8
hope or nightmares
Books. She needed books, and lots of them.
Sera woke up that morning like a woman possessed. If she was to be an inspector—a great inspector—she had to follow the clues. Barrington had left more than his share of them. The hand had upset him. More, the crest of ravens. Upset him to the point that his stoic mask had all but shattered, and he’d been too pained to hide it. She needed to know what the crest meant, and for that she would need books. Necromancy books.
But by that evening, there had been no time for books. After Mary snuck into her room as she did on Tuesdays and Thursdays, before and after her infirmary duty, there had only been time for Mary, and Mary’s gossip about Timothy. Not that Sera could blame her. The rumors were everywhere.
“He was so quiet in the library and skipped supper and evening prayer,” Mary said from the vanity where she inspected the path of freckles on her cheeks in the old mirror, in spite of the black spots that blemished the glass. “It was all the girls spoke about at the Solstice Dance committee meeting, you know?”
Sera smothered a pillow on her face. It blocked out all light. If only it would do the same for the guilt and frustration in her heart.
“No one knows who the girl is who broke his heart, but I’m determined to find out. Some say he’s fancied her for some time now. I wonder if that’s why he’s having such a hard time with his Aether-level courses? He’s never gotten low marks before, but this year he’s been struggling.”
Sera stifled a groan. He could have any girl he wanted. It couldn’t be he was heartbroken because of her.
“It’s just a rumor, Mary. Maybe he’s tired or stressed about assessments.” Remembering the peace he exuded in the forest, she sighed. “It must not be easy being a Delacort. He has no choice but to succeed.”
“Stressed? As if he’ll have any problem getting into the Aetherium. His father is the chair of the seventhborn program. Besides, it’s not a rumor. Susan Whittaker heard it from her brother.”
Sera clenched her jaw. Damned Whittaker. She could have set him on fire again. “Yes, well, this is Whittaker we’re talking about. The boy is a beast. He’s probably jealous of Timothy, and what better way to embarrass him than to spread rumors that Timothy Delacort can’t get everything he wants.”
Mary quieted, no doubt mulling this over. “Yes, yes…you’re right. How could a girl possibly turn down Timothy Delacort? It is rather ridiculous now that I think of it. Timothy must be sick, then, as I can’t imagine him choosing another girl,” Mary went on through Sera’s self-imposed darkness.
“We’re both of the same status; our fathers are well-known, respected, and successful in their ventures. True, my father doesn’t work for the Aetherium, but his medical practice is one of the grandest in our province. And not to be vain, but I have the loveliest skin—not that your skin isn’t lovely, Sera, you really are quite lovely, but I do think those creams Mama sent me have given me a rather nice glow. I’ll be sure to bring you some. Come to think of it, you’re in desperate need of it, no offense. You’ve been rather pale lately, and those bags under your eyes. How are you feeling?”
Sera slipped the pillow from her face and heaved a sigh. What was she to say to that? She couldn’t possibly tell her friend about her work with Barrington, or about the hellish fear twisting her insides at the thought of seeing Timothy at some point during the day. The horror of Mary finding out about their encounter in the forest made her jump whenever Mary called her name. Oh, she’d be so angry and hurt.
Maybe it was best if she told her outright. Wasn’t it worse to let her friend weave dreams in her mind of a romance that wasn’t ever going to happen? She frowned. What kind of friend was she to not be truthful and forthcoming? Mary had never been anything but kind to her, honest, trustworthy.
Which was precisely why she wouldn’t tell.
Sera set her jaw and sat up. “I’m fine, Mary. Perfectly fine.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, now chasing fingers through her hair. “You seem distant. To be honest, I’ve felt as though I’ve been speaking to myself this entire evening.” She paused, eyes turned up in thought. “Maybe you have whatever Timothy has, which means it must be spreading. How else would the two of you have it? It’s not like you’re ever that close in proximity.”
Sera forced a chuckle through the rising panic. “Believe me, I’m fine. And I’ve heard your diatribe—all two hours of it.” She rose and walked to her open spell book. Maybe she could figure out a spell that would make Timothy fancy Mary instead?
“How about we talk in the morning?” Sera asked, thumbing through the pages. “If he hasn’t asked you by then, we’ll consult the stars.”
Mary shook her head and stood. “You’re horrid at Astrology. But your inattention has plagued you for more than just today. You’ve been distracted all week. What are you keeping from me?” She clutched her chest, as if the room suddenly lacked air. “It’s a boy, isn’t it?”
Sera paused mid flip but forced her hands to lower the page. “Mary, please.”
“It is!” Mary spun her by the shoulders, wide eyes fixed on her with the look of a hungry fox eyeing a hare. “Who is it? When did it happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Do you know how ridiculous you sound?”
“But you’re not denying it!” Mary pouted, and her hands fell from Sera’s shoulders. “I thought we were the best of friends.”
Sera shut the book with a pat. “Heaven help me, Mary. I met no one. I’m tired is all. I still have a lot left to study for the Aetherium exam, and not to mention my reserves must be up to par. What good of an inspector will I be if one flare of magic leaves me without power for hours?”
“You’re not that bad,” she replied, seeming appeased by Sera’s answer. “But your reserves will never increase if you keep losing your temper. Now, come.” Mary drew her wand and held it out. “Let us see how your reserves are doing.”
Sera eyed her friend’s wand. Reserves were a private matter. Anyone knowing of a magician’s levels could purposely tire out an opponent and, when left without magic, disable them—or worse. There was also the chance a magician could tap into another magician’s reserves for information or to possess them.
But she sighed and unsheathed her wand. She could trust Mary. Mary was a healer, and matters such as reserve levels and anything she may discover during healings and reserve checks was confidential. Betrayal of trust was against Aetherium law and would have her banished to one of the Null regions—provinces where magic was wholly forbidden.
Sera touched the tip of her friend’s wand. A blue twine slid from Mary’s wand and wrapped itself around Sera’s. Warmth trickled up her fingers, arms, and down to her stomach.
A frown settled over Mary’s brows, her gaze distant as it traveled the web of Sera’s powers. “Yes, you’ve gotten stronger, Sera. And your magic seems…different.”
Sera forced a smile. “I’ve been working on controlling my anger in preparation for assessments, so maybe now it’s not as wild?”
“Perhaps.” Her eyes narrowed, but in meeting Sera’s stare she smiled, and the blue twine evaporated with a hiss. “You’ve nothing to worry about. Your reserves are vast, and for a seventhborn, quite impressive really. You’ll have no problem on the exam—that is, if you manage to tame your anger.” She sheathed her wand. “I’ll leave you to your studies, then. I have the Solstice committee in the morning, and I want to try something new with my hair, so I need to wake up early. I hope Timothy will like it.”
Sera set down her wand and opened the door for her friend. “He’d be a fool not to.”
Rosy cheeked, Mary squeezed her hand in passing and descended the narrow tower stairs. “Hopefully Mama will think the same thing instead of her usual you’re not trying hard enough.” She sighed weightily. “Good night.”
Once Mary’s footsteps faded and the downstairs door closed, Sera waited a moment. When certain her friend would not return, she locked the door and dashed across the room to her wardrobe. She shifted aside her dresses and cloak and reached for a trunk in the back—a present from Mary so Sera would have somewhere to store her things.
She pressed her wand to the lock, and the clasps snapped open. Setting aside the cloth herb bags that rested on top, she swallowed thickly as she beheld her only belonging from her time before the Academy—a cloak given to her by one of the Aetherium inspectors she’d met the night she was found two years ago. It had been cold and damp that terrible night, and she had been shaking and freezing, scared of what the officers would do to a seventhborn with no memory of her past beyond a year prior, who was now guilty of killing another. But while all the other inspectors had regarded her as a measly, filthy seventhborn—however scrawny and dirty she may have been—this one guard had given her his cloak, his compassion, and allowed her to sleep on his shoulder once the drain of magic set in.
Casting aside the cloak and memories, Sera reached the object she desired. She lifted the stolen servant’s uniform from the trunk, one of her earliest and best transgressions.
Having been admitted into the Academy midsummer, Sera had been made to help the servant staff prepare the school for the fall semester. The staff had been so ready to get rid of her, they forgot to collect the uniform. Sera held up the brown woolen dress and grinned. Their loss.
She slipped on the dress and tied the large white apron behind her back and neck, then arranged her hair into a low bun parted in the middle, the way it was worn by all the female house staff. Satisfied with her appearance, she snuck down the stairs, sure to avoid the squeaky third step. Underneath the stairs, she moved aside the brooms and buckets in the housemaids’ closet and pressed her wand to the stone wall as she’d seen them do throughout the secret doorways along the floors, lest any students encounter a maid in service.
“Safe passage.”
The outline of a door glittered blue, and the stone faded to slight transparency. Sera hauled in a breath and peeked through. All should be asleep at this time. Still, it was best to be safe. The staircase was empty, and peering over the banister, she breathed freer at seeing no one there.
She descended the stairs to the library level undetected. Rounding a corner, she stopped and neared her wand to the wall.
“By the stars,” she whispered. Each doorway had its own password, though she knew only a few. There was a slight click, and the wall opened outward. She neared her face to the crack and peeked inside. Moonlight slanted through the windows but still offered her shafts of shadows to hide in. The darkness made mountains out of the bookcases that vanished into the encroaching blackness above. Outside the winds howled and wheezed, and the trees groaned, their shivering branches and gnarled fingers tap-tapping on the glass. All else was quiet. Night Flaggers usually cleared this floor early, as no one ever wanted to break into the library. She pushed the Astronomy bookcase a bit more and ducked inside.
Crouched by the many books of planets and stars, she exhaled. Normally she knew what she wanted, which made for a quick exit, but this time she gazed all around. Where should she start? Her eye caught on Recipes for Celebrating the Planets, and one thing was for sure: she was most certainly in the wrong section.
Determined, she sank into the shadows and darted behind the first bookcase. She dashed behind the next one, and the next, until in the avian section. She examined countless books on ravens, until a footnote gave her pause.
Also adopted by the Brotherhood as a talisman.
Sera hummed. The Brotherhood. She hadn’t heard of them before. Locating a reference book, she stooped and flipped to the B tab but found nothing about the Brotherhood. She tapped a finger on the page. Perhaps in necromancy…
She flipped to the N tab. Any information, however little, was a start.
Necromancy: The practice of communication with the dead by calling on their spirit or raising them bodily for divination or to discover hidden knowledge. Outlawed by the Aetherium, post persecution. See Persecutions.
Sera thumbed to the P tab.
Persecutions: At a time of heightened influence, Purists convinced many that seventhborns were a curse on the magical world and must be cleansed. Purists thought them to be bad omens, evidenced by the seventhborn plague. Whereas seventhborn males were spared for their ability to heal, females were swiftly executed. See Purism.
Sera shook her head. To imagine so many seventhborns dying over an ability they had no control over was a painful thought. She trailed the thread and flipped to Purism a few pages away.
Purism: Outlawed after the persecutions. Roots in Magical Creation Mythology. See Persecutions.
She scowled at the text and flicked feverishly to Magical Creationism. Her glare deepened.
Magical Creationism: Belief of the Purists. See Purism.
She cursed in a heated whisper, shut the book, and put it back on the stand. Hurrying to the mythology section, her search resulted in the same dead end of basic information.
She blew out a breath as she opened the final book. “Let me guess…of course,” she muttered, her finger paused under the single sentence beside Purism:
Outlawed after the Persecutions.
“You’re not going to find that here.”
Sera spun and gasped. Eyes wide, she stared at Timothy standing before her, blue eyes focused on where her finger marked. She took in his blue robe with a moon crest at his breast and mumbled a curse. Of course he was a Night Flagger, and of course he’d be the one to catch her.
She closed the book, shoved it back onto the shelf, and rose. “Must you insist on sneaking up on me whenever you get the chance?”
“No, but you looked in desperate need of something, and I thought I’d help.”
Sera lifted her chin. “I don’t need your help. Go on, report me. If not, then I’d like to get back to my room.”
“Without finding what you were looking for? Seems to me you were rather upset at not finding anything about Purists in your search.”
Her jaw tightened. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Long enough to know that you really want to learn about Purists. Why?”
“Why do you care?”
He chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but like I said, you won’t find anything about Purists here.”
“Yes, well, I’ve already gathered that all on my own, so thank you very much for your help. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She made to move past him.
“Not in this library…”
She stopped short. “This is the only library.”
He was quiet a moment, and though dark, Sera noted his intense internal debate.
Timothy met her eyes. “How important is this to you?”
“Why do you care if it’s important to me? And if it is, why would you help me?”
“Like I said, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. We haven’t much time before the next Flagger is due. How important is this to you?”
Sera fisted her hands, uncertain. If she was to help Barrington, she needed to know about this—the Purists, necromancy, ravens—about all of it. Besides, what inspector didn’t walk willingly into a bit of trouble now and then?
“Very important,” she answered. “I want to know about Purists and what they believed in.” And what it had to do with ravens that made Barrington so glum.
He nodded once and jutted his head to the side. “This way then, and quickly.”
They flitted to the back of the library, to the Ethical Magic section. Timothy pressed his wand to the bookcase. “Right above all else.”
The bookcase creaked open. Sera suppressed a smile. Another password to add to her arsenal. At least this one had been much easier to come by. Much easier than prying when assisting the servant staff each time she got into some kind of trouble.
They hurried inside the small alcove, and he closed the bookcase behind them with a quiet click. Darkness swallowed them. Lanterns illuminated a hall just outside of the shallow alcove. They waited in silence a moment. When they heard no sound but that of their own breathing and the distant soughs of the wind, Timothy ushered them against the wall and inched forward.
He peeked around the corner. “It’s clear. Come on.” He held out a hand to her, but she never took hold. Exhaling, Timothy darted into the hall and kept tight to the stone walls as he navigated them through this hall, another, and the next. Sera did her best to remember everything—anything that would tell her how to get back, but it was impossible. With every turned hallway, directions became a tangled mess in her mind.
“We’re here,” he announced finally and pressed the tip of his wand against the wall. Various lines illuminated in the stone, very much like the branches of a tree. All of the lines came together and formed a symbol. A shiver coursed down Sera’s spine.
“Ravens,” she whispered.
Timothy nodded, unaware of her raising a hand to her sheathed wand. “It was the sign of the Brotherhood, a cult of Purist extremists. You said you wanted to know why Purists did what they did. Well, what better way than to study their own teachings? It’s a load of rubbish, if you ask me, but I need to know all of these things if I’m to take over my father’s chair in the Aetherium council.” A sadness very similar to what she’d seen the day in the forest touched his eyes. “He says that to beat your enemy, you must know everything about them, though we beat the Purists a long time ago.”
“A very pragmatic thought.”
“The founders of Pragmatism are my ancestors. After the Persecutions, they dedicated their lives to changing the way seventhborns were treated, eventually initiating the seventhborn program.”
The jingling of keys resounded somewhere down the hall. Sera looked to Timothy wide-eyed. There was only one person known to carry such an abundant set of keys. “Mrs. Fairfax.”
Timothy held out a hand to her once more. “Are you coming?”
She stared at his outstretched fingers.
“I can help you find what you’re looking for,” he said, the lamplights making a halo over his head.
The jangle of keys drew closer.
“Either come with me or we get caught. Mrs. Fairfax has been head housekeeper since before my father attended the Academy. I’m sure she knows all the servant staff, no matter how convincing your costume may be.”
The steps neared.
Sera’s breaths quickened.
Heart pounding, she thrust her hand into Timothy’s, and he walked them through the wall as if it didn’t exist.
Her mouth gaped. The stout Mrs. Fairfax walked right past them as though…as though she couldn’t see them or sense the magic at all.
The housekeeper rounded the corner and paused. She toured a glossy, unfocused gaze along the hall, and Sera’s brow furrowed. Something about the woman was…off. Her skin was pallid, and she twitched her neck, then each arm as though adjusting her skin onto her bones. She shook her head then and marched away.
“She can’t see us,” Timothy confirmed. “Or hear us. The magic used to conceal this place is strong.”
Sera stared back at the mirage-like wall. Strong magic indeed. Yet she inched close to the wall, trailing Mrs. Fairfax until she could see the woman no more and the sound of her keys vanished.
“Did you see that? She looked pale and…” Sera struggled with the word. Strange was too light a definition.
“She had a bad fall recently. Maybe she isn’t feeling her best. I’m sure if she’s sick, she’ll go to Nurse. Come on.”
Realizing he still held her hand, Sera yanked it away and stepped back. Above, lanterns hung from a web of twisted vines that ran the course of the secret hall. There were various wooden doors along this short corridor, closed out by two massive, gated doors.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“We are still at the Academy, at least a wing of it from many years ago. When Purism was banned, the Brotherhood remained faithful and created this place to hold what remained of their teachings. Once they were discovered by my father, he decided to protect this place instead of burn it. He believes that in order to rule effectively one must not only understand the good but the motivations of the enemy.” Timothy led the way to one of the smaller doors along the hall. “Come on, the library is just here.”
“And there?” Sera pointed to the double doors at the end of the corridor.
“The dungeons. Many witches met their end behind those doors at the hands of the Brotherhood.”
Sera stared at the massive doors. Her arms tingled, her skin remembering the ghostly hand clamped on her wrists, the cries and screams.
“But you don’t want to go in there. The pain that was experienced…” He trailed off, pale and visibly shaken.
“You can feel it, can’t you?” she said with some relief and surprise. “You’re…you’re an empath?”
He nodded over his shoulder. “If you could keep that between us, I would be much obliged. Besides, I’m not a very good one. I haven’t honed my power much and can sense only extreme emotions accurately.”
“Is that why you’re struggling in your Aether-level courses?”
He averted his gaze. “Partly, yes. My father was mortified when he learned of my inclination. I’m sure he never imagined his son’s magic would follow an Aether path, but he’s determined to rectify it. He ordered me to fail on purpose so no one will suspect my magic is prone to Aether—no offense. I know seventhborns are apt to the element, but Father thinks it will hurt my chances to ever become chancellor if I’m associated to it. Many will think me weak and unable to rule with emotions clouding my judgment. He says if I suppress it for long enough, the ability will fade until I no longer feel it.” He opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter.
“Is that what you want?” she asked, relieved to get away from the dungeon and glad to know there was no way Timothy could harm her. The pain and guilt of it would hurt him as well.
“Does it matter? It seems I never get the things I truly desire.”
Sera swallowed under his warm stare and averted her gaze, touring it along the library instead. A wall of bookshelves mastered one side of the wall. On the other hung tapestries of the seven guardians of magic. At the far end of the room was a fireplace, two armchairs just before it. Two narrow windows flanked the fireplace, and through the glass was darkness. A strange darkness that felt alive and made her magic hum.
Timothy cleared his throat and walked to the center of the room. “And here we are. Whatever you wish to know about Purists, you will find it here.”
She paced, taken by the immense number of books that, though old, were in pristine condition. She trailed her hand along the tomes, thought of how many hands had once touched them. How many of those hands had later turned murderous, stained with the blood of seventhborns? A sick feeling lurched in her stomach, all joy gone at finding the secret library.
On the second level, Sera stopped before a tapestry on the wall and shook her head. Stitched into the fabric was The Fall of the Seventh Sister, written by Patriarch Aldrich. Of all the chapters in The Unmitigated Truths of Seventhborns, Sera had always been drawn to this story. The seventh sister, guardian of Aether magic, learned of a stronger power kept in the Underworld: the power over time. Desiring it for herself, she traveled to the Underworld where she was corrupted beyond measure.
To protect magic and unable to kill the seventh sister, the other six sisters locked her behind a gate in the Underworld, never to be opened again. Her evil, however, spread to all seventh-born girls, and soon mothers began to die upon birthing a seventh-born daughter. Believing them to be bad omens, Purists decided to keep track of all seventhborns with a tattoo.
Sera glanced at the bust sculpture of Patriarch Aldrich beside the tapestry. “Bastard.”
“Indeed,” Timothy said. “There’s no better name for a necromancer.”
Sera arched a brow. “Necromancer?”
“According to all my father learned from the Brotherhood who were captured, Patriarch Aldrich raised body after body in hopes of learning the strongest of magic.”
“Power over time,” Sera injected.
He nodded. “Life, death, strength, knowledge—magic itself are all slaves to time. Control time and you control everything. You can go back and fix your mistakes or keep the ones you love alive. You can alter the past to shape your future. The possibilities are endless. Patriarch Aldrich recognized this and drained countless witches until gaining enough magic to summon the seventh sister to learn how to obtain this magic for himself. She bargained with him; if he freed her, she would share her power over time. She told him how to open the gate, but his daughter stole his writings, The Scrolls of the Dead, and with a powerful spell she locked him inside a labyrinth in his mind. He couldn’t remember anything at all, and those who wished to help him met only madness themselves. Some of his disciples took it upon themselves to recover the Scrolls and established the Brotherhood. Ultimately it became a cult of black magic and murder, mainly against seventhborns whom they used for their own evil ends, from draining to magical experimentation, all under the guise of religion. Because they targeted seventhborns, Purists merely turned a blind eye.”
Sera shook her head. She’d suffered through that doctrine at the hands of her own pious monster. Though he never mentioned the Brotherhood, she had no doubt he would have joined them given the chance. She remembered his fervor, how he’d drain her of magic, claiming it was for her own good, even though it only made him stronger.
Her hands clenched. The desire to blast Patriarch Aldrich’s statue to dust jabbed her skin with heat.
Timothy handed her a book and pulled her from her brooding. He drew two others from the bottom shelf and stacked them beside her. “But you can read better about it in these books.”
“Could I not just take them to my room?” she asked. “I promise to return them.”
“Sadly, no. They would age and wither away.”
Her eyes widened. “This is a time capsule? That is strong magic.” Only the strongest mages were known to dabble in the magic of time, way beyond the tinkering of time-altering spells. No wonder her magic pulsed when she stared out the window. It was not night but a void.
He smiled. “Beautiful and smart.”
She opened her mouth to ask a question, but at Timothy’s nearness, it faded. She turned her face down to the books she held.
“Miss Dovetail, I—”
“I should get started on these,” she cut him off.
“Oh yes, yes, of course. I’ll be downstairs. Let me know if you need anything.”
She refused to look at him until his back was to her and he walked down the stairs. Knowing him to be an empath was supposed to have relieved her, and yet she was more lost than ever. His reaction near the dungeons told her he hadn’t stifled his powers the way his father wished for him to, which meant he wouldn’t purposely hurt her by lying and making a mockery of her in front of everyone. Although that was comforting, it also meant that in asking her to the dance, he’d been genuine…and genuinely heartbroken when she said no.
She blew out a breath and forced her eyes to the first book on her lap. Matters of the heart would have to wait. There were others who were waiting for her to uncover why their hearts didn’t beat anymore.
…
For what felt like hours, Sera read about the horrible Purists’ beliefs, mainly propaganda blaming seventhborns for partaking in death magic, including necromancy. They believed that in contacting the Underworld, seventhborns dragged disease and evil into the realm of the living, which in turn led to the plague. Yet Sera couldn’t find Barrington’s connection to it all.
Stressed, tired, and frustrated, she met Timothy at the fireplace.
He set down the book he was reading. “I take it you didn’t find what you sought.”
She frowned. “How perceptive.”
He grinned. “I am an empath.”
She mirrored his smile, but as she glanced about the room, it quickly withered. “This is unbelievable, that this place—these philosophies were accepted. It all seems so fictional when studying it in class, but to see their teachings with my own eyes…” She exhaled, the breath rattling on the way out.
“It was a dark time for our people, but thankfully other Purists, like my ancestors, didn’t agree with the persecutions. They had the sense to think beyond myth, that maybe it was a chink somewhere in our magical makeup. That perhaps there was something in a seventhborn’s birth other than a myth that led to their mothers’ powers and lives being drained. Sadly, progress is slow. It has taken us decades to get this far, and we’ve yet to eradicate prejudice.”
He glanced at the clock. “I’m afraid the servants will be waking up soon. But if you need to come back, just say the word. I usually make it to the library at midnight, if you ever need to find me.”
Sera rose. “Thank you.”
Timothy followed suit. “The pleasure is all mine.”
He walked to the door and began to open it, but she put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. A portrait hung on the wall. A group of men sat in a row, staring straight ahead with plague masks on their laps. Sera drew closer, her eyes fixed on the man sitting in the middle. He looked like Professor Barrington, perhaps a little older, though the icy glare and arrogance were the same.
She glanced down at the plaque below it, and her suspicions were confirmed. “Barrington,” she whispered.
“Yes. Like me, Professor Barrington comes from a long line of Purists. It’s said his father became rather obsessed with uncovering the Scrolls of the Dead and eventually went mad, adopting the Brotherhood’s extremist ways. This was never proven, though. If there was any evidence, it burned down in the fire that killed him and the professor’s brother.”
Sera’s breath caught. “Professor Barrington’s brother is dead?”
Timothy pulled the door open. “Some say he tried to save their father. Others say he dabbled in the same black magic.”
Breathless, she followed him out. “Where was Professor Barrington?”
“He was always the black sheep of the family. Even got expelled from the Academy. He vanished for some years, and when he returned, he was the moody professor you see today. Professor Barrington never believed his father capable of black magic, but those who knew him spoke otherwise.”
“Do you believe it?”
“I have to,” he said, closing the door behind him. “If not, I’d be calling my father a liar. He discovered what the professor’s father was doing.”
Memory of Barrington’s reaction that morning in the library crossed her mind, the glare now making perfect sense. Like many who judged him for the crimes of his father, Barrington disliked Timothy for the same reason.
“I’m sharing these things with you in the strictest of confidence, of course.”
“I’ll tell no one.”
Sera eyed the dungeon doors, and a chill trailed down her spine. Sorrow followed for Professor Barrington. It was no wonder his sadness the night before had consumed him. Seeing the raven—knowing the Brotherhood was involved—must have stirred up all the horrible memories.
Lost to thoughts of Barrington, his father, his brother, and the Brotherhood, Sera followed Timothy out into the hall and back through the labyrinth until they reached the Astronomy section in the library.
“Thank you for tonight,” she said, pressing her wand to the bookcase, eager to find her way back upstairs to sort out all she’d learned.
“It should be me to thank you, as I greatly enjoy your company. And that’s not flattery. It’s the truth, same as my words to you the other morning.”
She sighed. “Timothy, I…this—you and me… I appreciate what you did for me tonight, and your words the other morning, but…”
A crestfallen look overcame his eyes. “But you will never feel for me what I feel for you?”
“You can’t feel anything for me. How could you? You don’t know me.”
“I know enough. I know enough to know that we are not so different. We are both in positions of birth we did not wish for and are burdened by things we wish we could erase. But I simply want to know how you feel.” He neared her a little, eyes very blue. “Are we a possibility, whether in secret or for everyone to know?”
Sera groaned. “It doesn’t matter what I feel—”
“It matters to me,” he said. “You asked why I helped you, and this is why. It matters to me what you feel, what you think, what you say. You matter to me. But if we’re never to be, then tell me to go, and I won’t bother you again.”
The answer was simple: no, they could never be. There was no way she could bind herself to him. He was perfect, yes—kind, smart, handsome—but something was missing. Whenever Mary spoke of him, she mentioned how her heart fluttered and palms dampened, and how she spent every waking moment thinking of him. Sera frowned. Her heart didn’t seem the least bit agitated, her hands were perfectly dry, and quite frankly she hadn’t thought of him at all—save for worry that Mary might have learned of their secret morning meeting. Though she hadn’t much experience in love, surely, surely it had to feel more than the void she felt with Timothy.
Indeed, the answer was simple, and yet Sera stepped back against the wall. Timothy’s words conjured the various possibilities of her future in her mind as though they were a vision.
She could tell him to love another—to love Mary, for heaven’s sake, but whereas Mary could always find another blue blood, what of Sera? Would anyone ever care for her, wish for her the way she wished for so many things? Would anyone look beyond the black ring at her wrist and the history it told as Timothy was willing to? He was kind, and an empath of all things. And if matters with Barrington didn’t work out, would Timothy not be the ideal person to help her find out about her family? He would be on the Aetherium council, and though she was a seventhborn, she would never have to worry another day in her life… She would be safe. He was safe.
“Tell me what to do,” he said. “Is there hope?”
Pulse pounding and fingers digging into the wall behind her, she felt all of his promises just a breath, a kiss, a word away.
Is there hope?
Distant bells rang. Sera sucked in a breath, the spell broken between them.
“I must go.”
She spun and slipped through the ajar bookcase. Timothy may have called for her, but she heard none of it as she hurried up the stairs, his words in her mind like the ghosts of nights past. Is there hope?