Page 1 of Liminal
Prologue
Kyrith - 1507
Magister Ackland strides through the gates of the university, leaving me to stumble along in his wake. His deep purple damask robes billow around his ankles, making him appear to be an apparition drawn forth from the shadows themselves.
“Keep up,” he tuts, ignoring the beauty of the stars and full moon above us as he crosses the cobbled quadrangle, then takes an abrupt left turn.
“Sorry, Magister,” I stammer, hiking my skirts higher and doubling my pace.
The cosy glow of magical lamps illuminates our way as we near our destination. He’s walking so fast I can barely keep up, let alone catch my breath and ask what we’re doing. How can a man his age move so quickly while carrying his enormous grimoire? He makes it look easy.
He turned up to the start of term ball and dragged me away without warning. Even from this distance, I can still hear the music pouring out of the banquet hall, reminding me of what I’m missing out on. I was really hoping to make friends withsomeone my own age to soothe my nerves about walking into class tomorrow, but I barely managed to introduce myself before he arrived.
Then again, I’ve been assisting him with his research in the Arcanaeum for a few months now, and this is hardly the strangest thing he’s done.
I can’t complain. No one expected him to take someone like me—a liminal with no esteemed magical heritage—under his wing. If he wants to summon me in the late hours of the night, that’s a small price to pay for his sponsorship.
Rector Carlton is waiting for us outside his cottage—if the imposing sandstone manor adjoining the college can really be called such. Like Magister Ackland, he’s dressed in dark, flowing robes, and his silver beard has been neatly trimmed into a pointed goatee that makes him look older than his fifty-eight years.
Unlike the magister, who prefers to carry his grimoire in his arms, the rector’s tome is hung from his belt in a well-worn leather holster. It thumps against his thigh as he strides towards us.
Should I have brought mine? I didn’t think I’d need it for the party, and besides, I’ve barely had a chance to do more to it than inscribe my name.
“Mathias,” the rector greets him warmly, jolting me from my fretting. “And you brought the liminal, excellent.”
I bob a curtsy, hardly daring to look up.
The two men are both patriarchs of their respective families. There are only four other people in the world who can make such a claim.
“You’re quite sure Edmund chose correctly?” the rector asks, ignoring me as he sweeps the magister on with a wave of his arm, falling into step beside him.
The magister pops out his chest like a peacock. “Kyrith has the greatest magical potential I’ve ever seen. Her abilities, once trained, could be stronger than our own.”
I glow under his praise, cheeks heating even though they’re not addressing me directly.
Since I arrived, Magister Ackland has been so complimentary of my strength. I may not have been born to a magical family, like most arcanists, but with his tutelage and the Arcanaeum at my disposal, I intend to catch up with the rest of the students at the university quickly. The academic term starts tomorrow, and I’ve already carefully plotted my routes to my first classes.
“And Edmund has the rest of what we need?” The rector sounds almost nervous. No. Impatient? It’s hard to tell when they’re both walking so quickly.
“He’s waiting in the Arcanaeum, with the other parriarchs.”
Dear God, Edmund ishere? I smooth my hands down my dress, checking surreptitiously for crumbs. The blue velvet ensemble is on loan from Mistress Ruby, the housekeeper who looks after my new lodgings. She inherited it from her sister, who in turn was gifted it by the lady of the estate where she works as a maid. Given its age, it's a little out of fashion, but still grander than anything I’ve ever owned before. Will he like it?
I shouldn’t care so much, but this is Edmund. A few months ago, I was just another maid, working in a household in London. If he hadn’t crashed into me at the market, it’s unlikely I would ever have known about this world.
Fortunately, Edmund’s job is to go out among the inepts and search for people like me. The moment he saw me, he knew that I was a liminal—an arcanist bastard born to a non-magical family.
Of course, I now know his flirting was just an excuse to get me alone and explain. That doesn’t stop butterflies erupting in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again. He’s an Ackland,too, which is how I met the magister—his grandfather—on my very first day.
The Arcanaeum looms over us, a beautiful Gothic cathedral built to worship knowledge. My eyes drift up to the impressive slate-covered dome, flanked on both sides by two octagonal towers. It may as well be a castle, a fortress of books. The sheer enormity of it is matched only by the skill that went into crafting it.
The red sandstone has been carved liberally with grotesques, and they scream down at us as we pass through the unlocked doors and into the foyer.
As has become my habit, I draw in a deep breath as I cross the threshold. I’m not sure what it is about the Arcanaeum that smells so good, but I love it. When I first entered, I expected the place to be dusty and the air stale. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Arcanaeum smells of fresh, crisp paper. Like someone bottled bibliosmia and unleashed it within the walls.
Across the floor, the building’s motto gleams in gilt silver script.
Veritas Absoluta Periculosior Est Quam Potestas Absoluta
