Page 62 of Liminal

If I grind my teeth together any harder, I’ll probably need dentures before I turn thirty… If I live that long.

Lambert will be fine, I remind myself, striding down Defenders Hall and towards the wrought iron spiral staircase that leads into the Divination Tower.

Only to find the familiar route is blocked.

On the topmost step, several stacks of books teeter precariously, impeding my ascent.

A glance at the titles makes me scowl.

“Magic For Relaxation?How To Unwind With Tropical Illusion Runeforms?A Guide to Self Ensorcellment As A Therapeutic Aid?What the hell is this?”

It’s almost like someone dumped their entire anti-stress self-help collection on the step, but normally the books would zoom back to their places if they were left lying around.

Which means they’re here intentionally.

Is Kyrith trying to tell me something? Or is this…the Arcanaeum itself?

Ever since Halloween, where we caught her arguing with someone invisible about the decorations, I’ve been trying to discern the difference between her actions and the Arcanaeum’s. It clearly enjoys meddling, but so does she.

“I am not stressed, damn you.” I grab at my grimoire, flicking through pages with agitated motions as I search for the correct manipulation spell to move them.

It takes longer than it should. Pierce and Dakari’s words have left me distracted, so my grimoire is unable to discern my intentions and flick to the correct page automatically, as it normally would.

I’ve been studying magic for a long time, so there are a lot of pages to get through.

But the moment I find the runeform and lay my hand over it, the number of books increases tenfold.

“I need to go up there!”

Really? Now I’m arguing with empty space, too? This is a new low, even for me.

“Gali—Mr Ó Rinn, are you…” I whirl and accidentally pin Kyrith with a look of impatience that I don’t quite manage to temper in time.

“I was looking for you.” I descend the stairs, tucking my grimoire away. “I wished to ask for your assistance.”

It’s become increasingly apparent that Kyrith does not enjoy speaking about her past. Yet I promised to look into the cracks spider-webbing up her arm. Previously, I was only looking into the old Ackland parriarch, but if I need to expand my search, that will leave even less time for my own pursuits.

Not that they were very fruitful.

Glancing around, I spot an elderly arcanist asleep in her chair a little too close for comfort and wave at her. “Would it be possible to have this conversation somewhere private and warded?”

I don’t trust Pierce. I dislike Dakari, but at least he has a shred of honour. The newly installed Carlton heir is as ruthless as his mother and sister and twice as cunning.

Kyrith frowns, but nods, trailing down the hall and then descending the stairs until we reach a nondescript door I hadn’t noticed before.

There are so many doors in the Arcanaeum, I’ve stopped seeing them, so when this one opens and reveals a tiny cramped office full of scattered papers, bland wallpaper, and ripped notecards, I frown.

It’s barely a closet, but as the door shuts behind me, I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck in the way they do when a room is warded by powerful nullification magic.

She floats through the desk to perch on the stuffed wingback armchair on the other side. There aren’t any windows in here, and her pale light is the only illumination until she conjures a handful of wisps that float around the ceiling like orbiting stars.

For all that her posture is relaxed, there’s a wariness in her eyes she doesn’t have when she’s around Lambert, and I sigh, knowing my instincts about her are right.

“You’re uncomfortable with me,” I observe.

It’s laughable. She has power beyond any other arcanist’s dreams and could freeze me in place before I could get close enough to touch her, and yet, here we are.

Her brows rise, and she gestures to the cracked limb. “Should I not be?”