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“What exactly are we looking for?” I ask, leaning over the desk next to him.
A faint whiff of a scent like mingled citrus and mint reaches my nose, both tart and cool. Fitting for the man himself.
Alek keeps paging through the book, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “From what I recall from past readings, the one time magical suppression was commonly used was in the old monarch trials.”
I frown. “The monarch trials?” That’s one bit of information I haven’t stumbled on myself.
He nods absently. “Before the Great Retribution and Darium’s imposing of their empire, Silana’s rulership wasn’t entirely hereditary. When a king or queen died, their successor had to go through a series of challenges to prove themselves worthy to the people and the gods. If they failed, others could step up to vie for the throne.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That sounds like a fairer way of doing things than just handing it over to the next in line automatically. Why did they stop?”
“It was rather barbaric. Some of the trials could get quite… bloody, and sometimes perfectly good candidates weren’t able to take the crown because of injuries sustained. And I suppose it was simpler for Darium to control the monarchy when it was handled in a more straight-forward fashion.”
“Darium hasn’t ruled here in nearly a century,” I point out.
Alek hums thoughtfully. “There’s something to be said for simplicity of inheritance even for ourselves. King Melchior did prove his worth by regaining our freedom from Emperor Vitus. And the Melchioreks don’thaveto pass on the crown to the next in line genetically. They use their best judgment, and the country does just fine without any violent challenges.”
I don’t know if I’d say that all of Silana is doing “just fine.” But then, who knows if the rulers who won the throne through bloody trials were any kinder to their poorest citizens?
Alek stops and trails his fingers across a particular page. The ink has faded, and the handwriting style—from before printing presses like Da’s had been invented—is more ornate than I’m used to, but I can read it well enough to determine that this page is talking about a feat of “might.”
“Here.” Alek taps a spot near the bottom of the page. “For one particular challenge, they wanted to be sure the feat was accomplished through strength of will and body rather than anything magical. The prospective monarch ingested a specific herb… They call it “pipe fleece” here, but I’ve never heard of that plant before.”
Pipe fleece. My spirits leap. The name is unfamiliar to me too, but it’s a start.
“It’s probably a common name, like some people call volhana ‘pig’s lip.’ You’ve never run into it before?”
Alek shakes his head. “It mustn’t have been used often—the herb or the name. But botany is far from my specialty. And we don’t have that many records that survived both the Great Retribution and the empire’s purges.”
I straighten up. “I might be able to find out more—maybe even get my hands on some of the stuff. There are people I can ask.”
“If you give me their names—”
I shoot him a pointed look. “I mean people who are a lot more likely to talk freely with someone on their level than with a noble. Let me handle this. It’s one thing I’m actually better equipped to do than any of you.”
I must have gained a small measure of respect from the scholar during our search, because he tips his head in acknowledgment rather than arguing.
Alek hefts the book in his slim arms. “Even if you can find it, we don’t know how effective it actually was or how we’d get it to the right people without interfering with the rest of the school too severely. But the others might have some—”
“Don’t mention it to the others yet,” I break in.
His gaze jerks to me. “Why not?”
Because I don’t want anyone else speculating about that particular goal of mine.
The answer I give out loud sounds feebler than I like. “You just said we have no idea if it’d work—and I don’t even know if I can find it. Better not to waste anyone’s time thinking about it until we’ve sorted the first part out, right?”
Alek studies me for a few beats longer than I’m totally comfortable with. I make myself hold his gaze.
His lips purse, and whatever warmth I caught a glimpse of vanishes behind his shuttered eyes. “Fine. But I expect to hear about it as soon as you’ve discovered anything.”
He strides onward, leaving me wondering how I’ve managed to offend him now. And just how much I should regret it.
I trail behind him. “Where are you going?”
“There’s one thing I wanted to double-check in regards to scourge sorcery practices. I have managed to find a few accounts of their rituals that were missed in more general volumes of—”
His voice cuts off abruptly. I hurry over to find him pawing through the books strewn haphazardly across a shelf.
