Page 58 of Liminal
If there’s one thing that never changes, it’s that academic arcanists tend to write long, self-aggrandising autobiographies. Some of the claims previous magisters have made are so ludicrous I’ve been tempted to add them to the fiction section.
With a last, lingering look of concern at Jasper, I fade out of the room, reappearing behind the desk with my arm carefully camouflaged behind the huge pile of books I keep there for this exact reason.
The immaculate blond man with his manicured hand hovering impatiently over the bell, ready to ring it a third time, pauses mid-motion. His gunmetal grey eyes stab into me, and it’s almost impossible to keep my expression bland as recognition hits.
He’s older now. Three years older, to be precise. The navy suit he’s wearing fits a little better on the more confident set of his shoulders. He’s clean shaven, his black shirt open at the neck, and his short hair is impeccably styled to show off the soft waves atop his head.
And of course, in something that’s becoming an annoying habit for gorgeous arcanists around here, he towers over me. I want to float higher to compensate or find myself a pair of those stiletto heels that some arcanist women have worn here over the years. At the time, I hated the noise. Now? I understand the appeal.
“Librarian.” Even that single word is tinged with private-school-educated posh, like he’s not content to simply look moneyed; he has to sound it, too.
“Mr Carlton. If you’ve come to protest your sister’s banishment, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
In fact, I’m honestly relieved it stuck. Between all the failed banishments and strikes I’ve been handing out lately, it’s a miracle I haven’t developed a complex.
I know without trying that this man will be the same. He was the second arcanist who ever made my palm tingle, though he never returned. That wasn’t surprising. Carlton has long insisted that they don’t need the Arcanaeum, preferring to build their own repository of knowledge to try to rival this one.
Like anything can rival a sentient magical library. Honestly. The hubris is insulting.
“That’s not why I’m here. I’m joining this year’s cohort late and need you to fetch the course books for me and bring me up to speed with the material.”
He knows. Somehow, he knows about North, Leo, and Lambert. Now he’s using it as an excuse to get close to Dakari and Jasper.
I can see where this is going, so I shut him down. “No.”
Not so much as a wrinkle crosses his expression, and I realise belatedly that he would’ve expected that answer and come prepared.
“That sounded a lot like you were giving the other families preferential treatment. Interesting stance for a neutral figure, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I tilt my chin up, feigning innocence and daring him to call me on it. “But I do know that there’s absolutely no reason for your sudden interest in the Arcanaeum beyond some attempt to harm the arcanists I have sworn to protect.”
He gives a little impatient huff, running the fingers of his left hand through his hair with disbelief.
“As the previous Carlton heir has recently been disgraced, it’s my duty as her replacement to attain a degree from the University of Arcane Arts before I can become parriarch.”
I open my mouth to tell him that’s not my problem, but he holds an imperious hand up to silence me.
The. Nerve.
“It won’t be too hard on your part. I’ve already mastered a more modern course set by my private tutors. Frankly, this is a waste of my time, but traditions are traditions, so let’s get this over with as quickly as possible. Now, where are my books?”
That was the most brusque, bossy, arrogant?—
The door behind him swings open and Magister Hopkinson strides through. His eyes light on the desk first, a huge smile breaking over his face when he sees us together.
“Excellent! Pierce, you’ve introduced yourself to the Librarian? That’s great. Librarian, it’s not often we get late additions to the year, but Mr Carlton has a gift for?—”
“Kyrith!” Lambert bursts in with the subtlety of a Great Dane puppy, brandishing a piece of paper in his fist. Behind him, Leo hovers with an amused smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. North, too, although the Ackland heir looks less amused and more exasperated.
The golden-haired fiend bounces across the Rotunda with a painfully brash energy that seems to seep into the Arcanaeum. Even Hopkinson smiles wistfully at his approach.
Then, when he reaches the desk, he beams even wider.
“Marry me?”
Then, before anyone can say anything, he’s pulled an honest-to-magicringout of his pocket with his free hand and sunk to one knee.
“Get up, you fool,” Pierce mutters, regal scowl in place. “And wait your turn. The Librarian is fetching my books.”
