by Eva Chase
Especially when I had a very definite malicious force right here in front of me.
I studied Sinclair. “And you’d never go behind Victory’s back?”
“No,” she said tartly. “I wouldn’t. I happen to know what loyalty is.”
Was that supposed to be a jab at me? I raised my eyebrows as I crossed my arms over my chest. “I didn’t make you any promises I didn’t mean, Sinclair. I didn’t make you any promises at all. We had a little fun—and you were having plenty of fun with other guys at the same time—and now that’s done. I never owed you more than that.”
She sniffed. “I guess I just expected that if you ditched me, my replacement would meet a higher standard.”
A flicker of anger shot through me at the implication that Rory was somehow less than the girl who’d made the remark—or that what I had with her was only a replacement for the scrap of a relationship before. I held it in check with a sharp smile of my own.
“All that proves is you don’t know very much at all, Sinclair. I’m so glad we could have this chat.”
I set off for the hall that bore my father’s last name without a backward glance. If Sinclair wanted to stew in bitterness, let her, as long as she left Rory alone.
It’d been months since I’d last paid a visit to the professor who was assigned as my mentor. Regular meetings were only scheduled during a student’s first year, and after that you talked only as either party deemed necessary. I hadn’t made much use of that opportunity in general. It was no wonder that surprise was the first reaction that flashed across Professor Burnbuck’s face when he saw me at his office door.
The senior Illusion professor recovered quickly. “Mr. Killbrook,” he said, motioning me in. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?” Burnbuck could give all due deference without being afraid to work in a subtle criticism about my neglect of this resource. That was one of the reasons I liked him, as much as I liked any of the staff.
I dropped into the seat in front of his desk and folded my hands in my lap. “One time you mentioned a friend of yours who does independent work with her illusion magic. I was hoping you could tell me more about that.”
Burnbuck gave me a curious look. “Any particular reason why?”
I shrugged and grinned at him. “Let’s just say I was thinking it might be good to expand my horizons.”
And if those horizons didn’t involve Baron Killbrook being anywhere in sight, so much the better.
Chapter Eleven
Rory
I settled in on the scion lounge sofa, my legs stretched across the pliant cushions and the welcome silence of the basement room wrapping around me, and for the first time I felt like the space could really be mine. I’d avoided coming down here for most of my time at Blood U because it’d been too much Malcolm’s domain. Too much a reminder of the other scions’ initial hostility.
But most of that hostility had transformed into anything but animosity by now, and even Malcolm appeared to have suspended his campaign against me. There wasn’t any better place on campus to meet up with other scions in private. And, hell, I was a scion too. I had every right to use the lounge.
I got to enjoy that comfortable sense of confidence for about two minutes. Then Malcolm walked into the room.
I tensed automatically. He blinked as if making sure he was seeing right but then strolled on past me without any further indication that he thought it was strange I was down here. I watched him make his way to the bar cabinet, tucking my feet closer to me so I could easily jump up if I felt the need to escape.
“What are you up to down here?” he asked in a mild tone. Ice from the little freezer next to the cabinet rattled into his glass, followed by a hiss of poured alcohol.
“I’m supposed to be meeting Declan,” I said. “He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d get back.”
“Am I allowed to ask what you’re meeting him about?”
Declan had said he’d have some reports on the joymancers for me—hard copies, like before, so there wouldn’t be any electronic trail suggesting I’d had to work to skew my testimony. Knowing how Malcolm felt about the magical opposition, I wasn’t inclined to find out what he’d think of my current strategy. For all I knew, he’d tip off his dad.
“It isn’t any of your business,” I said.
He turned with the glass in his hand and took a sip of the amber liquid. “Fine. You don’t have to sit there all tense like I’m going to spring an attack. I told you, I don’t want to fight anymore—and I remember very well what you said you’d do if I so much as touched you again.” He gave me a wry smile. “But I’m also not going to leave just because you’re here.”
I guessed that was fair. And I cringed a little remembering my threat to break every bone in his hands. We’d both gotten carried away that day in the boathouse, and with everything that had happened after, I didn’t really believe he’d intended to force me into anything I didn’t want.
It was kind of hard to hold the intensity of that moment against him when half of the reason his presence unnerved me was how much I’d enjoyed… well, having him against me, for the brief time before logic and panic had set in.
I let myself sink into the back of the sofa, but I kept my legs bent close. “I’m not asking you to leave, but I think I’m justified in a certain amount of caution, no matter how many white flags you’re waving. You’ve put me through a lot more than just that moment by the lake. I hope you don’t think my memory’s that short.”
He shrugged and, with a casual ease that made my skin itch, sat down at the other end of the sofa. It was a three seater, so a few feet of empty space remained between us, but I’d have preferred a few dozen.
“You came into the university guns blazing, insulting me and everything I care about,” he said. “I can admit that I should have realized sooner that you didn’t understand what you were getting into. Like I said before, we can hash out what I should be apologizing for when everything’s simmered down. But I’m not going to apologize for defending myself, the scions, or fearmancer society in general when it seemed necessary. Just so we’re clear.”
Damn it. With every word he said, I wanted more and more to smack the cool self-assurance out of him, but at the same time he made it sound so fucking reasonable. As if he hadn’t already proven himself to be an asshole before I’d said a single word to him.
“You can see it however you want,” I said. “But I’ll just point out that the first time I ever insulted you, it was after you had just mocked the people who raised me—my parents, who I’d watched murdered in front of me that morning. I wasn’t exactly in the clearest state of mind, and I don’t see why your insults get a pass while mine were some horrible offense.”
Malcolm’s expression darkened for a second. He turned his gaze to his glass. “So, you’re still calling the joymancers who stole you your ‘parents’.”
“They were my parents.” I pushed myself straighter, keeping my eyes trained on him. “Do you still think they kept me in a cage and tortured me or something like that? The worst thing they did to me was suppress my magic and not tell me that I had it. Otherwise, as far as I can tell, they did a hell of a lot better by me than the parents of most people around here. They took care of me like I was their own kid, they comforted me when I was sad, they celebrated everything I accomplished, they tried their best to make sure I was happy and safe. I never, for one second, doubted that they loved me and wanted me to have the best life they could give me.”
Malcolm’s head had come back up. He stared at me for a long moment, apparently lost for words. Then he made a pained grimace and took a bigger gulp of his drink. “Well, no, I wouldn’t have expected that’s how they’d have treated you.”
Because his own parents didn’t treat him anywhere near that well? I’d been horrified by Connar’s story of how his parents had compelled him and his brother into a near death match to decide who’d inherit the barony, and he’d indicated that he thought Malcolm had it even wors
e. I’d only met Malcolm’s dad once and briefly, but he’d struck me as brutal in that short time.
If it was normal for fearmancer parents to be harsh on their kids—whatever excuses they gave about preparing them for the wider world—why would any of them imagine their enemies would treat a fearmancer with more kindness rather than less?
I didn’t want to delve into the fraught relationship Malcolm might have with his parents. Maybe he could shed some light on the less personal dynamics I was still grappling with, though.
“My parents were the only joymancers I knew,” I said tentatively. “They always talked positively about the magic they worked and the mages they worked with, but I never met any of the others—not while I was aware of it.” Representatives from the Conclave might have observed me from afar surreptitiously. “So while I can speak up for the two of them, it’s true that I don’t really know their community all that well. Why do you hate them so much? Have joymancers actually done anything to you, or is it—”
Malcolm interrupted with a rough chuckle. “Have they done anything? Rory, they killed your fucking parents—your real parents.”
My stomach twisted at the memory of the burnt bodies in the photograph. “We don’t know exactly what went down that day. Maybe my parents were planning to do something harmful and that was the only way the joymancers could stop them. It’s not like the barons always tell everyone else what their real plans are.”
“I don’t know whether they were doing more than they’d told people they were. But it wasn’t just them. Declan’s mom was there, and she wouldn’t have been scheming with your parents. From what I’ve heard, the other barons saw her as a pain in the neck, always arguing against any harsher policy they were considering. And you were there. Maybe our ideas on parenting are different from joymancer ones, but I can tell you there’s no way in hell a baron would bring her only heir into a remotely dangerous situation at two years old.”
I thought of the video Lillian had shared with me of my birth mother cuddling my infant self, of the gold-encased baby shoe I’d found in the Bloodstone mansion’s storage room. No, I didn’t think the former Baron Bloodstone had seen me as expendable.
“My mother must have been involved in other questionable plans before,” I said. “The joymancers might have gotten the wrong idea, but not out of nowhere.”
“They still didn’t have to kill them. They didn’t have to kill Declan’s mom. How the hell do you think he feels every time you sing their praises, by the way? And they didn’t have to drag you away and raise you on lies. No matter how nice the people who raised you were, they stole your power and your heritage from you. That’s sick.”
I didn’t totally disagree—and the comment about Declan made me wince. “Is there anything else?” I had to ask. “In your whole lifetime, is that the only way the joymancers have attacked fearmancers?”
Malcolm snorted. “Are you kidding me? No matter what we do, even the mages as powerful as the barons have to take all kinds of precautions to make sure the joymancers don’t interfere. They cost my dad a major business deal just last year. There’ve been skirmishes—I’d swear the blacksuits spend at least as much time protecting all of us from joymancers as they do policing within the community. The ‘Conclave’ always has people skulking around up here, trying to figure out what we’re doing and messing it up any way they can, even when it’s totally legitimate work.”
“Well, what have the fearmancers been doing to them at the same time?”
“Nothing,” Malcolm shot back. “That’s the one principle all the barons have agreed on for as long as I can remember. We don’t engage. We stick to our territory up here and leave them to do whatever they want off at the other end of the country. If they left us alone, there’d be no fighting at all.”
I wasn’t sure I totally believed that. There’d been other things Malcolm hadn’t known about his father’s activities. But… I couldn’t think of any good reason to keep it secret if the fearmancers launched a counter-attack. It sounded like pretty much every mage around here would have cheered on an assault.
“They’ve decided everything we do is evil, and that any means are acceptable when it comes to screwing with us,” Malcolm went on. “You have no idea… My grandfather, the baron before my father, he’s got a huge scar where his eye should be.” He drew his finger from his brow down to his cheek. “Joymancers caught him when he was coming out of a consult with his accountant. The fact that we exist at all is a crime to them. So, who are the really bloodthirsty ones?”
I was saved from having to try to answer that question by the soft squeak of the door’s hinges. Declan stepped into the lounge and paused at the sight of us in what must have been an obviously tense conversation. He caught my eye with a questioning look as if to ask if I needed help.
Malcolm shoved himself off the sofa, setting his glass with its remains of ice on the coffee table. “Don’t worry, no one’s been eviscerated. A little faith would be nice.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Declan said calmly.
“Doesn’t take any insight to read that face sometimes.” Malcolm gave him a light clap on the shoulder as he passed the Ashgrave scion, with no sign of being actually offended. “I’ll leave you to your ‘meeting’.”
As soon as Malcolm was gone, Declan turned to me. “Was he hassling you?”
I shook my head. “No. He was actually… okay for once. I was just asking him what he knows about joymancers.”
“Ah. I’m sure he had plenty to say about that.” Declan drew out a thick envelope from his shoulder bag. “I’ve got plenty of official material for you to look through. Take it slow. There’s some stuff in there that’s pretty… upsetting.”
So considerate of my feelings even when it came to the people who’d murdered his mom. I swallowed hard as I stood up to take the envelope. Malcolm had made a good point on that subject. In his hostility against my parents’ people, he hadn’t just been defending fearmancer ideals but his closest friends as well. Maybe I’d been a little callous when it came to the Ashgrave scion’s past.
“I hope you know—no matter what else I think about joymancers, I hate what they did to your mother,” I said. “I’m not absolving them of that. It was awful.”
Declan’s mouth twitched with a hint of pain. “I know, Rory. And I’d never say every one of them is a horrible person. Your parents obviously raised you well. I just think… it’s good for you to understand exactly where you came from.”
“Yeah.” I looked down at the envelope, its weight ominous in my hand. “I guess I’d better get on with that.”
When I’d retreated to my bedroom, though, I didn’t open the envelope right away. I lay down on the bed and let my thoughts stew about the information I’d already gotten from Malcolm.
Deborah’s furry body scurried along my arm, coming to a stop by my shoulder. Hard day, sweetheart?
“You could say that.” I frowned at the ceiling, debating even asking the question. But if anyone could give me an answer unbiased by fearmancer principles, it’d be her. “Deborah… The joymancers do come up here to the northeast and try to meddle with fearmancer business quite a bit, don’t they?”
Well, I suppose a few take up that duty at any given time. It’s not something the Conclave talks about widely. But it’s the only way we can stay abreast of what they’re planning and intervene as necessary.
As necessary. How did the Conclave define that? Deborah had admitted to me that they’d wanted to take down this school for as long as she could remember… but did they even know how the place worked if they’d never been able to observe it, or were they simply operating under that principle that all fearmancer things should be shut down?
“What about the other way around?” I said slowly. “I mean… Did the fearmancers ever come to California or wherever to attack the joymancer community down there? Other than when they found out where I was and came for me? I don’t remember my parents ever seeming nervous, like they
’d heard about some altercation and were worried my real people might be coming for me.”
Deborah made a dismissive noise in my head. The fearmancers know better than to tackle us on our home ground. Perhaps the Conclave became over-confident because of that, and that’s how they ended up finding you. The attack on your home is the only breach of our security I know of.
She sounded proud of that fact. Even though, from what Malcolm had just told me, the success wasn’t because the joymancers were so good at protecting their own… It was because the fearmancers hadn’t tried to break down those defenses until they’d had an unavoidable reason to.
I rubbed my forehead. I didn’t even know if I objected to people interfering with the fearmancers in general. A lot of them did do a lot of awful things. But… how did killing the ones who actually pushed for moderation, like Declan’s mom, or throwing off legitimate business deals do anything other than stir up more resentment?
What if my parents hadn’t been typical joymancers? What if their attitudes of compassion and acceptance had made them as much outliers in their community as Declan’s family was in his?
Chapter Twelve
Rory
With no one but the four of us in it, the main gymnasium felt twice as big as usual. Our voices bounced off the high ceiling as we walked over the colored lines marked on the wooden floor.
“I checked with all my usual professors,” I said. “They’ll all confirm that I haven’t been using my own casting words with my spells.” I’d half expected my current mentor, Professor Viceport, to refuse. She’d acted chilly toward me since I’d started at Blood U for no reason I’d been able to determine. But she’d actually been the most emphatic in her agreement. Maybe she was finally getting over her grudge now that she’d talked with me more and seen my skills develop over the summer.