Page 61 of Fortress of Ambrose (House of Marionne #3)

Forty-Nine

Yagrin

Yagrin propped up a book at the desk in Nore’s room and turned another page.

He skimmed for mention of the fall of House Duncan in the lamplight, but there were only scant details, like the dozen other books he’d been reading for hours.

He slammed the book closed and gazed over at Nore, who was still sleeping.

Outside the night sky began to brighten. He returned the book to the stack Nore retrieved from the family’s private library, buttoned up his coat, and pressed a kiss to Nore’s hand, which dangled over the side of the bed, before slipping out the door.

He’d spent the last four nights with her, up late searching after a passionate yet emotionless time together.

And he’d had it. She still didn’t feel anything for him, from what he could tell, despite her eagerness to keep him in her bed.

But hope flickered in his heart, because before drifting to sleep, she’d lie on his chest and ask him to stroke her hair like he used to do.

It felt like they were frozen in time, on a never-ending loop. Yagrin had to break them out.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could look into the girl’s eyes who he loved and see no love there.

Nore was planning to escape, but her plan had no teeth.

Telling her that hadn’t gone over well. So he did as she asked, night after night, at the desk in her quarters.

It was useless. Chasing down the last piece of the Scroll from a House that had been decimated decades ago felt impossible.

Finding it wasn’t the best way to save her life if it came to that—breaking the Pact was.

That’s where I should shift my focus.

He always trusted his gut. He needed to now. But that risked disappointing her, when she’d decided to keep him close and trust him.

He strode fast through the House, which whirred with the sounds of early morning, when an idea struck him.

No matter what time it was, the halls of House Ambrose always had students lingering.

He took a detour past the dining hall, the grand ballroom, a few smaller specialized libraries, and ascended the stairs toward the Caelum.

When he reached the highest floor, he noticed low-hanging clouds outside hugging the tall windows.

His legs ached. But he hustled toward the library’s doors.

It was the grandest place of books he’d ever seen, with sweeping views, a lounge full of desks, and endless walls of books.

Stairs built into the walls zigzagged between shelves.

There were gaps every several feet with large plaques engraved with a Priest’s name, birth- and death dates.

Burying the dead inside. He grimaced as he climbed a set of stairs wedged between the history and medicinal sections.

The second-floor shelves were more tightly knitted together.

Finding a staircase required moving a few chairs.

He climbed to the third floor and found that most areas were roped off. A clerk sat typing at a writing desk.

“Clearance?” She held out a hand, still typing with the other, not even looking up at him.

“I, um, am a guest of the Headmistress and am searching for texts on her behalf.”

He wasn’t sure it would work, but the House staff had been so accommodating thanks to Ainsley vouching for him. The Draguns had even stopped asking him questions. The clerk’s head swiveled in his direction. He could go wherever Nore went, it seemed. But the Caelum is where they drew the line.

“Headmistress will need to escort you. This area is restricted.”

Creaky stairs groaned in the walls. Yagrin couldn’t see where the noise was coming from. This floor was cozy compared to the others, and each of the areas of books was sectioned into rooms. But he’d heard the priests’ offices were hidden up here.

“You may go.” She went back to typing. Yagrin’s irritation thrummed.

But when he turned, he spotted a bushy-browed man in long robes, poking his head out of a door.

Priest Winkel gestured for him to quietly hurry over, his gaze darting to the clerk, a mischievous smirk on his face.

Winkel led him inside, and they tiptoed through adjoining rooms of texts until it dead-ended at a concrete door.

“Nore sent you, I heard you say? For what, may I ask?”

He knew Nore adored Winkel, but he wasn’t sure how much to trust him. “She wants to know more about the Immortality Scroll.” And I want to know more about breaking the Pact.

Winkel twirled his white beard around his finger.

“You won’t find anything written down. What you need is a true library.

” He tapped his temple and offered Yagrin a seat.

That was the first time he really looked around, taking in the priest’s office.

He wasn’t sure what he imagined it would look like.

House of Perl was hardly religious, and they didn’t believe in the Sage and the Wielder, nor that they needed a priest to communicate with any god.

But Winkel’s office was not just an office; it was a home.

This is where the man lived. And where he would die.

Yagrin walked the circle of his living room.

There were leather seats arced around the fireplace, a velvet armchair beneath a window.

And there were a few plants. A hall led to several doors.

Yagrin sat down by the fire. He shifted in his seat, the thickness of the cushion supporting his back. It was oddly comfortable and colorful.

Winkel poured them a lavender tea and offered him a pipe, which Yagrin refused. Peckle could temporarily dull the mental faculties. He wanted his head clear.

“You don’t ever tire of being stuck up here?” Yagrin asked, leaning on the cushy pillow at his back.

“Privacy is underrated. Constant distraction is an obstacle to the mind and the faith.”

Yagrin braided his fingers.

“What really brings you here?”

“The Immortality Scroll.”

His eyes glinted, staring at Yagrin’s chest. “Your motives are torn.”

Yagrin’s hands began to sweat. He wiped them on his pants.

“There is no need to be nervous. I am here to help.”

“How can you see my motives?”

Winkel stood and trailed a finger along a row of spines. When he plucked a book off the shelf, he parted it and handed it to Yagrin.

“The short version is fine. I’ve had my fill of mind-numbing reading today.”

A crater appeared in Winkel’s cheek. “I know you’re Nore’s right arm.

That’s apparent to everyone except Ginger.

” He gestured toward his door, where his clerk sat paces away.

“So I will speak freely. Do you know why magic being in the blood is one of the best and worst things to ever happen to this Order?”

He shook his head.

“Before magic was in the blood, you had to have magical Sun Dust to do magic. Ancient scholars wrote harrowing accounts of children being taken hostage to ransom for Dust. Everyone wanted the source of magic. The brightest minds of the time found a way to infuse magic in the blood so that it reproduces with DNA in order to be passed down genetically. There was nothing to steal anymore, but—” He sighed.

“That is when the real horrors began. It took a few generations, but eventually deadly lines were drawn. All of a sudden there were certain types of magic that were acceptable and others that were not. Families who had a long lineage of having magic were shunned because the magic that showed up in their genes was no longer in the acceptable category.”

Yagrin knew there were the haves and have-nots.

Winkel tapped his eyelid. “Long ago, there was a seeing magic, achieved by applying Sun Dust to the iris in a precise measurement over a specific amount of time. The magic formed a kind of toushana in the bones. But in the eyes, it created sight. Because toushana is destructive, it allows the person’s sight to destroy any deceptions or lies and see through to the truth.

Sometimes it turns the eye an icy blue. It is no longer studied, and because it involves toushana, it is banned.

You can hardly find books on it.” He winked.

“Unless you’re up here. It’s how I know Nore is the best thing that could happen to this House. I’m determined to see her through.”

“She doesn’t want Headship.”

“She doesn’t want it as it is now. But deep inside there is a love for the House that shunned her. She has always been forced to prove herself.”

“Proving Ambrose is shortsighted, not intellectually superior.”

Winkel conceded with a wave of the hand.

“I won’t try to convince her to do anything she doesn’t want to do, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I am not asking anything. I am merely trying to help you see more clearly so this conflict in your spirit is settled.” He crossed his leg, pausing for a moment before continuing.

“I think your challenge, dear boy, is to help her find the freedom to explore what she really wants. Right now she is scared. Being led by fear is a true prison.”

Yagrin rocked back on his heels, thinking.

As much as he loathed the Order, someone like Nore could transform things for the better.

He didn’t want to care about the Order. But if he cared about Nore, he had to be willing to support whatever was best for her.

Yagrin planted his elbows on his knees, studying the old man.

“Tell me more about the Pact between the Headmistress and the dead.” Being so honest made him sick to his stomach, but he held the bobbing feeling in his throat as Winkel pondered.

“One of the House family’s best-kept secrets. Not even the brightest minds downstairs know about the Pact.” He left the living area, beckoning Yagrin to follow, and walked through a simple kitchen into a praying room. There were kneelers by the windows and candles burning next to an open tome.

“This is one of my favorite Unmarked books.” Winkel flipped a few pages and then stopped where there was a picture of a man wrestling a beast that was three times his size at least. Yagrin followed the story from illustration to illustration, turning the page.

The final picture showed the man standing over the slain beast. “How’d he beat him? ”

“Impossible. He couldn’t without a weapon or some kind of magic.”

“Who knows how big the beast actually was? Who knows how small the man was? Only the author and artist. Look deeper. What do you see?”

The man was covered in blood, bits of his flesh hanging from his skin. A feral look burned in his eyes. “A desperate will to survive.”

“The ancestors are like anyone else.” Winkel gave him the book. Yagrin pondered. They just wanted to live as long as they could. In a half-human form, if they must. He hadn’t considered how human their interests were. He was about to leave, but remembered his promise to Nore.

“Do you have any idea where the Duncan piece of the Scroll could be? Nore wants it.” Now that the well of trust had been opened, Yagrin couldn’t stop himself.

“Mmm. I imagine she would. Your own relationship with members of the Duncan family might be more illuminating. After all, you are a Dragun.”

He shrugged in confusion. Then it hit him.

Shelby Duncan.

A débutante at House of Marionne when Quell was there. She died gruesomely, turned to dust. The scandalous murder was pinned on Darragh Marionne because it took place on her property. It wasn’t true. Jordan told him a ruthless House of Perl Dragun named Felix had killed Shelby.

“It’s time for my prayers,” Winkel said, ushering him to the door. “But let’s do this again sometime. If only to get under Ginger’s skin.”

Yagrin’s mouth bowed unnaturally. This man was helpful. And kind.

“Thank you for your service.” Winkel shook his hand.

Yagrin blinked. “Uh, sure. You’re welcome.” As a Dragun, Yagrin had never felt like he was serving anything other than his aunt’s greedy motives. This felt different. This felt good.

“How did you—” Ginger started as he passed, leaving the upper floors.

But he hurried down the stairs.

If he could come up with a way to appeal to the dead’s humanity and break the Pact, nothing else mattered. Everything in him wanted to throw away this needle-in-a-haystack search for the Scroll and focus on the Pact. But Nore would be devastated that he ignored a direct favor she asked.

If Winkel was right, maybe he could give finding the Scroll one last shot.

He could find Shelby Duncan’s family and bring them a priceless gift in exchange for a meeting with whoever was in charge of the House family.

When he arrived at his room, there was a sealed letter on his desk in his brother’s handwriting.

We need to speak. Urgently.

Tell me where.

—J

Yagrin picked up a pen to reply, then froze. Things had changed so much since he and his brother struck a deal to part ways with the same goal in mind: find the Scroll to save Quell. His brother would be furious. They should talk in person.

Jordan knew Felix better. Maybe he had ideas about a way to loosen Duncan’s family’s tongue.

It took him a few hours, but he found and dug through past issues of Debs Daily to the one announcing Shelby’s murder.

Darragh Marionne was alluded to as the prime suspect because Shelby was killed in the forest behind her estate.

He skimmed the paragraph until he found a mention of Shelby’s father’s name before dropping two messages in an Ambrose outbox.