Page 76 of Liminal
The temperature plummets as those gunmetal-grey eyes linger on my cracked and broken arm.
He’s talking about my death—about necromancy—with a surety that makes it clear he knows more about both than most. The arrogance of it makes me want to slap him, even as a tiny, scared part of me wants to drill him for answers.
I refuse to give in to either inclination.
“The Arcanaeum does not give in to intimidation. Sanctuary is Sanctuary.” I can only hope that my arctic tone makes it clear we won’t be discussing this again.
He sighs, resting his palms on the desk as he leans into my personal space. “Last chance. You’ll regret not taking my offer.”
Before I can reply, a familiar hand taps lightly at his shoulder, interrupting us.
Pierce turns, only to be slugged in the gut by a fist covered in granite. He bends double, coughing and gasping for breath, revealing Lambert. The Winthrop heir smirks as he shakes off the transmutation spell with a wave of his hand. North and Leo flank him, grimoires out and held loosely, in case Pierce decides to retaliate.
I’ve almost never seen Lambert angry, but this…this comes close. His tempest eyes are downright stormy as he glares down at the stuck-up blond.
“Fuck off, Carlton.”
Twenty-Two
Pierce
My mother’s slap rings in my ears as I rotate my jaw and force myself to meet her eyes. Isidora Carlton’s office glows in the evening light; the sun streams through four narrow windows behind her, highlighting shelves full of books I often wonder if she’s bothered to read. She’s never seemed the bookish type, unlike the Librarian, who drifts between shelves with her nose glued to the pages.
Despite my certainty that the jewels in her ring have split open my skin, the pain is negligible, especially compared to the throbbing bruise across my abdomen that Winthrop decided to grace me with earlier. Still, the shame burns hotter.
“You promised to convince her,” Isidora rants.
“And I will.”
Anthea, of course, cannot resist adding, “He’s not ready for the position of heir.”
My sister shouldn’t have drawn attention to herself, because our mother rounds on her next. “Shut up. You ruined your chance. Be grateful I’m not considering the Ó Rinn parriarch’soffer of marriage for you and leaving you for Artemius to deal with.”
Anthea swallows down her protest, and deep inside I can’t help but feel a little bit sorry for her. I may have gained my new position as a result of her failure, but that doesn’t mean I don’t pity her new options.
If Mother has her way, Anthea will be married off to secure our family’s influence over another noble house. If it’s the Ó Rinn heir, she stands a very good chance of dying as a result—although she’s so prickly, I suppose her odds are better than most.
Even if it’s not him, the other heirs aren’t much better. At least Ó Rinn has the money to keep her in the luxury to which she’s become accustomed, and he’s not a social pariah like that muscled delinquent, Dakari.
Her only chance to get out of this is to pivot like crazy and try to make herself useful in some other capacity, but so far, she’s failing miserably. Besides, it’s not as if she hasn’t known this was coming for years.
Her anger is heavy in the air as she snaps her jaw closed and bows her head silently, her eyes fixed on the black-and-white tiled floor. My sister’s temper has been leashed for now, but that won’t last long. I have to keep my head about me, because her revenge for this will be deadly—even though her downfall wasn’t my doing.
Damn her, I didn’t evenwantthis. Of course, that only makes her hate me more.
She’s been training her whole life to be the next Carlton parriarch, despite being constantly overshadowed by the fact that I’m naturally stronger than her. Now she’s lost that, lost everything, and that makes her dangerous.
“If you cannot return the McKinley heir, we’ve lost both our leverage and our reputation, not to mention the damage thiswhole debacle has done to an alliance that has been in place since before the Librarian was born.”
Silently, I curse that stubborn old ghost. I knew she was going to be a pain in my ass from the second she turned those pretty doe eyes on me, but throwing away what little remains of her life for the sake of someone she barely knows? The Arcanaeum could’ve remained a neutral body—mostly ignored for a little while longer—but her interference changes things.
“I’m taking care of it, Mother,” I promise again.
“How reassuring.”Hisvoice, cold and raspy, makes every hair on my neck stand up in warning. “You’ve sent a child to retrieve the healer? Honestly, Anthea, are you even taking this seriously?”
Some men are naturally patronising. Some are intimidating.
Mathias Ackland is both.
