Royals of Villain Academy 4: Horrid Charms

by Eva Chase

  My heart sank. It’d come up because when I’d asked Connar those questions, I’d been trying to figure out how I could help the joymancers get past the wards and attack the school. I’d forgotten about that short conversation—forgotten that I’d pursued the idea of destroying the school that far in an overt way.

  Declan has asked whether I’d intended to cause anyone harm. Could I explain away that memory somehow without admitting why I’d really brought up the subject of the wards? I groped for an excuse, but nothing came to me. The drone of the pipes echoed through my head.

  Declan crouched down in front of me, taking one of my hands. His voice stayed gentle—as gentle as it’d been the first time I’d met him, when he’d tried to reassure me in the midst of my parents’ murders.

  “Whatever it was, we need to talk about it now. If you freeze up during the hearing like you just did with me, the judge will double-down on the questioning in an instant. I know it couldn’t have been anything that bad, Rory. I know you. You can tell me.”

  I swallowed thickly. He didn’t know me as well as he thought. Looking back on those moments when I’d been so sure that bringing the joymancers charging into the university was the right thing to do, I had to suppress a cringe. The situation, the people here and there, the history between the mage communities—it was all so much more complicated than I’d realized.

  I could tell him that too, along with everything else. He deserved to know, didn’t he, before he tangled his life even more with mine? Maybe it was wrong that I’d let him stick his neck out so far for me without telling him how many traitorous thoughts I’d entertained.

  “It is pretty bad.” My gaze dropped to my hands. “I— You have to remember that when I first got here, all I’d seen was fearmancers murdering people and then acting like bullies. As far as I was concerned, calling this place ‘Villain Academy’ was totally accurate. Compared to that, and knowing what my parents were like, I had to think the joymancers were the heroes.”

  “That makes sense,” Declan said. “You didn’t exactly get the most pleasant welcome into the community.”

  A halting laugh made its way up my throat. “No. And I—all I wanted to do was get back home to California. To be with people like my parents again. And to get justice for my parents against the people who’d killed them—to get justice for the Nary students here for the way everyone seemed to treat them—to stop all the lessons about how to terrorize people…”

  My throat closed up for a second. Declan waited patiently, his grip steady on my hand.

  I made myself look at him again. “I decided I was going to find a way to give the joymancers access to the school: figure out how to disable the wards, or something like that. And then I’d run back to California and use what I could tell them as proof that I wasn’t a villain like the rest of you. And let them take down the school.”

  I had to suck in a breath before I could go on. “But I never thought—I had no idea the joymancers might be so vicious, that they might kill people indiscriminately just for being fearmancers. I didn’t want some kind of slaughter here. And I was going to make sure people like your family were protected. But after seeing all the reports, and remembering how my parents kept me apart from the rest of the joymancers, I don’t want even that anymore. That conversation with Connar—it was months ago. I haven’t done anything to undermine the school.”

  Declan’s expression had tensed. My gut knotted at his reaction. “I’m sorry,” I added. “I just wanted to stop more people from being hurt.”

  “Oh, Rory,” he said in a tight voice. I braced myself for an accusation or recrimination, but instead he simply leaned forward and hugged me.

  I hugged him back automatically, burying my face in his shoulder. “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” I said. “Or Jude or Connar or… so many people here. I’m not sure what I want to do if I can make it through this hearing, but I’m not running back to the joymancers. I promise you, I wouldn’t put you all in that kind of danger.”

  “I know.” Declan eased back a bit so his head bowed next to mine. He paused, his jaw working.

  “I never told even my father about this,” he said. “Back when I was around fifteen, when I was getting more access as baron-to-be and I saw the full report on our parents’ deaths… There was a while when I kept picturing how I could encourage the other barons to launch some kind of assault on the joymancer community. It ate at me so much that they were getting away with what they’d done and with so many other attacks on us too.”

  A lump rose in my throat. “That makes sense.”

  “Well, once my anger settled down, I felt ashamed that I’d let that impulse for revenge get a hold on me. But if I’d had the opportunity, I might have acted in the moment.”

  “You were younger. Fifteen’s practically still a kid.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not the point. You saw the people you think of as your parents killed right in front of you and had people at school pushing you around. All I did was read a report and look at some pictures. If your response means something awful about you, then I must be the most wretched human being ever.”

  Every particle of my body balked at that judgment, which I guessed had been the point Declan was trying to make. “So you don’t hate me for what I wanted to do?”

  “Not at all.” He pulled back completely to look me in the eyes. “But the other barons and the blacksuits won’t see it that way. We need to come up with a reasonable answer if they stumble on that memory.”

  “I couldn’t think of anything except the truth to tell you.”

  He gave me a wry smile. “I appreciate the honesty. What if… what if we lean into the protectiveness you feel now for at least some of the people here? You could say you were imagining that if joymancers came onto the campus, you’d have to hurt them to defend us. That’s still harming someone who in the scenario would be at the school.”

  The idea of joymancers storming the school did send a jab of anxiety through me now. “Do you think they’d buy it?”

  “If you let your real emotion come through, yes. Nothing else emerged that would suggest you were sabotaging the school. You didn’t take any concrete steps toward putting that plan into motion, did you?”

  I shook my head emphatically. “It was just asking about the wards, and, I mean, I thought about how I could do it. But you can’t read specific thoughts in memories, right?”

  “Definitely not.” He sat back on his heels and then straightened up. “We’d better make sure nothing else jumps out like that. Are you good to keep going?”

  “Yeah,” I said, but as I adjusted my position on the bucket, an ache crept through my chest.

  Declan had accepted the plans I’d been making in this moment when he was set on exonerating me. Would he be so forgiving when he’d had more time for what I’d told him to sink in after the hearing was over?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rory

  Staying in the university library instead of studying in my dorm had plenty of upsides. I got immediate access to all the books in the place without hauling them up multiple flights of stairs. If I found a good nook, it was often quieter. And there was something soothing about the high ceilings in the expansive room. Sometimes my little bedroom started to feel claustrophobic.

  Of course, the library also had its downsides. Not least of which was the fact that if someone noticed me in whatever secluded corner I’d holed up in, the illusion of privacy could vanish in an instant.

  It started with the page I was looking at in the book open on my lap abruptly slipping from my fingers. As I flinched at the sudden movement, more pages started flipping over as if in a strong gust of wind, though I didn’t feel anything on my skin. I stared for a second before my brain caught up. It was a spell, obviously.

  I jammed my hands down on the book to try to hold it still, but jerked them back at the first sound of tearing paper. I didn’t want to ruin this magical text because of someone else’s
stupid prank. Instead, I settled for tipping it off my lap onto the floor. As soon as the cover thumped shut, it lay still.

  Before I could decide whether it was worth trying to pick the book up again—or try any other—a slim, leather-bound volume tumbled off a shelf above me and smacked me right on the top of my head.

  Pain spiked through my scalp, and a yelp slipped from my lips. I scrambled onto my feet, just as a heavier volume careened toward me. I jerked my arm up just in time, wincing at the slam of the edge just below my elbow. That was going to leave a bruise.

  What asshole had thought it’d be a good idea to pull this stunt? Assaulting a scion and supposed murderer didn’t seem like the wisest move ever. Another dare between junior students who were immature enough to ignore the possible consequences?

  I braced for another blitz from above as I marched down the aisle toward the open area of the library, but the next projectiles came from the opposite shelf instead. Three books hurtled at me in quick succession from slightly different angles. This time, at least, I was prepared enough to snap out a spell to form a protective barrier around me. The books bounced off it and thudded to the floor.

  When I emerged from my aisle, it was just in time to see a familiar but unexpected figure charging into the row of shelves next to mine. In the brief glimpse I got of him, Malcolm’s eyes were so fierce beneath his golden hair that you could forget about the divine part—that was all devil. A second after he’d barreled out of view, someone let out a squeak of pain.

  I hurried over to find him holding a girl, who did look young enough to be a junior, by the collar of her blouse.

  “What the hell family did you grow up in that you figure attacking a scion is a good way to make a name for yourself?” he demanded, glaring down at her.

  The girl had blanched. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I was just—my mother said everyone would be safer if someone proved the Bloodstone scion would lash out again, so she’d have to leave school—”

  Her gaze flitted to me, and a rush of fear hit me from her, so sharp I almost bit my tongue with the impact.

  “Let her go, Malcolm,” I said evenly. “She was just trying to impress her parents. You should know something about that.”

  Malcolm grimaced at me, but he released the girl’s shirt, still glowering at her. “Didn’t you ever think that if you’re the one throwing books around, if someone did lash out, it’d be at you? I don’t think anyone will be impressed if you get yourself killed. Not that Rory would have done that anyway. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s a hell of a lot more forgiving than I am.”

  The girl cringed against the shelves as if expecting him to hurl a spell at her. I slipped past him to face her. The comment about her mother had sent my thoughts spinning. I couldn’t help remembering Cutbridge and his campaign against the Naries.

  “What’s your name?” I asked her.

  She wet her lips nervously, hugging herself. “Penelope Villia,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

  Villia. That name had been on Professor Banefield’s list too. Yeah, provoking me into a show of force, especially against a junior, would only have solidified the case against me, which of course the barons’ allies would want. This kid was only a tool.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, and shot a pointed glance at Malcolm. “And neither is he. But I’d appreciate if you didn’t dive bomb me with books any more in the future, all right? Go study for your classes or something.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.” She bobbed her head and bolted past Malcolm out of the aisle.

  The Nightwood scion shook his head. “You go easy on them, and they’ll just come back worse.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Where the hell did you come from all of a sudden anyway? Have you been following me around?” Interrupting the guys outside our dorm rooms had been reasonable enough, but this situation was more of a stretch as a coincidence.

  “Why would I do that?” Malcolm said. “I was walking by, and I heard the commotion. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “I don’t think yanking her around solved anything. And I’m really supposed to believe you just happened to be passing by at the right moment?”

  Malcolm let out a huff of breath. “If we’re going to argue about this, can we at least do it somewhere less public? You can tell me exactly how horrible it is that I saved you from an avalanche of textbooks in the scion lounge just as easily as here.”

  He might have a point. An argument between scions, especially when one of those scions was me, could draw attention I didn’t really want just two days before my hearing. I gritted my teeth and nodded.

  Malcolm didn’t say anything else until we’d descended the stairs to the basement room. The lounge was empty, but the hint of coffee scent in the air suggested someone had been enjoying the space recently.

  The Nightwood scion ambled around the pool table with a drum of his fingers against the wooden edge. He tucked his hand into the shoulder bag he was carrying and drew out an ancient-looking book.

  “I do actually care about my classes. I was in the library grabbing this book for a Persuasion theory essay I’m supposed to write.”

  “Oh.” A significant portion of my annoyance dissolved. I rested my hands on the end of the pool table, keeping several feet of distance between us. “Sorry for the stalking accusation, then. You do still need to back off if you notice someone hassling me, though. I’d much rather handle it my way—and I can handle it.”

  Malcolm frowned. “We’re scions. That means we look out for each other.”

  “Because you think if I look weak, somehow that’ll make you look bad too?” I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. “I don’t totally know why you’ve decided you’re not going to attack me anymore, but heroics on my behalf really aren’t necessary.”

  “Even if I want to jump in and give you a hand?”

  “Why would you? You don’t even like me.”

  For a second, Malcolm just stared at me. Then he let out a sputter of a laugh. “For Chrissake, Rory.”

  He snatched up one of the nearby balls and dropped it on the table with a thunk. The other balls rattled as it connected with a cluster. His gaze followed them across the green surface.

  “You’ve got official confirmation that you’re the most powerful mage in the school,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “but you still blush a little whenever any professor compliments your spellwork. When you’re concentrating hard on figuring out what to cast, your mouth sets with a little crease at the corners, and that’s when anyone who’s been tangling with you should know to watch out. When you’re scared, you lift your chin as if you can intimidate the feeling into going away. But the best moments are when you totally commit to whatever cause you’re championing next. There’s this light that comes into your eyes, so fierce and unwavering…”

  He looked at me then, with an expression I couldn’t read but an intensity in his eyes that made my breath catch in my throat. “I don’t like you. I fucking adore you, Rory.”

  It was my turn to stare. My jaw had gone slack, but I couldn’t have missed the affection that had run through every observation he’d related. He meant it.

  I had no idea how to react to that. Confusion and wariness, sure, but the idea that I’d provoked that much fond emotion in him also sent a weird sort of thrill through me.

  I snapped my mouth shut, and then managed to say past the thumping of my heart, “You haven’t acted like it.”

  His mouth twisted. “You could say it crept up on me. And it’s not as if you haven’t been incredibly frustrating at times too. Maybe I tried so hard to break you because I thought we needed to remake you before I could let myself really want anything. But I don’t believe that anymore. I’m starting to think you might be exactly what I need as you are.”

  My fingers had curled around the lip of the table, clutching it tight. I forced them to release. So many feelings were colliding inside me that I could hardly identify all of
them, let alone tell which was winning out.

  This was Malcolm Nightwood—the bully, my tormentor, hater of joymancers and mocker of good intentions. But… I kind of understood his rancor toward the joymancers now. I even sort of understood how he could see his treatment of the other students as a guiding and strengthening force, as part of his role as scion, rather than real attacks, even if I didn’t agree with his approach.

  He’d recognized at least some of his mistakes and taken steps to make up for them. He was trying to protect me now, with the same passionate loyalty he had for the other scions. Within the vicious bully was a devoted friend, a determined leader, an affectionate master to his familiar… and just remembering kissing him set off a flare of heat over my skin.

  So no, Malcolm wasn’t evil. But he was still that bully at the same time. He had still tormented me, in all kinds of ways I couldn’t forget.

  “Why are you telling me?” I said finally. “What are you expecting to happen?”

  “Because it seemed like something you should know. And I’m not expecting anything. I’m hoping that you’ve got enough goodness in your heart to give us a chance to be whatever we could be, together.”

  His dry tone with the last sentence brought back all the times he’d called me Glinda as a jeer. I sucked in a shaky breath.

  “I don’t know if that’s possible. I don’t trust you—I’m not sure I’m ever going to really trust you, after everything.”

  “I can work with that.” He took a careful step toward me. “I’ve spent my whole life so far proving myself every way I can to a man who’s never satisfied and barely deserved the effort. Proving myself to you sounds like a much better deal. I broke your trust—I’ll rebuild it just like I figured I’d rebuild you. You’ll see.”

  He took another step, almost close enough that he could touch me now. A quiver ran through my body in awareness of him. Part of me clamored to flee, but a larger part was determined to see how far he’d try to take this moment.