Page 111 of Fractured Fates
There’ll be all sorts of charms and magic keeping this door locked and intruders out. It’s why those guards aren’t interested in what I’m up to. They don’t think I can enter anywhere I shouldn’t.
They’re wrong.
I hover my palm in front of the door, and close my eyes, reading the spells there. This ability is one of the reasons I’m so damn good at my job. It’s also an ability I’ve never revealed to anyone but Stone. Not even to my father. Keeping it a secret has made it far more useful than it would otherwise be.
As I predicted, there are several spells by two different hands. The Chancellor himself and his head of security, Janice Pierce. Two of them are hexes designed to harm anyone who attempts to open the door by force.
Those are easily removed, a few whispered words and the magic dissolves into the air.
The next one is more challenging. It’s an alarm, designed to sound if anyone tampers with the spell. I peer at the intricacies of the magic with my mind, peering at it from every angle. Every piece of magic has its weakness. A way in, a way to destroy it.
Finally I find this too, a switch buried in its midst placed there by its creator to disable the alarm if necessary. I flick it, holding my breath, prepared to sprint if the alarm sounds.
Nothing, simply silence and my own breath, loud enough in my ears.
I shake my head. A thin film of sweat forms along my brow.
I peer down at the guards. They’re talking softly among themselves, still unaware of what I’m doing.
The two last pieces of magic are the most complex. They twist together, tangling and combining to hold the door locked.
Of course, there must be a way to undo them, otherwise the Chancellor would never be able to enter his own office.
Again I examine the magic. On closer inspection, I see the magic is not as sophisticated as it first appears. It’s flimsy and simple. I scoff. So very like the Chancellor himself: all show and no substance.
Carefully, I unbind the magic, unraveling it a strand at a time, making a mental note as I do of how it was entangled. I will need to replace these spells when I’m done. Otherwise they’ll know I was in here.
Finally, the last strand of magic uncoils and the door clicks open.
I wipe my brow and rub my eyes. Then with one final check on the guards, I slip inside, shutting the door behind me.
There’s a security camera blinking in the corner, but I send a wave of magic its way, ensuring the only pictures it records are that of an empty office. Then I swing my gaze around.
Moonlight casts the room in a hue of silver, making the place look older and more ghostly than it is.
The Chancellor’s laptop isn’t here and I realize I’m clutching at straws. Why would the Chancellor keep any records in his office? They’d be stored elsewhere, locked away in archives or in some administrator’s filing cabinet.
Still, I’m here now. I may as well look.
There’s a stack of papers resting on the Chancellor’s desk so I start there, rifling through the pages one at a time. They’re all neatly typed briefings and minutes from meetings. The topics range from a trade deal with the Eastern Isles to proposed changes to the school curriculum. There’s certainly nothing about a scrawny, unregistered girl from the wastelands.
I straighten the pile, waving my hand to remove any traces of my scent, magic or fingerprints.
I look to the shelves next. They’re lined with ancient leather-backed tomes and not much else, except a small statue of a fairy spinning on her toes. I flick through the books. I check the index for Blackwaters. Nothing.
This was a futile visit. One I should have planned out better.
I rub at my forehead. What the hell is going on with me? I’m not impulsive like this. I don’t pull risky stunts that would ruin my reputation, end my career and land me in the Northern labor camps.
Except that’s the reason I am here. I’m not myself. And if I ever hope to be so again, I need to understand.
My eyes flick to the bust on the desk. My grandfather’s cold eyes stare back at me. I barely remember him, just another ancestor in a whole long line of them with famous names and towering reputations.
I step closer towards him.
He was ruthless, crushing an uprising in the East, a state that had wanted to break away and form a republic of its own. He’d have agreed with Stone. Not only would he have let the girl run, he’d have encouraged her to do it.
The bust is made from walnut like everything else in this overdone office, but his eyes weren’t brown, they were dark like mine. Soulless my mother once called them, screaming at my father.
