Page 27 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘Is that all you needed?’ I sighed, folding my hands politely before me.
‘I wanted to show you the study.’ He indicated down the hallway, before leading the way.
‘What were you doing in the woods?’ he asked.
‘I had need of some fresh samples for my research. The door was unlocked, otherwise I would have asked William.’
‘The house must like you.’ He sounded troubled by the thought as he led us deeper into the house.
Chapter Nine
InThe Mages’ Codex of BehaviourI’d outlined two of the most important rules: order and perfection – the two things that I found severely lacking as I entered Blackthorn’s study. Despite whatever favour he owed Master Hale, I hadn’t anticipated he’d actually want to teach me anything, that his mentorship would be a distant and hollow thing just to keep the Council at bay.
However, the lord was very much present as he strode the vast comely halls of his manor, leading the way. The arched green doors of the study were hidden at the end of a maze of endless shadowy corridors, almost willing you to get lost. A similar room to the library, the space was a mess of unfinished papers, potion bottles, wonky shelves and imposing bookcases that seemed to open passageways that led deeper into the room.
Enormous, latticed windows covered the far wall overlooking Blackthorn Forest, and an impressive fireplace dominated the space between bookshelves. Large ornate lamps hung from the walls, held by golden talons that formed hooks. The air was filled with the scent of burnt candles and the remnants of wax stuck to the wooden surfaces.
‘Your desk.’ He indicated to the only clear surface in the room – a large dark wooden desk with legs carved so thateach looked like a phoenix taking flight. Mages used to take great pride in their desks, the place they created their spells, selecting a creature from the earth to symbolise their character and bless their work.
At least that’s what they used to do. Now, most of the mages at the Institute had a plain, gilded desk. No trace of the earth that they had stolen their magic from now that it was sterile.
‘I’ve gathered some more papers and cases for your consideration,’ Emrys continued effortlessly, as if he hadn’t given me an incredible gift. Moving to another desk, the floor around it stacked high with so many books I couldn’t see what creature was carved onto its legs. There appeared to be another in the far corner of the room that was in worse condition than his.
‘It’s beautiful.’ I ran my fingertips over the smooth wood, the dark red leather top, worn with time and use.
‘It was my sister’s,’ he replied quietly, beginning to root through the drawers of his desk. ‘Her name was Emmaline.’
The mysterious dead sister. I wouldn’t lower myself to listen to gossip; anything I trusted about this man would have to come from my own observations. So, as I looked at him, all I could see was the dark sadness of grief lingering in his gaze before he pulled off his jacket to drape it over the back of the chair.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’ He busied himself by rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt to reveal toned forearms. Streaks of pale scars marring the surface, but clearly not affecting the strength of the muscle beneath.
Then I realised I was staring.
‘I’ll have to try and memorise the way,’ I observed stupidly as an excuse to look back at the large green doors, whose paint had begun to crack with age.
‘There wouldn’t be much point. This is where the study has chosen to be today. It must have thought I needed the exercise.’ He turned to lean back against his desk, arms folded to consider me.
Then I remembered the table moving of its own accord to lose my hairpin, how the hallway had shifted that first night. The house clearly had a mind of its own.
My mother had told me stories of magical houses, of rooms being charmed so they were harder to discover, bank vaults and even the King’s bedchamber, but never a study. Which only made me wonder what the Blackthorns of the past had been up to.
‘What theories have you been working on?’ he asked abruptly, startling me back into the present.
‘A cure for saltorvarious pox.’ A complex and deadly disease, foolish perhaps, but it was a small debt I owed my mother’s memory.
He frowned, clearly surprised by the impossibility of my self-imposed study.
‘It took my mother’s life,’ I added quietly. The moment mortals carried fey children their blood was affected, enough to leave them vulnerable. Her illness was deemed her own fault for debasing herself with my father, so no help came.
He seemed to contemplate that for a moment, his expression giving nothing away, but I could have sworn his eyes darkened ever so slightly. ‘I’d be interested to see them.’
Hesitantly, I crossed the space between our desks and reached into my small bag, finding the notes tucked at the bottom next to my father’s sword hilt, holding the file out to him, watching the flare of something cross his features – surprise, perhaps – before he hid it again behind his cool indifference.
‘Are you always so prepared?’ He plucked the file from my hands and opened it effortlessly.
‘Yes.’
