Page 132 of Liminal

This isn’t a decision to be made emotionally. The logical choice is clear. It always has been.

Kyrith has lived five hundred years longer than Lambert. She’s more than capable of avoiding the heirs, but she actively chooses not to. She already freed me from my promise to help.

I think… I think she’d approve of the choice to save Lambert. If I frame it that way, I think she’ll even consider trying to break the ensorcellment again. She has a soft spot for him.

If she’s still alive after I break this stupid curse, or after it detonates, I’ll go back to working on her condition. Magic, if I fail to save Lambert, I’ll have nothing else to do.

Swallowing back the guilt that threatens to rise, I clench my fists, take a deep breath, and turn to the pile of star charts.

Thirty-Seven

Kyrith

Thoughts of Leo and his curse haunt me through the first week of December and into the second. He doesn’t attend Hopkinson’s lectures or make any more attempts to talk to me. Oh, and he’s taken to wearing a heavy woollen turtleneck everywhere, probably because that runeform now glows so brightly you can see it through the fabric of one of his silken shirts.

I tried to warn him. I even held back from pointing out that Itoldhim trying an experimental spell without asking for a second opinion was a bad idea.

So why do I still find it hard to look at him without guilt rising?

It’s not the only thing I feel when he’s around, either. Wariness lingers in the space between us like a white elephant. People say things they don’t mean in anger, but he hasn’t apologised. I know why, of course. In his mind, he’s protecting his friend. Protecting what matters most.

I can’t fault him for it, really.

Still, I thought our friendship was worth more than this.

And then there’s Pierce, who’s begun to take a disturbing amount of interest in the Arcanaeum. He’s in here most days now, even though Jasper is gone, and he’s behaving…normally.

Studying, taking notes, and not threatening me in any way.

I’m not going to be lulled into a false sense of security. The final magiball game of the term is this evening, and Jasper and the others will be arriving to watch it soon enough, which is why I’m keeping a thorough eye on the Carlton heir as he peruses the books in the Ruinous Hall. My hands might be occupied repairing a creased spine—courtesy of a now-banished patron—but my mind is one hundred percent attuned to his apparently innocent afternoon browsing.

Unfortunately, that means I’m completely unprepared for the cough from behind me.

Whirling, my arm passes through the grey-haired gentleman trying to get my attention, causing him to grimace.

“Apologies,” I murmur. “How can I help you Mr…?”

Wait…

I have no idea who this patron is, and that’s concerning. I can’t even spare the cognisance to figure it out because Pierce is moving over to the window, using the pale afternoon light to decipher something in the book he’s holding.

Aside from myself and the newcomer, he’s the only person here.

“If this is a bad time, I can return later,” he says, noticing my distraction.

He’s just reading,I tell myself, forcing my attention to the newcomer.

Gunmetal grey eyes—the hallmark of the Carlton family—stare genially at me, surrounded by laugh lines.

“Forgive me,” I begin again. “How may I assist you?”

“I have a book I’d like to donate to the collection. One I think you might find quite interesting.”

He’s dressed in an odd hodgepodge of clothes that don’t quite match. A worn leather jacket over a deep green kurta, colourful wooden prayer beads around his neck, and hiking boots that are covered in dried mud and dust. He has a backpack covered in tourist patches strung over one shoulder, rings on almost every finger, and in his hand is… Well, it’s not a book, not really. It’s more a badly bound collection of field papers, and one falls out as I take it from him, only to be carried back into place by the Arcanaeum.

“Healing The Magical Well,” I read the title aloud.

“I’d be happy to take a look at the patient myself,” the unknown Carlton suggests. “But a little birdie told me you’re rightly protective of him and quite skilled in restoration yourself.”