Page 105 of Liminal
“Librarian,” Rector Talcott greets me.
I’ve never had an issue with him before. He’s young, for a rector of the university, only in his sixties, with a flop of neatly trimmed grey hair, a matching moustache, and square spectacles that glint in the lamplight. The position of rector—and leadership of the arcanists—is cyclical, meaning that each timethe incumbent dies or resigns, the replacement is the parriarch of the next family in the cycle.
His youth and good health are the only thing standing between him and Isidora inheriting the position. If Josef outlives her, he’ll be the next rector. If not, it will most likely be North,ifhe makes it to the rank of magister.
I wonder if anyone has explained that to him yet.
“Rector Talcott.” I nod at him but don’t extend the courtesy to the other two. “Parriarchs.”
The rector’s brown eyes slide over my cracked body, and I force myself not to wiggle under his shrewd gaze. “We’ve received reports that you were deteriorating.”
A flash of movement in the corner of my eye draws my gaze to the stairs on my left, but I don’t dare turn my gaze from the people in front of me to check what Pierce is up to.
“I’m perfectly capable of running the Arcanaeum,” I say flatly. “There’s no cause for concern.”
“We can hardly consider you impartial on the matter.” Isidora’s cold eyes rake up and down my body. “If your judgement is impaired by your current state?—”
“It isn’t, and claiming as much will not persuade me to rescind my offer of sanctuary,” I reply bluntly. “My condition is a private matter. The Arcanaeum hasn’t suffered for it, and while you are, of course, welcome to use the resources, I will not continue to entertain this line of questioning. The parriarchs hold no authority over this Arcanaeum.”
To my consternation, they regularly require reminders of that fact.
“Dakari is here?” Rector Talcott beams, apparently deciding that a change of subject is the best way to disperse the threatening chill creeping into the Rotunda. “Where is—Ah! There you are!”
I turn to find him stepping out from behind a shelf, not even pretending that he wasn’t eavesdropping. I expected that he might be more pleased to see a relative, but the stubborn set of his jaw and the ticking muscle at his temple aren’t screaming joyful family reunion.
“The Librarian is fine, uncle,” he says derisively, voice rumbling as he steps into the light. “I think?—”
“Ah, what a happy coincidence,” Isidora interrupts, as if she didn’t essentially trap him here. “The rector and I were just talking about you before the news reached us.”
Dakari’s black gaze goes cold. “I’m not interested in whatever schemes the two of you have agreed on.”
Only an idiot would ignore the danger floating in that dark look. Well, either an idiot, or someone so used to power as to believe themselves immortal.
“Yes!” his uncle beams, focusing solely on Isidora. “We’d like you to spend some more time with Isidora’s daughter, Anthea. It’s been a long time since there were any good ties between House Carlton and Talcott.”
Is he saying…?
Dakari is furious. The dark glint in his eyes promises violence as his hand comes casually down to rest on the grimoire at his hip. “That’s cute. Using me to build alliances after you chucked me out. Besides, even if Iwereinclined to fuck that bitch, Anthea’s banished from the Arcanaeum, and I’m stuck here until Isidora calls off her goons.”
“Come now,” Isidora tuts. “I was protecting my home, which you broke into. But I’m willing to overlook thatandyour rather poor record within our community for the sake of an alliance. Anthea’s a responsible girl who’s bound to become a steadying presence for such a troubled young man. Abe and I agree that a match between the two of you would only strengthen Talcott’s position.”
I’m speechless, and so is Dakari—though I suspect his condition is more due to rage-induced-stoicism than shock. He’s glaring between the two of them like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. All the while, Isidora’s cunning smile only grows wider, the light from the Rotunda’s glass ceiling catching in the gems dripping from her ears and casting menacing rainbows across her face.
“Now isn’t the time to be gossiping about your engagement,” the Ó Rinn parriarch interjects, looking rather sour-faced. “We are here to discuss the welfare of this great institution, not politics.”
It’s a lie. Everything these people do is political, but I nod woodenly.
“There is nothing to discuss,” I repeat, though it feels pointless. “Either find a book or leave. The Arcanaeum is fully functional, as am I. Even if it wasn’t, we do not bow to the whims of the parriarchy.”
With that, I turn my back on them. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good.
No matter how many years pass, the parriarchs remain the same. Just as greedy, power hungry, and prying as ever. Now they’ve spotted a weakness they’ll be watching for a chance, like hyenas circling a wounded creature.
Galileo was right. When I’m gone, they’ll fight for control of the Arcanaeum like toddlers. He who controls this building controls the information available to all arcandom. I can picture it now—how the victor would limit access and censor or remove books that don’t support their agenda.
The words gleaming across the floor of the foyer suddenly seem more apt than ever. I may not be perfect, but at least I have enough integrity to ensure all the books are available to everyone, even those I personally disagree with.
“You did well,” Dakari murmurs under his breath as he jogs to catch up with me. “They’re still fuming.”
