Worse, I’ve seen its likeness before.
“Runeform degeneration.” I gather the strength to push up onto my knees, examining it properly. “It’s more common in?—”
“Transmutationists,” Lambert finishes for me. “When their runeforms go too long without being used, and they split.”
I shouldn’t be shocked that he knows that. It makes sense. At least he got the tattoos on his body knowing what might happen to them one day.
“Leo is twenty-six.” I sigh. “And who knows how many generations removed from the original victim of the ensorcellment? That’s a long time for magic to exist in a body.”
If anything, we’re lucky that the anti-tamper mechanismwasn’t similarly affected. Sure, it had changed, but it hadn’t split intofourdifferent runeforms.
The books arcanists use as grimoires are made of old-style paper—handmade using linen fibres—and reinforced with preservative magic. Thus, there are grimoires in the vault that are hundreds of years old and still perfectly usable.
Unlike paper, the cells of a living being shed, mutate, and age. Telomeres shorten. The dermis is renewed monthly—faster still in children. All of these changes make the body an unreliable binding medium for magic. Unless spells inked into the skin are used regularly, the runeform can become warped by the natural process of ageing.
The Arcanaeum isn’t frozen like I am. It conjures a pen and paper, beginning a detailed sketch of the four interconnected red glyphs. Good. I have a horrible feeling Leo will not react well to this news. At least if I have a copy, I can work on it while he comes to terms with this.
“Did it work?” he slurs.
I fall back onto my heels, not wanting to be caught with my face inches from his chest.
“Yeah.” Lambert tries for an upbeat expression and mostly succeeds. Only the faint worry lines around his eyes and the tremble at the end of the word give him away.
Leo doesn’t notice. Even though his eyes are still blinking open, his whole body eases at the news.
Magic. He’s smiling, and it’s a true smile, the kind that lights him up and turns him from attractive into devastatingly handsome. It’s the exact mirror of the grin that graces his brother’s face daily. Stunning, and yet heartbreakingly ephemeral.
Because, of course, the first thing he does is look down at his chest, and turn to stone.
Seventeen
Kyrith
The Arcanaeum manages to finish the sketch just as he bolts out of the chair.
“What the feck is this?” he demands.
I don’t think he really wants an answer, so I stay silent. Leo is smart enough to know about degeneration. Clever enough to put the pieces together.
Lambert opens his mouth to say something, and I do my best to silence him with a quelling glare before he finds himself on the receiving end of Leo’s emotional outbursts. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.
“Dude, it’s okay. I mean, yeah, it’s a little more complicated than we thought it would be, but Kyrith’s already copied it down. I’m sure when you two nerds put your heads together, you’ll figure it out, just like you did with the last one.”
I brace for Leo’s answering outburst, but it never comes. The Ó Rinn heir takes a deep breath, then deliberately unclenches his jaw before jerking his head down.
“We’re already one step closer than anyone has ever been to getting rid of this thing,” he finally says. “Thank you, Kyrie.”
Warmth creeps up my neck to my cheeks, and I turn away. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t,” Lambert corrects. “She burned her hands—badly—and she collapsed after. She needs to eat something before she does anything else.”
Leo’s gaze dips, and his disquiet is plain in the ticking of the muscle above his jaw as he looks at the reddened skin of my palms.
“Feck. We should cancel your tutoring?—”
“Hardly necessary.” I push to my feet at last, ignoring the way Lambert shifts to shadow me in case I fall a second time. “I am perfectly all right.”
Much better now that Storm Leo has apparently been averted.
