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Benedikt pipes up. “I’d say she has a point.”
Stavros sinks into one of the chairs and sprawls out his legs. “Think away. But I do have a staff meeting where I’ll be missed happening in an hour.”
“Wonderful,” I mutter. Why am I even considering their scheme? I should walk out of here like I intended and put as much distance between me and the whole college as—
A vibration passes through the air, so faint I don’t think any of the men pick up on it. The sense of it quivers through my broken soul.
But they couldn’t fail to notice the cracking sound or the spidery line that abruptly splits through two of the stones lining the unplastered basement walls between two of the shelving units. A rain of fine dust and a few pebbles drizzle onto the floor.
Benedikt shudders. “Those damned daimon.”
“They can’t help it,” Casimir says. “They’re unsettled—even more than we are.”
Alek’s expression has tensed. “It’s only going to get worse as the scoundrels get bolder with their sorcery. We can’t know how long it’ll take before the godlen themselves realize. They can’t pay close attention to every single gift they dole out across the continent, but if those gifts start being used to challenge their divine power, it won’t escape their notice for long.”
The scholar’s gaze fixes on me. “Helping us will be a sacrifice, but how is it not worth it? Do you really want to find out how the godlen will judge you if they discover that you could have stood in the way and didn’t?”
If he thinks the threat of godly punishment is going to sway me, he couldn’t be farther from the mark. If they ever pay that much attention to me, I’m toast for reasons already long established.
But his words shake loose something else inside me, like a crack splitting down my center to let a small glow of unexpected hope seep through.
Itwouldbe a sacrifice.
A huge one. I’d pretty much be giving my whole life over to preventing a catastrophe that both offends the gods and could destroy thousands of innocent people.
If I pull it off… If I make myself the key to exposing the conspiracy and seeing the despicable sorcerers brought to justice, while risking my neck the whole time…CouldI walk into the Temple of the Crown and ask for a blessing?
Would the godlen believe I’d earned the boon of having my soul healed, my magic wiped away, and my past crimes forgiven?
I’ve never imagined there was any way I could fully absolve myself even in my own conscience. This—this is an opportunity that doesn’t come along in most people’s lifetimes.
I’m never going to be another Signy, brandishing my sword on a mountaintop against the forces of oppression. But I can play hero just like I can play noble, right?
And as heroes go, playing is essentially the same as being if I can manage to see the task through.
My mind darts to the realities of the life I would be leaving behind. The dark attic with scraps of fabric for a bed. The constant wariness as I roam the streets.
There’s my makeshift family of the fringes too, but I’ll be serving them even better if I prevent another retribution than by tossing a few coins their way.
A swell of resolve rushes up inside me. I wet my lips and push the words out before I lose my nerve.
“All right. I’m in.”
Eleven
It takes me approximately five minutes to start regretting my boldness. Right at the point when Stavros shoves open the door he’s led me to on the fourth floor of the Domi and says, “These are my quarters. You’ll be staying here.”
My mouth opens and closes and opens again. “What? Assistants don’t get their own rooms?”
I’m going to be living in the same space as the man who’s hunted people like me?
He ushers me inside with a tap of my back that I dart forward to escape. We step into a living space about the same size as the common room Julita shared with nine other students.
The space is laid out with a sofa and two armchairs around a hearth, an expansive marlwood desk surrounded by matching bookshelves, a small but elegant dining table with four chairs around it, and a cabinet that holds several expensive-looking liquor bottles.
A tiny private shrine to Sabrelle stands in the corner, the table laid with a scarlet cloth. A wooden carving placed in the middle shows a stallion and a stag holding up the godlen of warfare and might’s sharply curving sigil.
I’ll be keeping far away from that.
