Page 19 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘I’m sorry I’m—’ I began, fumbling for some reason for my tardiness, only to almost slam into Blackthorn’s broad back as he came to a sudden stop.
We were now standing in a small chamber with an intricate dark floral wallpaper design of birds eating berries. A very ordinary non-descript door with a large brass knob and a slot ready for the incantation paper was waiting before us. Blackthorn effortlessly pulled something from his breast pocket and slipped a rune covered piece of paper into the slot as the whirring and clatter of the mechanisms began.
‘Is that a Council portal door?’ I asked, a bit breathless, trying not to be impressed that he wrote his own portal papers.
‘Yes.’ He considered me over his shoulder, brow furrowed, troubled by something. ‘Didn’t William bring you this way?’
I shook my head.
His fingers ran though the dark mess of his hair as a small phantom smile graced his lips. ‘He has a fondness for the scenic route. I hope he didn’t bore you too much with talk of ground goblins and the benefits of Dulmor weed.’
‘Of course not.’ I flushed, running my hands over my skirts to try and straighten them. ‘Dulmor use is fascinating, and the abandoned studies of Mage Septimus Barton about wild root magic have been an interest of mine for …’
My words ran out as I glanced up, expecting his polite disinterest, but he was closer than I anticipated. That aloofness had left his expression once again. That small smile still touching his lips, dark hair falling onto his brow, head tipped to better hear every rambling thought I had.
Under the force of his attention, I suddenly couldn’t remember another word and my only salvation was the door clicking open as the incantation worked.
Emrys stepped through first and all my wonder was lost as the horrid, draughty Council passages greeted us. The reek of saint smoke was thick in the air from their morning prayers. I swallowed down my cough at the sourness it left on my tongue. I barely had a moment to gather myself before Blackthorn was off again, striding down the corridor like some dark, threatening shadow.
Considering he was a man I’d never seen in the Council chambers, he certainly knew the way. Whispers followed us around each corner as maids and the few students who were not in class scrambled from our path. At least their unease distracted me from my own as we arrived at the stained-glass doors that led into the Council’s grand chamber.
A shudder ran through me, hearing the horrid creak of the old wooden doors as Blackthorn opened them and moved inside. I reached to catch the door before it swung back, only for my hand to meet air – to see Blackthorn holding it open for me. Those dark, unreadable eyes waiting for something.
I snatched my hand back, muttering my thanks as I entered the room, ignoring the dark rich scent of that troublesome beasam bark as Emrys’s powerful steps put him back in front to lead.
I gratefully followed, trying to calm myself, but as I watched the broad expanse of his shoulders move before me in the confines of his dark jacket, I didn’t feel any calmer, so I settled on the boring white tiled floor between us.
The chamber doors were open, two Institute wardens standing guard. Their bright blue tunics looked as stiff anduncomfortable as ever as they shifted slightly with unease at Emrys’ presence as he. He walked through the grand arches and into the Mages’ Hall.
The room was vast, many desks abandoned by Master Mages who weren’t in residence or couldn’t be bothered to attend. The walls were lined with garish tapestries of their achievements, battles fought against fey in the name of their dethroned Mage King. They seemed to forget that they allowed him to bring darkness back into this world, remnants of that royal dictatorship covering every inch of the new Institute.
The King’s crest depicted in the domed ceiling of stained glass above showered the waiting Council’s disapproving faces in a wash of colour. The main desks faced us in a semi-circle, the dour wrinkled face of Master Ainsworth sitting at the centre. I wasn’t surprised Ainsworth was here, despite his son being the guilty party. Council hypocrisies had stopped shocking me long ago.
Master Grima and Master Stone sat on either side of Ainsworth, their desks littered with papers and teapots. Madame Bernard, the Institute matron, lingered behind them like a thin, hungry crow.
Master Hale had situated himself at the end, hand resting on his cane as if he could rise to my defence at any moment. The skin beneath his eyes appearing bruised with his failing health. His presence did little to unpick the tight knot of anxiety in my chest, my mouth suddenly too dry.
They’d moved one lone chair of dark mahogany into the centre of the room, just to one side – probably for Blackthorn to witness my humiliation from.
‘Lord Blackthorn,’ Master Ainsworth grumbled, those cold, hateful eyes finding me too swiftly. His powdered white wig sat off-centre on his head. ‘You’re late.’
‘You should be counting your blessings I could find the time to entertain you at all, Master Ainsworth,’ Emrys drawled, turning to me to indicate the chair between us with the barest motion of his gloved fingers.
An offer to sit.
My heart pounded wildly against my ribs. The chair was clearly intended for him. Not me. I always had to stand.
He sent me a slightly irritated glance and I dropped into the seat.
I’d made him late, the least I could do was not cause a scene. So, I folded my hands neatly in my lap and kept my chin high, refusing to be cowed by the hateful glare of Ainsworth and his bench.
I knew the plain dress I wore was useless. They still saw the wildness of every other indiscretion I’d made. Saw how the dark slate grey of the fabric made the golden tones in my skin glow, made my ethereal eyes sharper in my face.
Master Hale’s wrinkles deepened with worry despite the reassuring smile he gave me.
‘Miss Woodrow is accused of a severe violation of section nineteen of the Peace Agreements,’ Master Ainsworth proclaimed, his puffy red face pulled into its usual frown. ‘I’m certain suchdisregardfor the safety of Institute students is more than worthy of your time,Blackthorn.’
‘Do you contest the claims against you, Miss Woodrow?’ Master Grima asked impatiently, pushing his glasses up his bulbous nose.
