Page 52 of Liminal

“What did they do to him?”

Tugging at my sleeve, I hum thoughtfully. “If I had to guess? I’d say he suffered repeated magical burnouts—over a long period of time—followed by forcing him to drink restorative concoctions, which are known to do damage to the other organs if consumed too regularly. I’ve read about it happening in cases of over-ambitious arcanists who wanted to push themselves to the limit or appear more powerful than they really were.” Floating towards the door, I hesitate before passing through it. “My guests should be bringing you food. If you’re hungry, we’ll be in the Ruinous Hall.”

I’m gone before he can ask more.

I don’t know where the Talcotts stand with the other families, though I imagine their standing with the Carltons took a nosedive today. All I can do is hope I’ve not just set up another standoff.

But if the troublesome trio, as I’ve begun to think of them, have an issue with him, they’re more than welcome to find someone else to tutor them. They’re all probably stinking rich; I can’t imagine it would be that hard.

They’re already gathered around the table I’ve somehow come to think of as theirs, even in such a short time. There are three square boxes of something steaming on the table, and Lambert is already reaching for one, but North slaps his hand away.

“Okay, what are we doing today?” I ask, floating up beside them.

“North needs desperate help with conjuration,” Lambert tattles, sticking his tongue out at his grumpy friend. “And I got eighty percent in my last alchemy paper.”

“Now you just have to pass the exam,” Galileo says pointedly.

Lambert slumps. “Ugh, I?—”

All three of them stiffen.

“Talcott,” Galileo finally acknowledges, his accent turning the name harsher than I’ve ever heard it said.

“Ó Rinn,”

“Dakari.” Lambert waves a hand towards him, then at North. “North.” Finally, he gestures to himself. “Lambert! Great. We’re all friends now.”

The look being shared between Leo and Dakari is less than friendly, but I pretend not to notice it. “This is apparently pizza.” I wave at the boxes. “I have no idea what it tastes like, but?—”

“You sent us to get food for him?” Lambert pouts. “But I thought?—”

“Lambert,” I say softly. “I can’t eat, remember? I’ve never seen a pizza before, for all that I understand the concept. I can’t even smell whatever is in the box.”

Given the absolutely shattered look on Lambert’s face, one might think that he’d just been told the end of the world was nigh, or perhaps that magiball had been banned.

He turns to Leo, pinning him with a look. “Fix her.”

A startled laugh bursts out of me, and all four of them freeze at the sound. I am not ladylike with my laughter; I never have been. If I could still blush, I would, because apparently even without lungs, I still snort like a prize hog midway through my witchy cackle.

I can’t help it. Lambert so casually commanding such a young arcanist to just ‘fix me’ as if death is something one can simply recover from…magic.

“You’re pretty when you laugh, Kyrith,” Lambert says, and the words instantly shock me sober.

“There is no fixing me.” I know I shouldn’t, but my right hand comes down to cradle the broken black cracks of my opposite wrist. “But you should all eat. I would like to know what pizza tastes like, and you can describe it to me.”

I turn to Dakari, only to find him staring at me.

“What?” I ask, self-conscious. “If you don’t like pizza…” I don’t know what I’ll do.

“Can’t she just conjure him something?” North mutters. “Or he could do it himself?”

Okay, now I see why he needs help with conjuration. That’s basic magic theory, taught to children.

“Food is one of the inconjurable paradoxes,” Leo explains.

At the same time Dakari says to me, “You have a name?”

Oh. He didn’t know. Now that predatory gaze has turned almost accusatory, as if it’s my fault he never cared to ask before now.