Page 28 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘Do you have any other unsavoury past times I should be informed of? Or are they limited to snooping? Or summoning demons in the Fifth Library?’
‘Such as the study of necromancy?’ I raised a brow, catching his attention once more. ‘I believe interest in such things to be frowned upon?’
‘How could you tell?’ That ghost of a smile came to his lips again.
‘Beasam bark. It has a distinct smell,’ was all I offered, knowing it probably wasn’t wise to disclose just how much I knew about forbidden texts. Another crime the Council would be only too happy to accuse me of.
‘It can be used in other spells.’ The hint of a challenge crept into his tone, making me stand a little straighter.
‘Not on this occasion.The Book of Mortgave you away.’ I smiled, remembering the tattered compendium that lay on the cluttered table in the library.
There was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth before it vanished as something shifting in his expression. Focus caught on a page of my notes.
‘You’ve been studying Lux Theory.’ His attention shot to my face, eyes bright once more, crystalline almost.
‘It helps when working through the poisons, and in finding which incantations can be used to balance dark matter,’ I replied calmly, confused by his interest. ‘They have the same rhythm encased in the spell. I’ve been using it on dark herbs to extract their energy. The saltorvarious strain began as a curse after all.’
I moved closer to point out the section of my notes where I’d documented the change. ‘I found the strongest part of theincantation and inverted it instead, so the poison becomes the opposite of what it was intended to be. It’s an old theory from one of Amrock’s …’
I glanced up to see if he was following but he wasn’t looking at the notes or my finger as it dragged across the page.
No, he was looking right at me.
Those strange, stormy eyes filled with sharp intensity, as if seeing me for the first time. That harshness in his features faded. Those scars seemed less brutal, his expression softer as that dark hair fell across his brow.
Being what I was, I had been on the receiving end of all kinds of looks in my life, but nobody had ever looked at me the way he did at that moment. As if he couldn’t fathom if I was real. Yet in a moment, it was gone.
As if remembering himself, he straightened, looking back at the page between us. ‘You’re using poison in your healing?’
‘Well, it’s …’ I struggled to find the words, unsettled by his attention as I retreated back to my own desk, quickly taking a few items from my bag:The Myths of Shadow, and notebooks I still needed to make sense of. ‘It’s based on Sorcerer Amrock’s studies.’
‘The bastard son of a witch?’ sharp amusement coating his words, making my pen box slip from my fingers, clattering loudly against the leather-top.
The gossip Alma had told me began to echo around my head. It would make sense if hewasthe son of a witch, the way his eyes appeared to change colour with his mood and the intensity of his stare, like he could hear every word in my head.
I really bloody hoped he couldn’t.
‘His magic was powerful, most of his theories were destroyed, apart from the few notes that survived. I copiedhis method with great success.’ I shrugged, turning back to him and trying to seem impervious, which only appeared to amuse him more.
‘Amrock wrote his tales in earth languages, but all his theories were coded,’ he countered as he flicked through my notebook with ease.
This was normal – partner mages were supposed to share information on their studies – but I’d never done it before, and my skin felt tight with both embarrassment and shame. I’d have an easier time standing here in my undergarments than have this man examining my private research.
‘You’ve translated it.’ There was a sharpness to his eyes as they came back to my face, settling on my lips in anticipation of a lie in my explanation.
‘Exilianmight be a difficult language, but it’s close enough to Kysillian,’ I countered. It wasn’t that much of a marvel; anyone with a brain could see the similarity.
‘It’s a dead language,’ he pressed. ‘A dead language where the only remaining record was written phonetically by a madman.’
‘Nothing is truly dead when it comes to fey magic,’ I challenged, unwilling to accept his praise.
‘I’ve been trying for five years.’ There was a glint in his dark eyes that looked oddly like admiration, before he thankfully looked to the papers again, so my heart had a chance to settle.
A shy tapping on the door made me turn to find William standing there, oddly straight backed, as if he’d decided to start wearing a corset.
‘Yes, William?’ Emrys asked without glancing in the boy’s direction.
‘A letter’s arrived in the fireplace.’ The boy shifted uncomfortably as he crossed the room and handed the letter over.
