I can only hope Kyrith and I managed to cram enough spells into his pea brain for him to escape unscathed.
If not, well…I won’t lose sleep.
There’s always a powerful arcanist willing to step into the position of heir. The next one might know more than some clueless liminal Josef snatched off the street.
We reach the lavatories, and Benny’s pace slows. “You haven’t done anything that I should know about before we return to the Arcanaeum, have you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Lying to your elders is a sin, Pierce.”
It’s also a waste of time. I swear he reads me so easilysometimes. “I challenged her to a duel and got my ass kicked for my trouble. That’s all, I promise.”
My grandfather’s snort lashes my already bruised pride, and he wastes no time lifting his hand to knock quietly on the door.
“Ad Arcanaeum,” he whispers, passing through and then holding the door for me with an obliging wave of his hand.
The Library admits us into a small, cramped room I don’t recognise. It’s stacked high with papers and books and completely lacking in windows, forcing us to rely on a handful of wisplights for illumination.
Kyrith is perched against the over-burdened desk, three delicate teacups and a matching floral teapot waiting on a tray in the air beside her. Is it my imagination, or is she dressed more casually today? The pastel dress clings to her curves in ways I shouldn’t notice, but I do.
“You’re early,” she comments, as the hair-prickling sensation of wards rising skitters up my spine.
The teapot lifts, then delicately pours its steaming contents into the waiting cups without prompting.
“Librarian, you’re looking lovely as ever.” Benny sweeps forward, holding his hand out for hers and pressing a kiss to the back of it even though she’s careful to keep to her ghost form.
Kyrith nods, accepting the compliment without fuss. “I am much recovered, thanks to your deception.”
“Ah, am I not yet forgiven for my part in that?”
One delicate, feminine brow rises in a way that has me tensing. My mother’s brow does the same thing when she’s about to unleash her most vitriolic comebacks.
Kyrith, however, simply sighs. “Your publication was invaluable in restoring Mr McKinley to full health. That spoke a lot to your character, if not your grandson’s.”
My jaw clenches as I accept the cup and saucer thatfloat to me, but I say nothing. I know my place, unlike the others. A good heir doesn’t interrupt their betters when they’re having a conversation that could change the fate of arcandom.
“Fortunately, then, I have another gift for you,” Benny concludes, pulling a large tome from his jacket and handing it to her.
“This is John Ackland’s treatise on stasis spells,” she murmurs, her hair falling around her face and hiding her expression as she strokes the cover.
“Which concludes that the suspension of all bodily systems is impossible to achieve, because the power required would drain any arcanist who attempted it, just like all time spells. John went on to conclude that ‘Messing with temporal states is messing with the fundamental laws of the universe,’ and thus well beyond the ability of mere mortals.” Benny quotes from memory with a soft smile. “A pity he didn’t consider the magical potential of a building enriched with the lives of dozens of sacrificed liminals when making his hypothesis.”
Kyrith has frozen, as have I.
“Sacrificed liminals?” I choke out the words.
“Ah, forgive me, Librarian. My grandson doesn’t know.” Benny turns to me, face unusually grave as he explains. “Dozens, if not hundreds, of liminals were sacrificed here in the early centuries. The parriarchs justified it as a way of fortifying the Arcanaeum, binding magic to the building to create a well that could be used for its defence should our people be threatened by inepts again. The first parriarchs may have had noble intentions, but by the time Mathias and his fellow necromancers took over, it had become a convenient source of power for them to draw from whenever they wished. It gave them sufficient magic to prolong their lives and assert their positions of power. The Librarian was the last such sacrifice.”
“How do you know that?” she presses.
Benny’s lip quirks. “I heard enough of Matty’s rants during our ill-fated time together. The night of your intended sacrifice and his resulting banishment has been a source of many bitter tirades over the years.”
“How terrible it must’ve been for him,” Kyrith mutters, though there’s little heat in her voice.
She seems…distracted. It’s hard to place the emotions running across her face, because I’m still working through the knowledge that Kyrith was just one of dozens of sacrificed liminals.
I’m not surprised. Mathias has assuredly done worse in the years since, but thinking about the pretty ghost before me as an innocent girl at the mercy of the lich isn’t exactly…pleasant. Nor is the sad, melancholy look that passes over her face as she stares into the corner of the room, lost in thought.
