Page 128 of Liminal

“But you said yourself that constellation is unreliable,” Kyrith interjects, stepping back. “And this line is out by a fraction of a degree from where it would be if?—”

“I’m not wrong,” I protest. “I’ve figured this out. I spent hours going over everything.”

Instead of looking mollified, she clenches her cracked fists. “I’m not going to blindly agree with you when the consequences of making a mistake can be?—”

Taking a frustrated breath, I shove my hair out of my face and pace away from her. It’s only logical she would want todouble check things; she’s older. Old arcanists always think they know the best. That’s part of the reason why my grandfather flat out refuses to hear any more theories about breaking the ensorcellment. They’ve given up.

I can’t give up. There’s a huge possibility that Lambert might die if I do. Or this building. It’s like a second home to me now. What if the curse decides to take that from me?

At least Kyrith is dead. There’s very little I can do to harm her—besides touching her.

“Look, I didn’t come here for you to tell me no.” I pick up the runeform I so carefully copied out and hold it out in the gap between us. “You’re the only person with the power and knowledge to do this. Try it, please.”

“No.” Her refusal only stokes the rage boiling in my stomach. “I don’t experiment on people.”

“It’s not an experiment.”

“Have you ever cast this spell before?”

“No, but?—”

“Would you try it on a child?”

“Obviously not?—”

“Then it’s an experiment.”

“I’m not a child,” I retort. “I’m a grown adult, and I’m telling you I know the risks, and I want you to cast it.”

If we can undo the first layer of this, that’s more progress than anyone else has ever made. And if that first layer happens to be the trigger? Then we wouldn’t even need to bother with the rest.

Granted, it’s likely not. The first layer is usually an anti-tamper mechanism, the armour of the spell, so to speak. Either way, it would be progress. A momentous victory after years of crushing fear. Hope.

Kyrith is already shaking her head. “You’re skipping important steps.”

The anger of earlier calcifies into stone. “You promised to help me. Do you know how many hours of my time I wasted searching for any references to soul bindings?” Hours I could’ve been spending working on my own problems. “I have cousins with this mark, Kyrith. Little children whose marks are already active.”

The day their marks turn red, the final countdown begins. If they’re lucky, it will just be a favourite toy that’s lost forever.

It rarely is, though.

Sooner or later, more families will be torn apart, all in the name of a Talcott’s revenge.

As if to torment me, I catch sight ofhimdown the hall. He takes a few steps towards us, eyes narrowing as he reads the tension in our postures, before Kyrith catches sight of him and makes a shooing motion.

His mouth sets in a grim line, warning flashing in those eyes.

As if I’d ever hurt her.

He eventually takes the hint and leaves, but his nearness has my hackles up. The Talcotts would love nothing more than to sabotage this, and here he is waltzing around as if the Arcanaeum is his home.

“Give me two days.” Kyrith puts the runeform down carefully. “Once I’ve had time to look over this?—”

The thunderous look on my face cuts her off.

“You’re either helping me, or you’re against me,” I whisper. “And if you think I’m going to leave this lying around when the Talcott heir is right down the hall and ready to sabotage?—”

“Dakari has done nothing to you.”