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Seeing him banter with his pupils in his usual confident way only drives home how much his demeanor has changed with me. In the last day and a half, I’ve barely gotten more than grunts and brusque remarks—when he bothers to acknowledge my presence at all.
Of course, the alternative would be meeting the hangman, so I can’t really complain.
The ringing of the palace bell—the smaller substitute while a proper new one is being constructed to replace the one the daimon broke—marks the turn of the hour and the end of the Field Strategy lecture. As the students get to their feet, Stavros catches my eye. His expression tenses just slightly, but he gives me a small nod.
He informed me of the afternoon’s schedule—curtly and coldly—this morning. He’s off to check with the king’s people about their progress in their own investigations, and I’m speaking with Alek to get the low-down on the bug club before our usual larger meeting.
It took about a half hour of arguing the other night before Stavros conceded that my plan to infiltrate the conspiracy is a good one. For all the same reasons I could have cajoled the bug club members into thinking I might be a kindred soul, I’m the only one of us who’s unknown enough at the school that Ster. Torstem might believe I’d go all in on the scourge sorcery thing.
He’s telling his followers to watch for ideal candidates. So I need to find out whose attention I should be catching.
I follow the stream of students into the hall. Their chatter is more subdued than usual, many gazes darting nervously at a rasp from down the hall that turns out to merely be another professor adjusting the position of his desk.
The daimon haven’t stirred up any more trouble since my confrontation with Wendos. When I step out into the early afternoon light in the inner courtyard, the corner of the Quadring I watched fall to pieces two days ago looks startlingly solid. You’d almost think it never fell.
But we all know it did. And most of the students don’t even understand why.
I assume everyone else is somewhat comforted by the greater number of soldiers now patrolling the campus, sometimes with a cleric in tow. The sight of the blue uniforms makes my skin crawl.
No one’s come for me yet. No one’s realized I lied about what happened in the All-Giver’s tower.
I’m safe as long as the three men who do know my secret keep believing they’re better off with the riven monster alive than dead.
Entering the Domi, I smooth my hands down my skirt. It’s hard to take any pleasure in the feel of the turquoise silk, even though I’ve come to think of this as my favorite gown. Wearing it now feels even more like a charade than when I first laced it up.
But it’s perfectly designed for my needs, thanks to Casimir’s thoughtfulness. The layers of fabric that rustle around my legs overlap to conceal slits at the sides of my thighs, allowing quick access to the knives strapped over the divided underskirt beneath.
I left my favorite knife behind in the tower. I’m not even sure where it ended up after Wendos yanked it out of his shoulder. Stavros didn’t give me a chance to poke around the scene of my crime.
Students are coming and going from the main library entrance with a couple of soldiers watching over them. I stride by with the best haughty noble air I can summon, as if my nerves aren’t jangling with apprehension.
A couple with their arms twined hustles past me from the corridor of tapestries, their faces flushed in a way that makes me suspect they were using the quiet passage for a hasty tryst. As long as they’re not in my way, I’m not going to judge.
When I’m sure no one’s in sight, I slip down the conjured stairs into the archive room.
I’m not at all surprised to find Alek already sitting at the desk, scrawling on a piece of paper with a quill. The scholar is ever dedicated to his work—whether his studies or our investigations together.
He glances up, and his stance tenses for an instant at my arrival. Then he forces a quick smile. “I’ve made a lot of progress with the entomology club. You should be well-informed about Ster. Torstem’s people when we’re done here.”
“Perfect.” I walk over, pretending I haven’t noticed his discomfort at my presence. But when I grasp the back of one of the chairs to pull it over beside him, his posture stiffens again.
My fingers curl around the carved wood as a thread of loss coils around my stomach. Just days ago, Alek was grinning through our schemes together and gathering me in his arms when he thought I was wounded.
I swallow thickly. “If you’d feel better about it, I can sit on the other side of the desk. Keep my distance.”
Julita lets out a huff.He’d better not be an ass about it. Stavros is bad enough.
Alek blinks at me. His mask conceals most of his reaction, but his mouth slants as if he’s chagrined. “I—no, it’s fine. It’ll be easier for us to go over the information together if I’m not constantly having to flip the pages around.”
I don’t move. “You don’t have to act as if you’re okay with… with me. I can understand why you’d feel uneasy.”
It’s the first time we’ve been alone together since he found out what I am. Alek spoke up for including me because he believes at least one of the godlen approves and because I’ve been useful, but that doesn’t mean he loves the idea of having a riven sorcerer hanging around.
I’m still alive, I remind myself. I have that. Just that is more than I should have hoped for.
Alek looks at the papers in front of him and then at me again. “You said you haven’t used any magic in years—not until Esmae attacked you,” he says abruptly. “Are you sure nothing ever slipped through, maybe without you even meaning it to?”
Is he worried I worked my riven power on him in some way?
