A sleepiness droops my eyes and I take another sip. “No one can wield the Entropy Thread like me.”
“That they cannot. Then again, no one has the creativity you do. Or the balls to dare it.”
I laugh and it turns into a tittering giggle. I tuck my legs under me, leaning on the armrest. “Cowards. All of them. No true magical discovery can happen without the will to bend the magic. That’s what a true weaver is.”
He clinks his full glass with mine. “Spoken like my apprentice. Never change, my dear.”
I glow and take another sip. Vincentius’ full glass rests on his knee. “I’m proud of you. You’ve accomplished so much in such a short amount of time. I look forward to seeing what the future holds for you. What new magics you’ll discover to strengthen us all. It’s what Viola envisioned for your Dual Threads. Thenext generation of weavers will be stronger for it, if only we have the bravery to evolve.” He watches me drink. “I wish to do something for you. Something to smooth over old hurts. What do you need from me? You can keep the amulet. I’ll honor Valen’s deal on that.”
The bottle refills my glass and I blink slowly. “Well. There is something I need.” The crystal glitters as I swirl the amber liquor in my tumbler.
“Ask away.”
I wet my lips. “I need to speak with Viola, but Valen said she’s trapped at the estate. Is there something you can do to help?”
Vincentius ponders it for a while. “There might be a way… but it won’t be easy. Give me some time to contemplate this.” His blue eyes turn back to me. “But I do have a question for you. Or a small entreaty, if you will.”
My brows lift. “Oh?”
“Your brother is woefully unfit for the title. He needs to be removed, and quickly. Since you don’t wish to claim the title of Heir, I find myself in a difficult position.”
My gut clenches so viciously that I almost throw up my drink. I swallow rhythmically, pressing my glass against my mouth in hopes to keep it down. “And you’d like to…”
He waves a hand. “Nothing too dramatic. I will need to meet with the Council and other families who have similar doubts over the Heir. The Council wants a new prospect before moving against Atticus. If you could stand before them and state your intention to not return, it’ll help them to stop waiting for you.”
My throat is tight, but I nod. “I could… do that.” I hate it. My skin crawls with the thought, but it’s a small ask for the chance to ensure Viola is safe.
Vincentius smiles. “Thank you, my dear. I knew I could rely on you.”
Something nags at me, something that is slow to come up under the fumes of alcohol. I tip my refilled glass. There’s no ice left. My brows furrow. My tongue is too lazy to form the words. “When I step aside, what will they do?”
Vincentius takes a small sip. “We’ll name an alternative.”
My heart stutters. “Any contenders?”
“Oh, only one.”
My eyes are too wide, my cold, pale hand too tight on the glass. “Valen.”
Vincentius nods. “Naturally. He would make an excellent Archweaver.”
The reaction inside me is visceral and violent. Black flashes across my vision and a crackle of electricity singes my rib bones. The glass in my hand shatters. Glass and liquor rain over the floor. Shards embed themselves deep into my palm, but I can’t feel them. My breathing is fast, my mind roaring. The title of Heir is mine. No one else. Not Alasdair’s. Not Valen’s.Mine.
And I would die before I let anyone else take it.
Vincentius’ glass clicks on the desk. “I thought you didn’t want it.”
I draw in breath harshly and attempt to blink, but my eyes are too wide to obey. “I don’t.”
His gentle hand uncurls my fist to look at the glass in my palms. “Then you’ll have no problem supporting his nomination before the families.” He rips out a shard and I don’t make a sound, barely noticing the tug on my flesh. He sets the bloody piece on the desk.
I attempt to form something eloquent to say, but my brain is floating in all the liquor I drank. My fingers tremble, blood dripping down to my elbow. “It’s…” He takes another piece out. “It’s stupid and selfish, but if Valen is Archweaver, then it’ll be hard to get back together, since I don’t want to come back to the Order.”
Oh, how I wish that were my sole reason. Dark selfishness curls in my chest. I don’t want to be Archweaver, but that doesn’t mean someone else can have it.
Not only that, when Alasdair dies, then the next Heir will be consumed by my magic. That was the point of the curse. It will go on and on until there are no contenders left and the Order will crumble without the power of the Archweaver.
If Valen becomes Heir… he will be infected.
