by Eva Chase
She shot me a quick grin with that same gleam in her eyes, and I realized she wasn’t just glad to be back here in the role she’d been born for. She was enjoying introducing me to more of that role too. How many times would she have imagined guiding me to follow in her footsteps even in the two years she’d had me before the joymancers’ attack? And how many times afterward had she mourned that opportunity? No wonder she was excited now.
“That makes sense,” I said to encourage her and to show I was paying attention.
“We also keep records from all our meetings going back through all the pentacles, although digging through the library is more drudgery than anything else,” she went on. “And there’s a store of essential supplies, regularly updated as need be by the staff. This building is meant to serve as a final hold-out if our society ever faces a major attack, to ensure the barons’ safety.”
It was hard for me to imagine some kind of magical war breaking out in this day and age. Maybe it’d been more of a concern in the past, before the mages on both sides had needed to be quite so wary of Nary observation.
She stopped by a room near the end of the hall and pushed the door all the way open. A faintly dusty smell trickled out. The space on the other side held a slim bookshelf with neatly ordered rows, a glass-topped desk with office chairs on either side of it, and an overstuffed armchair that filled one corner.
“This is my office, and it will be yours.” My mother’s gaze took on a distant quality. “I’ll need to reorganize it some. I haven’t had a chance yet. I’m told your grandfather used it from time to time while he was standing baron in our absence, up until his death…”
It hadn’t occurred to me before to really think about how my mother had not just been wrenched away from me but the rest of her family too. She’d missed both of her parents’ deaths during her imprisonment. Lost any chance of last regards.
Whatever she was feeling about that fact, she shook it off a moment later. We walked on to the window at the end of the hall next to the stairs. It gave a view of a broad, fenced field, the grass stirring with the breeze.
“If we’d been here as we should have been, you’d have grown up playing with the other scions out there while the barons talked,” she said. “The joymancers stole that opportunity to bond from you too.” She paused, and her gaze slid to me. “From what I understand, your associations with the heirs of the other families have been rather… intense.”
How much exactly had she heard? I tried to will down my blush, but my cheeks heated a little anyway. “Any problems between us, we’ve worked out,” I said. Except for the current one with Connar, which wasn’t really him but his parents. “As for anything else… I know how the inheritances work. I haven’t been making promises neither of us will want to keep.”
My mother looked satisfied with that answer. Had she enjoyed her own dalliances with the scions of her time when she was younger? Ugh, I didn’t want to think about that.
She turned back to the window. “Our position in this society comes with a lot of responsibilities you won’t be as prepared for. Every fearmancer out there relies on us to make the decisions that will keep our community strong. The barons must show that we’re capable of fulfilling that responsibility with a united front, even if we have our occasional disagreements behind the scenes. That goes for the scions too. Your first loyalty is to the Bloodstones, but your second must be to the four other barons waiting for us up there.”
As she motioned toward the stairs, she started to climb them. I followed with a sinking sensation in my chest. Was she just referring to the small, somewhat public conflict I’d had with Baron Nightwood—or did she know that there’d been other, stealthy conflicts and was blaming them on my own lack of loyalty?
“I understand,” I hedged, waiting to see if she’d go on, maybe to chide me for a specific action I’d taken. When she didn’t, I risked pushing the subject a little farther. “I haven’t had any chance to interact with most of them one way or another so far. I hope they haven’t expressed any concerns about how I’ve handled my time so far at the university.”
“It’s simply something to remember,” my mother said without really addressing the implied question in my comment. “They’ll certainly see who you are now.”
At the top of the stairs, she motioned me to a room a few times larger than the offices downstairs. I slowed as I reached the threshold.
Most of the space was taken up by a circular table etched with a pentacle. Figures were seated at all but one of the five points—Declan, of course, and the man who was an older, colder version of Malcolm, and the two barons I’d never met face to face before.
A prickle of rancor ran through me at the sight of the thin, sharp-faced man with sandy hair who must have been Baron Killbrook, Jude’s supposed father. The man who’d treated Jude like dirt for years over his own decision and now was spying on him with probably malicious intentions. I didn’t feel any friendlier toward the wiry woman with flinty eyes sitting across from him. She’d be Baron Stormhurst, Connar’s mother and the mage currently responsible for addling his mind.
They all smiled at us as my mother came to stand behind the chair at the fifth point on the pentacle. I stopped beside her, forcing myself to smile back, even though I thought I sensed a chill behind three of those expressions.
“You already know the soon-to-be Baron Ashgrave,” my mother said in a light but careful voice. “It’s about time you met Barons Killbrook, Nightwood, and Stormhurst. If not for the efforts of our blacksuits, you might have been sitting among them sooner rather than later.” She set her hand on my shoulder. “Barons, my daughter and scion, Persephone.”
There was something vaguely possessive in both her touch and her tone, as if she were staking a sort of claim over me. Reminding them that I was hers as much as she’d reminded me downstairs to respect the four figures in front of me.
“We’re glad to finally have a proper meeting,” Nightwood said without a hint of emotion. “I’m sure you’ll learn all you need to know to join this table from your mother.”
Declan nodded to me, and Killbrook and Stormhurst offered quiet greetings.
“Thank you for having me attend,” I said awkwardly. “I definitely want to be properly prepared to take that place, even if I’m glad it won’t have to be soon.”
My mother patted my shoulder as if she approved of that sentiment and reached down at the buzz of her phone. “Ah,” she said. “I asked Lillian to come around so we could discuss some matters relating to my incarceration. Persephone, go down and meet her, and let her know I’ll just be a few minutes.”
It was a command, not a request, delivered coolly with the obvious expectation that I’d accept it immediately. I didn’t really want to be in the room with the three barons who’d made my life hell anyway, so I bobbed my head and slipped out without a word. It only occurred to me as I reached the stairs that she’d been making another sort of statement in that moment.
She’d made it clear that I was hers—and then she’d demonstrated her authority over me. I wasn’t sure how much it was for my benefit and how much for the barons, but possibly a little of both. If they’d expressed any concerns about her ability to… discipline me, or whatever, I suspected that gesture was meant to answer those.
Wonderful.
I didn’t have much chance to dwell on that, because as I reached the lower hallway, a staff person was just holding open the door for Lillian. The blacksuit, gracefully powerful with her leonine looks, stalked inside. Her assistant, Maggie, bounded at her heels with a swish of her chocolate brown curls. I went over to greet them, trepidation expanding through my chest.
I didn’t need any more reasons to distrust Lillian. She’d murdered Imogen. She’d set me up to take the fall for that murder. Would her intentions toward me change now that my mother was back?
Maggie I wasn’t sure about. She didn’t seem to act outside of Lillian’s orders often, if at all, but now and then in the last month s
he’d asked me questions and made remarks that felt unexpectedly barbed. I wasn’t sure whether she’d simply realized my intentions were at odds with her employer’s or she had some other hostile agenda. Or maybe I’d just gotten paranoid considering how many other people had turned out to be looking to squash me.
“My mother said she’ll be down in a few minutes,” I said to Lillian with a smile I couldn’t stop from feeling stiff. A different sort of uneasiness tremored through me as I reached her.
I’d promised Mr. Wakeburn I’d bring his daughter’s murderer to justice if I could. Here she was right in front of me. I didn’t have the faintest idea how I could go about it from there.
Well, I had this moment with her to myself. Maybe Lillian could tip me off without even knowing I’d use the knowledge against her.
“What do you think of the place?” she asked me.
“Hard to believe I’ll be working here someday myself,” I said with a little laugh. “Um, before my mother comes down, could I ask you a couple things?”
Lillian cocked her head. I felt Maggie studying me from just behind her. “Of course. What about?” the blacksuit asked.
I scrambled for a plausible excuse. “I just—you know how the students at Blood U are.” I rolled my eyes for effect. “I’m still working on making sure my dorm room is as secure as possible and all that. I was wondering—is there any magical technique that would let me detect who’s been in a specific space before, in the past? Even what time they were there?”
Lillian rubbed her jaw as she considered. “If they left some sort of trace, like a hair or even some flakes of skin, you’d be able to establish their presence and identify them from that. It’d be difficult to tell the timing with any accuracy unless it was very recent, though.”
Okay, scratch that possibility. I couldn’t imagine Lillian would have been careless enough to leave any sign of her presence at the murder scene anyway, and the maintenance staff had cleaned the dorm room thoroughly since then.
“Okay, good to know,” I said. “What about—if you know a specific spell was cast in a room, is there any way to tell who cast it?”
“You should be learning about caster identification in your classes,” Lillian said with a raise of one eyebrow. “Surely they’re covering that still.”
The basic concept had come up at least once, just not in any way that was useful to me. “Oh, yeah, of course. For a spell that’s currently active. I mean if the spell is already over. Like, if someone cast something in my room last week, would there be any lingering traces of that I should be able to pick up somehow to figure out the caster?”
Lillian’s lips pursed as she shook her head. “Unfortunately, once the energy dissipates, it fades very quickly. It’d certainly make our jobs in the blacksuits a lot easier if we could work with magic that way.” She gave me a thoughtful look. “Have your classmates been harassing you excessively? If you need some sort of intervention—”
I held up my hands quickly. “Oh, no, it’s nothing that extreme, and nothing I can’t deal with. I’m just figuring out the most effective way how. Believe me, most people have realized it’s better not to mess with the heir of Bloodstone.”
Lillian grinned at that, and footsteps sounded on the stairs behind us. I couldn’t think of anything else to ask in the last moments before my mother joined us. I stepped to the side, my chest tight.
I’d only promised Imogen’s dad that I’d do what I could, not that I’d definitely be able to help him. But even so, I couldn’t help feeling I was failing him.
Chapter Nine
Jude
In the past few days, I’d gotten in the habit of making some of my jaunts across campus in short dashes followed by a leisurely stroll. I tried to fit those in when there weren’t many spectators around, but anyone who spotted me probably thought I’d been hitting the bottle a little too hard again.
That was fine with me. My fellow students could think whatever they wanted. I just wanted to know whether my recent chat with my not-actual-father had gotten him off my back.
I lingered now for a moment outside Ashgrave Hall, watching to see if any concealed stalker would hustle over to see where I’d gone when I’d made my hasty way to the green. It should be easier to see through an illusionary disguise when the person behind it was moving quickly.
Nothing blurred or shimmered around the area I’d passed through, even when I watched from the edge of my vision. Either “Dad” had decided to back off for now… or his lackeys had figured out better tricks. I wasn’t sure whether the lack of an obvious pursuer made me feel better or worse. Maybe I shouldn’t have confronted him or his underling after all.
It was done now, though, so I’d just have to live with the uncertainty. I took one more surreptitious scan around and headed into the scion lounge.
Declan and Malcolm were already there, Malcolm glowering at the pool table as if it’d challenged his status on campus somehow and Declan sitting in one of the armchairs reading something on his phone. The Ashgrave scion lowered the device as soon as I came in, and Malcolm sauntered over from the table to drop into the other chair. I tipped my head as I considered the vacant sofa.
“We’re not looping Rory in on this meeting?”
“Her mother wanted to have dinner with her,” Declan said. “Besides, she’s been through enough stress in the last month. There isn’t much she can do for Connar while he’s set off just by the sight of her. If we can figure out a way to snap him out of that spell without her needing to be involved, we should do that.”
“And we should snap him out of it sooner rather than later,” Malcolm said. “Man, the way he snapped yesterday…” He grimaced.
“It’s not going to be easy.” Declan sat a little straighter with that authoritative air he put on so easily. “His parents obviously worked protections into the spell itself so that he’ll defend himself—and it—against any interference.”
I flopped onto the sofa, wishing the firm cushions were airy enough to swallow me up. My fingers itched for a glass, but I didn’t really want a buzz right now. I drummed them on the arm instead. “If we can’t pick it apart directly, then what can we do? I don’t really fancy getting into a wrestling match with the guy.”
“If we could manage to convince him that we really are trying to help him, maybe his own mind could overcome some of the effects of the spell,” Malcolm said. “You can fight persuasive effects.”
“But you can’t magically persuade someone to do or think the opposite of another persuasive spell that’s already working on them,” Declan said.
“And he’s not likely to give you a shot at cracking into his head any time soon after yesterday.” I waved toward Malcolm. “You’ve always been the most buddy-buddy with him. If anyone’s going to talk him down the regular way, it’d be you.”
I liked Connar all right, and it was excruciating watching him treat Rory in ways I knew he’d have hated if he’d been in his right mind, but we’d never been close. I had too much wary respect for that temper of his and the muscle mass he could bring to bear with it.
“I’ll see what I can do.” The Nightwood scion glanced at Declan. “We might be able to at least moderate some of the effects of the spell. Tackling them directly might not work, but if we could plant our own spells in his room or somewhere else he’ll be near regularly to encourage him to be calmer in general, or to want to reach out to friends—something like that, it should still take hold, shouldn’t it?”
“To some extent. I suspect the current spell will override any of those effects in the moment, so that’ll only do us good for approaching him in a more round-about way.” Declan’s expression turned thoughtful. “I’ll see what I can come up with that might ease along your attempts to reconcile.”
It didn’t sound as though there was a whole lot for me to contribute. No surprise. I’d always been more the comic relief than anything else among the scions. It was easier that way, anyway. Fewer chances for them to notice that
my skills weren’t actually on par with their own.
“I’ll look into illusionary distraction techniques,” I said, since I did want to make myself slightly useful. The sooner we were all back on Rory’s side, the better for the whole pentacle of scions, especially her. “There might be a way I can interrupt the effects of the spell at least partially.”
Declan nodded. “Good idea.” He considered me for a moment, with an intentness that made my skin twitch. Before I could throw out a quip to break whatever train of thought he was on, he drew in a breath. “I’m wondering if we have to worry about threats from more than just the Stormhursts. It came up at one of the recent baron meetings that you’ve moved off of the Killbrook properties to your own apartment, Jude.”
Damn it. Now I wanted to crawl right out of my skin. I settled for sinking as deep into the sofa as I could, which wasn’t very far. “You know my father and I have never gotten along very well. I was tired of his attitude. Why shouldn’t I have my own space?”
“That’s fucking ridiculous,” Malcolm said hotly. I was about to bristle in my defense when he added, “You’re his son and his heir. He can’t just drive you out. How the hell does he expect to ease you into the barony like that?”
He doesn’t, I thought, holding my tongue tight, but at the same time a waft of relieved surprise hit me. Malcolm wasn’t upset at me; he was pissed off at Baron Killbrook for how he treated me. Of course, he’d probably change his tune if he knew the real reasons my “father” didn’t want me around.
“I got the impression that might be part of the problem,” Declan said. “You have a sibling on the way, don’t you? Has he threatened to cut you out of the barony?”
“He hasn’t said that much to me,” I said, which was true. “I wouldn’t put him past it, though.”
“What?” Malcolm’s hands clenched on the arms of his chair. “You’ve been part of the pentacle your whole life. He brought you up for this, and now he’s going to tear it away from you? For a kid that’s not even born? Maybe someone should check him over for mind-altering enchantments.”