Page 129 of Liminal
Not yet.I let the two words hang unspoken in the space between us while she stares haughtily back.
“I don’t have time,” I finally say, deliberately gentling my tone because anger will only make her dig her heels in further. “And I don’t trust anyone else.”
The McKinleys might have the best nullifiers in the world, and the greatest sense of honour, but they’d never help for fear of the repercussions of fecking up the Ó Rinn heir. The other families—magic, even myownfamily—might try to sabotage me in hopes of removing me from the succession.
It has to be her.
The knowledge hits her, and she turns away, tugging at her sleeve in that nervous way she does. If I had more time, I’d be gentler about this, but I’ve had a ticking bomb inked onto my skin since I was born. It might not have activated yet, but lack of sleep coupled with actual progress has anticipation riding me hard.
“If I do this,” Kyrith murmurs. “You cannot blame me if it goes wrong. I tried to warn you. I tried to stop you.”
“Yes, yes.” I wave away her concerns, then busy myself with tugging off my jacket.
“That’s not all.” She straightens her spine. “I want your word, as heir, that as long as you live, this Arcanaeum remains open and impartial.”
My fingers freeze midway through unbuttoning the silk of my shirt. That’s the kind of thing she would only say if…
I look at her,reallylook at her. The cracks now cover every part of her torso and arms. Over the weeks I’ve stopped noticing them, but they’re still there, and she’s clearly more worried about them than she’s let on.
News of her affliction has set the arcanist world on fire, and I’d be lying if I pretended there wasn’t talk about what a world without the Librarian would look like. My own grandfather left Belfast for the first time in years, simply to evaluate her for himself.
He returned saying the trip was a waste of time, and I agree. She doesn’t look like someone who’s dying. Aside from the cracks, she’s no different from her usual self. She’s notlosing power, flickering out of existence, or suffering moments of impaired cognition. Her blue glow is the strongest light at this late hour, casting shadows around us.
If the cracks progress further, then that changes things, but right now, she’s stable.
“If it will make you feel better,” I concede. “But I will get to the bottom of the cracks.”
After this is done. After everyone is safe.
She hesitates, looking back in the direction Dakari left for half a second before thinking better of it.
“That’s not necessary. I release you from your promise to help me. Once your ensorcellment is broken, you can go about your life.”
I shake my head, still deeply uncomfortable with receiving nothing in exchange. Perhaps she doubts me, but once the curse is broken, I’ll devote all of my time and resources to finding a solution.
She picks up the paper again, waving me onto the empty bench as she does so.
“I copied it onto reinforced paper,” I tell her. “I figured it was necessary, since you don’t have a grimoire.”
Her face falls again, but I’m too busy taking off my shirt to pay it much mind. I’ve lost weight recently, too busy or too stressed to enjoy regular meals as I probably should, and my abs are sharper as a result of my self-neglect. The chill that accompanies her presence has my nipples hard enough to cut glass, and Kyrith’s gaze lingers on them for a second before she leans forward to examine the runeform and compare it to the one I’ve drawn.
I don’t dare move in case I touch her, but her breasts are right in my face, and my body apparently isn’t as exhausted as I thought because my cock stirs behind my fly at the sight.
My attraction to her is inconvenient, but at least I’m not dumb enough to try to do something about it like Lambert or make moon eyes at her like Jasper.
Kyrith is older than I am, and she’ll be around long after I’m gone. She’s also famously impartial and bound to the Arcanaeum. None of that lends itself to romance or even a quick hard fuck against a bookshelf.
Though my dick certainly isn’t opposed to the idea of the latter.
She starts whispering the words of the incantation I derived, and I find myself compulsively double checking her enunciation as she works, even though I know she’s probably better at this than I am.
It doesn’t matter. This has to work.
The prickling of magic crosses over my skin, washing through me in a way that makes me sit up straighter. I’ve always hated any kind of spells being cast on me. It’s a psychological issue, one I should’ve crushed ages ago, but it’s understandable.
“Ach!” The magic switches from tingles to sharp tugging at my bones, like it’s picking apart the threads of my being.
Kyrith continues chanting, undeterred, but I dig my hands into my kneecaps to try to stop myself from lurching away. Stars, why is this so difficult? Is it supposed to hurt this much?
