. It wasn’t Georgina.
“Josef Ackland,” Michael confirms with cool martial brutality. “His heir, Northcliff, is wanted for his murder.”
Ten
Northcliff
The letters on the textbook start rearranging themselves while I’m sitting in class, half-listening to Hopkinson. I stop gingerly prodding my ribs, squeeze my eyes shut, and then open them again. At first, I worry that something Josef did during training rattled my brain, then I realise it’s just the Library fucking with me again.
I wish it could make itself known without making me think I’ve developed some kind of eye problem.
“Hey, Lambert,” I mutter under my breath, elbowing him. “What are enforcers?”
I swivel my book in his direction, and he frowns down at the now mostly blank page.
“Enforcers waiting for you at the front door,” he reads aloud. “Erm, dude…that’s not good.”
Jasper grimaces. “Nae shit.”
Leo facepalms, slipping his grimoire free of the stupid holster and letting the pages flip open. He mumblessome shit I don’t understand, but when he stands and beckons for the three of us to follow him, no one else even glances up.
Are we invisible? God, that spell would be useful for sneaking away from Josef whenever he turns up demanding to kick my ass in the name of education. Usually at the asscrack of dawn, like this morning.
I poke my ribs again as we slip out of the classroom. Breathing hurts. Shit. I hope they’re not broken. I wish I could’ve let Kyrith heal me, but Josef laid into me the last time I came back undamaged. I can only imagine how he’ll take it when he realises the slash across my back—which I earned when I tried to walk away from him this morning—is gone.
My head pounds, a toxic mix of anger and guilt cracking behind my ribs all over again. Josef knows all my buttons and exactly how to press them. He was talking shit about my mum and dad—my real dad, the one who stepped in and raised me. The wanker should’ve considered himself lucky that I chose to walk away rather than throttle him.
One day, I’ll kill him for what he did to our family. Unfortunately, all of my attempts so far have failed.
Leo clears his throat, the sound loud in the empty Rotunda. “Enforcers are like our version of the inept police; except they don’t deal with shite like parking fines. If you’re on their radar, it’s for necromancy or mass murder?—”
“Or killing a parriarch.”
Kyrith appears right in my face without warning, and I take a step back without meaning to.
“Argh! What the?—”
