Page 89 of Liminal
“My grandfather has been a miserable tyrant since before I was born, because he lost his ability to feel happiness as a child. Overnight, he just…lost his spark.”
His face cracks a little, and he begins to pace the rug with agitated steps. “My Da pushed my mother into leaving us to spare her. He watched her remarry and have another son, redoing her entire life without us. Turns out, that didn’t stop him from loving her. She died in her sleep on my eleventh birthday, and he killed himself not long after. I was told to be grateful that the curse didn’t manifest with my death, instead.”
It would take a heartless monster to remain unmoved. It could all be an act to gain my trust, but if I had to guess, I’d say this is the most genuine Galileo has ever been with me.
“I started medical school—did you know that? But I was starting to care too much for my patients, my colleagues. I decided to stay away from the University, to avoid making friends, and then worried I was too close to my tutors. You have no idea what it’s like to fear becoming attached to anyone or anything, andLambert, stars above, thateejit…”
And because I’m also an outsider dragged into the Winthrop heir’s ineludible orbit, I understand instantly.
“He wouldn’t leave you alone.” Just like he wouldn’t leave me alone.
Typical Lambert. He has no self-preservation.
The golden god is like a collector of strays and broken things, bathing all of us in his addictive light until we feel like we belong. Like we can breathe and smile despite ourselves.
“Normal arcanists don’t want to interact with us. But I have friends now, Kyrie. Friends I can lose.” His shoulders slump, his pacing slowing. “I have nothing else that I can trade for your help, and Ineedyour help. I stayed behind last night because I hoped that, if I couldn’t get Mathias’s grimoire for you, perhaps blackmailing you with whatever you were hiding might work.”
The temperature in the room drops several degrees, and the books flutter angrily.
“And now?” I ask, putting myself subtly in front of Ammie’s grimoire.
He says nothing, and I grimly surmise that that means the option is still on the table.
Reluctantly, I have to admit that I get it. More than I want to.
If I were in his shoes, I would do anything to protect what I valued most. It’s why the ensorcellment is so horrifying. How many atrocities have been committed by desperate Ó Rinns trying to save their homes? Their families?
I’ve seen the runeform. I know how complicated it is. The likelihood of him breaking it without my help is slim to none.
“A deal would be preferable for both of us,” he finally says. “You may not feel it, but your presence would be…missed. Without you, the Arcanaeum would become just another blasted thing for the parriarchs to fight over. Don’t give up just yet. Perhaps Mathias’s grimoire isn’t necessary. There are other avenues, and if we can be…open with one another, then I’m willing to try. I’ll forge a covenant swearing to keep your secrets, if that’s what it takes.”
His words circle in my mind, bringing foreboding visions of the Arcanaeum back under the control of the parriarchs.
“That won’t work,” I tell him. “Covenants require blood, which I don’t have.”
He must surely know that, but the intention is reassuring.
“Then you’ll just have to take my word for it.”
“I’d rather have your promise that you’d protect the Arcanaeum if I were gone.”
“If that’s what it takes,” he agrees easily, but my shoulders don’t relax until he says, “Yes, I swear it.”
I shouldn’t take his words at face value, given that Dakari distrusts him so intensely. I’m willing to bet half the books in this room that the grudge between their families is the reason for that. There’s a risk that he knows something else that I don’t, and that worries me, but knowing Galileo’s motivation, and the reasons behind it, lends me confidence as I rake my gaze over him.
“Take off your shirt,” I eventually order. “I need to see how it’s changed before I can promise anything.”
Galileo smirks, and I’m suddenly glad that I’m unable to blush. It’s not like gawking at his chest is my primary motivation… It’s necessary.
Okay, maybe it’s a bit of a bonus.
Keeping my poker face isn’t as easy as I would’ve hoped, but I manage it as his long, slender fingers go to the top button of the crisp black silk and slip it free, then the next.
When the shirt falls from his shoulders, pooling around his elbows, I’m very glad I no longer need to breathe, or I might’ve given myself away.
The runeform is a huge, twisting thing, wrapped across his right pectoral and down to cover some of his ribs. His pale, slender body seems almost dominated by it, the magic dark and sinister. I drift closer without meaning to, drawn in by the sight.
Dismantling a runeform is a tricky business, one that could take hours. Unlike the lesser ensorcellment I undid with a one-word incantation for Lambert, this will take multiple nullification spells, each one tailored for the runeform in front of me. It will also need to be performed in stages, each one unwinding it like a knotted ball of string. It’s likely that some of the magic woven in will act like a trap, causing the curse to activate immediately if it’s approached wrong. I’m almost certain I’ll need to create some of my own, which could be a problem, given that I no longer have a grimoire.
