My clammy hand trembles in Vincentius’ hold, my eyes burning. My palm heats and I gasp with the surge of agony that jolts up my arm. I look down at my wound, blinking at the mangled mess it is.
Vincentius inspects my hand, his magic clearing the blood. “That seems selfish, seeing as Valen was willing to be on your arm for your ascension.”
I need a clever reply, but nothing comes to me. Damn that refilling glass. I shake my head and it spins. I sway and my free hand claps on the armrest. “Um. Yeah. You’re right.”
I don’t know if I could tolerate giving my blessing, not when it would be Valen’s death sentence. I chew on my words before mumbling softly, “If you can get me to Aunt Vi, then I’ll forgive Valen and go before the Council to formally withdraw my name from the Heir running.”
Hopefully, he doesn’t notice me omitting supporting Valen. I can’t think about it, or I’ll lose what precious control I have over my emotions.
I could never marry another.My breath catches and tears well. I squeeze my eyes closed to keep them from escaping.
Vincentius methodically winds a bandage over my hand. The silence stretches and sweat beads along my brow and neck. I open my eyes to study his calm, expressionless face. Finally, his head tilts. “I think I know a solution.” He ties off the end. “Valen?”
The office door swings open to reveal Lucas pacing wildly and Valen leaning against the opposite wall with his hands in his pockets. Lucas surges forward and a shield crackles to life in the doorway.
Vincentius’ voice is menacingly low. “I called for myson, magician.”
Lucas’ eyes flare in poorly concealed rage and he ignores Vincentius. “What the hell happened to your hand? Did he hurt you?”
Of course, Lucas would do something so stupid as insulting a weaver of Vincentius’ caliber while still healing.
I shake my head, but Valen is already stepping around the other man. His elbow lightly brushes Lucas. Valen waves his hand over the doorway and the ward lowers. “Father. Please. It’s more trouble than it’s worth. Trust me on this.”
Lucas storms in and Vincentius’ lip curls, but he keeps his scathing words to himself. He steps away from me and Lucas takes his place. He kneels before me, his rings shimmering and his magic inspecting me. I shake him off. “I’m fine. I broke a glass. It was stupid.”
Vincentius turns to his son. “We’re going to make a visit to the Archweaver.”
Valen stills. “Are we?”
“Yes.” Vincentius takes a seat behind his desk, his fingers lacing together on his stomach. “We’ll sneak Astoria and her magician into the grounds. While we keep Atticus occupied, they’ll be able to search for Viola. She’s probably locked in her rooms. Anywhere else would be disgraceful.”
My breath shivers but I master my fear. I can do this. Imustdo this.
Valen’s bland tone is barely heard over my drumming heart. “Are you sure about this?”
Vincentius summons his drink over. “Absolutely. It’s the only way.”
Valen’s jaw flexes, his blue eyes darting over to me. My brows pinch, but his gaze flicks away. “If that’s what you wish, Father.”
“It’s settled, then.” Vincentius raises his glass to me. “May you be successful, my dear. And do think about what we spoke of. For the good of the Order.”
I can’t breathe through my tight chest. My mumbled reply is automatic, a response deeply ingrained into me from childhood. “For the good of the Order.”
CHAPTER 19
ARCHWEAVER ESTATE, ASTRUM FOREST
Sneaking into my childhood home is less traumatic than I expect. Nothing has changed. The gardens are still as lavishly wild as they were in my memories. So is the sprawling house with its Gothic spires and stone gargoyles guarding it. Even the wards are the same. The ease with which I broke in should fill me with snobbish glee, but it doesn’t.
“This is too easy.”
Lucas’ quiet hiss mirrors my thoughts. Vincentius’ plan to sneak us into the grounds clinging to the underside of a carriage was executed with a perfection that shouldn’t be possible. But this is Vincentius. The only scheme of his that didn’t go exactly as planned was the naming of the Heir and its fallout. I nearly regret not trying harder to convince Valen to come with us, but he needed to stay close to his father and assist with distracting the Archweaver.
My throat tightens, eyes darting around the familiar halls of the east wing. The crystals in the ornate glass cages are unlit, leaving only the plump full moon to ease the oppressive darkness. Lining the hall are floor-to-ceiling windows with iron slicing into the glass to create elegant designs. All the windows within the estate are like this, the iron providing both decorationand security. No weaver can break those windows with magic and no human can easily force their way through. It’s why I snuck us inside through the tunnels Aunt Vi showed me as a child.
The moonlight streams through the windows, creating deep, twisting shadows that shiver across my spine. Massive canvases that depict long-dead magical worlds glow in the shafts of blue light. Their ornate gilded frames glint against the arsenic-painted walls. Most have stripped this deadly green from their homes, but not my father. Traditionalist to the end.
My voice is barely above a whisper as I answer Lucas. “Perhaps, but it could be symptomatic of the curse. Carelessness and all that.”
