by Eva Chase
Rory
For mages who often objected to being characterized as villains, the fearmancers sure had a lot of material in their library on the various strategies for dispatching people you didn’t happen to like. Whatever they might say about questionable things joymancers had done, I doubted the Conclave library had dozens of manuals of destruction.
I was paging through my fifth volume of the afternoon, several more stacked beside me, when a lean figure swooped in and plucked the top book off the pile.
“Hmm,” Jude said, propping himself against the shelves opposite me as he flipped to the table of contents. “This looks very ominous. Suddenly I’m not so sure I want to be spending any more time in moving vehicles with you, Ice Queen.”
I rolled my eyes as I looked up at him. “Don’t worry. So far I’ve decided you’re useful enough that I’ll keep you around.”
“Ah, but what terrible fate will befall me when you no longer need my oh-so-generous instruction? So many terrifying options. An enchanted blade? Suicide by Persuasion? A portal into an endless void?” He considered me with mock seriousness. “You don’t really seem the void type, I’ll admit.”
I held out my hand for the book. “Is that even really a thing, or did you just make that up?”
“Maybe a little of both. It depends on how you interpret the material.” He tossed the book to me and eyed the rest of the stack. “No, really, dear heir of Bloodstone, what the hell are you plotting tucked away back here?”
I was tucked away in the back of the aisle because I liked it better here than sitting at the tables out in clearer view. Just yesterday, I’d had yet another of the senior guys attempt to impress me into dating him, this one by toppling a group of juniors with a miniature earthquake. I wasn’t sure which was worse—that, or the increasingly nervous reactions I was getting from quite a few of the other students whenever they saw me.
I’d had another bad episode this morning, shouting and tearing up the sketchpad I’d bought last time I was in town. Word about the Bloodstone scion’s volatility was clearly starting to spread.
“Maybe I didn’t want to get asked a whole bunch of questions about my reading material,” I said, giving Jude a pointed look. “Also, as you of all people should be able to figure out, who says I’m reading this stuff for offensive use and not for defense?”
Jude hunkered down on the carpeted floor across from me, stretching out his legs to rest just a few inches shy of mine. We’d come into fairly close contact here and there during the three driving lessons he’d given me so far, but only when absolutely necessary. The rest of the time he’d kept a carefully considered distance.
I still wasn’t sure what exactly he was after from me, but at the very least, I really had been getting the hang of driving with his help, and he hadn’t done anything horrible during that time. I’d actually found myself almost looking forward to seeing him when I’d gone out to the garage yesterday, which maybe was a little terrifying in itself. There was something about his don’t-give-a-shit attitude—ever present other than that one lapse when I’d peeked inside his head—that made all the other problems I needed to tackle seem smaller.
“I’ll admit this school isn’t free of idiots,” he said. “I may have informed many of those people of their deficiencies in the past. But I doubt there’s anyone here quite idiotic enough to try anything in those books on you.”
“Why not?” I said abruptly. A question had been creeping up in the back of my mind as I’d skimmed through the books, and Jude was as good a person to ask it as any. He was here, and, well, if I trusted him at all, it was to give me an answer without sugar-coating the way Imogen or Banefield or, heck, even Declan might have. “I’m the last living Bloodstone. What happens if someone does decide to murder me?”
Jude’s casual grin faded. “Deep dark thoughts in the deep dark depths of the library?”
“It seems like an important thing to know, as someone who’d rather take precautions against getting murdered if I need to.”
“No one will try,” he said, so matter-of-factly and firmly I believed he believed it. “It wouldn’t be to anyone’s advantage unless you really, really piss them off and they also happen to be extremely good at magic to cover their tracks. We tend to be a practical lot. Violence for gain. All anyone’s going to gain from offing you is a death sentence for themselves for killing a baron.”
I rested my current book against my raised knees. “From what I’ve heard, that hasn’t stopped other barons from being murdered before.”
Jude hummed. “Lines of inheritance. If you can get away with it and you’re next in line, some will take that risk. But you don’t have any next in line. It’s just you. If you’re gone…” He snapped his fingers. “The heart of Bloodstone power will leap into whatever fearmancer it deems most worthy.”
Interesting. I’d rather have found out I was immortal until I had my own heir or something, but I’d take that explanation as well. “And what’s to stop it from jumping into my theoretical murderer?”
“Nothing. It’s just an awfully big gamble to make. The few times people talk about a final heir having been killed in the past, the person the heart picked wasn’t at all who anyone would have expected. Even if you do really piss someone off, they’d have no guarantee that getting rid of you wouldn’t land them with someone who pissed them off even more.”
Yeah, I could see how that factor could work in my favor. So, my life should be fairly secure. All the things I cared about in that life… not so much.
“Hey, enough with the morbid thoughts. Bring on the sunshine and sparkles.” Jude clapped his hands with a smirk. He must have cast a spell in his last comment, because an illusion rose up, so solid I might have thought it was a physical conjuring if I hadn’t known his preferred area of expertise.
The pages of the book I was holding glowed, and a flurry of butterflies burst forth, their wings tickling my hair as they whirled around me. My gaze latched onto one for long enough to see Jude had gifted it with humanoid eyes and a mouth that stuck its tongue out at me. Another wiggled its body in a wobbly jig, its ass waving this way and that, before winking at me.
A snort escaped me. I covered my mouth to muffle a laugh that might have brought the librarian over to shush me. Mission accomplished, anyway. It was hard to think dire thoughts about my mortality when faced with cheeky dancing butterflies.
Jude wiped his hands together with a satisfied smile that beamed brighter when I met his eyes. The illusion vanished with the motion of his hand.
“Much better. I’ll tell you what, Ice Queen. From what I’ve seen, anyone who really tries to mess with you will probably regret it.” He paused and tapped his chin. “Unless saving yourself requires driving more than half a mile. Then you might be in trouble.”
I gave him a light kick in the shin. “If that happens, it’ll be your failing as a teacher.”
“Oh, and now the natural fearmancer aggression comes out.” He winked at me much like his butterfly had and pushed himself back to his feet. “Let’s see if we can make it a mile next time.”
He sauntered off, leaving me sitting there with a strange fizzing sensation in my chest, not exactly eager but not exactly uncomfortable either. He couldn’t have known what I’d planned for my next class, but his interruption had given me a boost in confidence.
Damn right, no one had better mess with me. Malcolm had gotten away with too much already. Now I was going to mess with him right back.
My resolve continued humming through me as I walked to Nightwood Tower for my Persuasion seminar. If I’d had easy access, it was Connar’s head I’d most want to open up. Physiological ailments were the domain of Physicality, and he had a family history of removing unwanted people using that sort of magic. But I’d also never seen Connar use the kind of spells that would give me a chance to slip past any shields he had up.
I didn’t really know him, as much as I’d started to feel I did. I had no idea how to provoke him in the
right direction… and the thought of finding out what he might do if I provoked him in the wrong direction made my stomach knot.
Malcolm’s favorite trick was exerting his will on my mind. It shouldn’t be too hard to encourage that impulse. And he’d been the ringleader from the start. I didn’t think Connar would have gone after a professor without at least talking to the Nightwood scion about it.
If one of them was responsible for Banefield’s illness, Malcolm should be able to tell me, whether he wanted to or not.
The classroom was half full when I reached it. Malcolm hadn’t shown up yet, as I’d expected. He preferred to mosey in with just a minute or two to spare.
Ever since the day a few weeks ago when he’d nearly persuaded my feet to walk me right out of the tower, he’d always taken the same seat next to the window. Maybe to subtly remind me of that moment and the battle I’d have lost if Professor Crowford hadn’t called an end to it. No one else touched it, leaving it to him.
Until today. I strode right over and sat myself down.
Cressida, sitting at the back of the class, let out a disbelieving chuckle. A few of my other classmates glanced my way but said nothing. The guy behind me drew back in his seat as if already retreating from a skirmish that hadn’t started yet. Professor Crowford didn’t give any of us more than a brief glance while he read over his lesson plan, his silver hair slicked down so the black streaks stood out even more starkly.
My heart thumped fast but steady as I waited. A couple more students trickled in. Then Malcolm’s voice carried through the doorway, hollering a wry insult after whoever he’d been talking to on the way up.
He walked into the room, and his gaze shot straight to me. There were two empty desks left, both on the other side near the door. He strolled right past them to the desk I was sitting at, his eyes never leaving me for a second. I stared right back at him.
“I think you’ve gotten lost, Glinda,” he said. “All that fresh air isn’t so good for you.”
The warm spring breeze wafted over me. I smiled mildly at him. “I’ll take my chances with the window. Unless you really think you can move me again.”
At the same time, I brought my mental shield into sharper focus: breathing into the image of it around my mind, feeling every inch of it solid and impenetrable, the way Declan had taught me.
Persuasion was Malcolm’s league, and as he’d reminded me not long ago, he had way more practice at using his magical skills than I did. But I had a couple of advantages. One: I was a hell of a lot stronger than I’d been the last time he’d exerted his will on me, and he wouldn’t be expecting too much of a challenge. Two: I was fast. Fast enough to dig deep into Jude’s head before he’d realized how far I’d gotten and tossed me out.
Hopefully fast enough to leap into Malcolm’s mind in the brief opening I’d get and set him off-balance before he could take another stab at me.
Malcolm let out a dark chuckle, a glint lighting in his dark brown eyes. “This should be fun. Stand up.”
He didn’t slack off much. A jolt ran through me as his spell jabbed into my shield—but my defenses held. The instant I felt the impact, I spoke my first personal casting word under my breath.
“Franco.”
I hadn’t told even Declan what I’d picked. Maybe the word wasn’t total nonsense, but using my former last name felt right for this purpose. It’d been my parents’ name, and Mom and Dad had been the ones who’d taught me how important every kind of insight was—to understand what people wanted and needed and to bring them joy.
Malcolm had let down his own shield to cast his persuasive spell. My awareness soared straight into the jumbled impressions of his consciousness. I hadn’t had enough time to risk going for a targeted question with my spell, but he was focused on me right now, so any larger intentions he had for hurting me shouldn’t be buried too deep.
Banefield—was there anything at all to do with my mentor in his thoughts? I dove deep as quickly as I could, getting just a glimpse of emotions and images.
I caught a flicker of triumph, not just for the victory he assumed he was going to win right now, but something else—my chaotic appearance when I’d dashed out of Ashgrave Hall the other morning—a small object with a cool smooth surface he’d held in his hands—a tang of something almost like longing—Connar’s stern face—Malcolm’s wolf familiar loping off into the woods—me sitting right here at this desk, a rush of exhilaration at the challenge—an impression of Crowford’s voice saying, Credit to Persuasion as Malcolm strode out of the room while the rest of us bowed down so low our foreheads touched our desks—a prickling hint of frustration—
Wham. The force of Malcolm’s mental wall flung me out of his head so violently I jerked in my seat, my spine jarring against the hard back of the chair. My own thoughts spun.
Malcolm glared at me, looking all devil and very little divine in that moment. He opened his mouth to aim another persuasive spell at me, and I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to hold up my own defenses now that he was pissed off.
I groped through the bits and pieces I’d seen in his mind for something to throw him off balance. That scene with the classroom—that hadn’t happened. It had to be something he was planning.
“Everyone had better keep their mental walls up at the end of class,” I blurted out, pitching my voice to carry through the room. “Malcolm thinks he’s going to have us all bowing to him on his way out.”
The anger in Malcolm’s eyes flared even hotter. His voice came out even but taut, splitting straight through the barrier I’d yanked back up as solid as I could. “Get your ass out of—”
Professor Crowford cleared his throat loudly, cutting the Nightwood scion off. My muscles released where they’d seized to follow the command.
Malcolm spun toward the professor, barely holding back another glare. Crowford was watching us. Was there a hint of amusement in his heavy-lidded eyes? The rest of his expression was so inscrutable I wasn’t sure.
“I think Miss Bloodstone has proven she can handle her chosen seat,” he said. “Credit to Insight. There are other fine chairs you may sit yourself down in, Mr. Nightwood.”
Malcolm’s jaw worked, but he lifted it rather than arguing. He shot me one last look before retreating to the other side of the room, full of smoldering promise. My body stayed tensed.
The sense of triumph I’d seen in him and the images connected to it—I was pretty sure I’d just confirmed that he’d had something to do with the weird episodes I’d been experiencing. I hadn’t dug up enough to figure out how, though. And there hadn’t been any sign that he knew or cared about any scheme involving Banefield.
I’d better be able to figure out what he was up to fast, because that glare had promised payback.
Chapter Twelve
Connar
The Physicality classroom took up nearly the entire half of the third floor of the tower. It held broader desks for conjuring work and room for twenty students, although it was rarely full. We’d generally had eighteen until Rory had started turning up a couple weeks ago.
She had her back to me today, like she usually did. I’d started sitting toward the far end of the room where I could more easily keep an eye on her without her noticing, and she’d always picked a spot that gave her plenty of distance from me. But while I watched the fall of her dark hair and the delicate movements of her hands as she shaped her magic, the memory of her walking in on the first day hovered in the back of my mind.
Her expression when she’d seen me—the tensing of unexpected pain, almost as bad as when I’d laid into her the other day on the green. It’d only been there for a second before her face had hardened and she’d turned away, but I hadn’t been able to forget it.
I couldn’t dwell on that. I couldn’t think about before, about the smile I’d been able to bring to her lips or the tenderness in her eyes when she’d looked at me or the way her body had felt against mine. None of that had really been mine anyway. I’d pretended to be
someone else with her, someone who hadn’t done the worst of the things I’d done.
I was someone who hurt people. Better she found that out now, before we’d gotten any closer.
My hand dropped to my pocket, to the lump of the metal dragon she’d conjured from the earth for me. For the man I’d managed to briefly convince her I was. But even my friends couldn’t really trust me, could they? I’d hidden the fact that I was seeing her from them. I’d told myself I was doing it to help Malcolm, but how much had I really been thinking that plan through and how much had I just been making excuses so I could have her?
He thought we needed to break her before she’d finally accept what she was and let go of all the joymancer ideas in her head. And when she’d come around to our side, he wanted her, if she’d have him. I’d stepped right in the way of both of those goals for my own selfish reasons…
I could make up for that part, at least. I’d screwed up, but I was fixing my mistakes, like Malcolm had fixed so much for me over the years. If I couldn’t even do that, then I deserved every wary look the rest of the students directed my way.
So, as Rory conjured a rising patch of fire in the clay bowl on her desk, I kept half my attention on my own elemental assignment and half on picking away at hers. For each murmur I put toward building my flames up, I aimed another at making hers falter. A little chill to dull the heat. A snuffing out of this spark and that one.
The fire wavered and vanished. Rory brushed her hair back behind her ear, and I made out the edge of her frown, the movement of her lips as she tried to work the spell again. Professor Viceport came to a stop in front of her desk. I was watching closely enough to notice the fraction Rory’s shoulders came up at the professor’s attention.
My stomach balled. I curled my fingers under my desk and sent another murmured spell her way. Subtle and slow but steady. Draining the energy from her conjuring. The new flames in her bowl died.