by Eva Chase
“All right,” Connar said, after pressing another kiss to the top of my head. “Let’s see what we can to do make sure justice is served.”
As much as I appreciated that sentiment, my gut twisted at the comment. The two scions didn’t know yet that any real justice I got for the attacks against me would tear apart both their families.
Chapter Six
Declan
I’d known from the moment I started digging into fearmancer murder law that my efforts wouldn’t go unremarked on. So when Ms. Grimsworth summoned me to her office, I had no doubt what the meeting was going to be about. The only question was exactly how it’d play out.
“Come in, Mr. Ashgrave,” the headmistress said in her cool voice when she answered my knock. She didn’t look especially happy about having to deal with this business before the end-of-summer break was even over, but then, I rarely saw much emotion color her primly professional demeanor. She rarely appeared happy about good news either.
I stepped into her office, the sharp scent of incense tickling my nose, and discovered we had company for this meeting. A blacksuit was leaning against the bookshelves to one side of Ms. Grimsworth’s desk—a fairly high ranking one, from the cut of her dark clothes and her apparent age, though I hadn’t encountered her during my work to get Rory out of their custody. She didn’t say anything as I took the chair in front of the desk, but her intent gaze followed me beneath the sweep of her short tawny hair. Maybe this was the family “friend” Rory had mentioned.
Ms. Grimsworth sat in her usual chair without introducing the onlooker. Apparently the blacksuit wanted to be a relatively silent partner in this conversation. The headmistress folded her hands on the top of the desk and leaned forward. When she spoke, her tone gave the impression that she’d suppressed a sigh.
“Concerns have been raised regarding your involvement with Rory Bloodstone. You’ve assisted with her Insight seminar in your capacity as teacher’s aide as well as offering her tutoring, if I’m correct?”
“That’s right,” I said calmly, although my stomach had knotted. I’d expected this, but I also didn’t know exactly how the accusations might play out. The last I’d heard, Rory’s paternal grandparents had fled the country in the wake of the criminal investigation I’d set in motion, off to Europe somewhere to hope they could simply wait out the inquiries. That didn’t mean they couldn’t have tried to take one last jab at me by sharing their theories about my and Rory’s personal relationship as they’d left. Hell, for all I knew, someone else had witnessed an incriminating interaction between us without us even realizing.
“It appears you’ve gone to great lengths to assist Miss Bloodstone in the face of her recent incarceration,” Ms. Grimsworth went on. “Certainly beyond what we’d consider in the scope of a teacher’s aide’s responsibilities to one of his students. Questions have been posed about potential bias interfering with your ability to do your job.”
That all sounded pretty vague so far—and while it was difficult to read Ms. Grimsworth’s mood, my increasing impression was that she found this entire interview rather ridiculous. Not that I could afford to relax with the blacksuit looking on.
I schooled my expression into one of bemusement. “I can understand why that issue might be raised, but all I can say is that I don’t see my efforts on Rory’s behalf as having anything to do with my role as teacher’s aide. Regardless of our positions within the school, we’re colleagues within the pentacle. I supported her as a fellow scion.”
The blacksuit opened her mouth for the first time. Her voice had a slight edge to it. “You’d go to these lengths for your other ‘colleagues’ as well?”
I shifted my gaze to her, my shoulders squaring. “I would. Thankfully, none of the other scions have been involved in a crime on this level, so I can’t point to direct evidence of that fact, but if you look over my history, you’ll find plenty of instances when I’ve used my understanding of our laws and formal procedures to help them in smaller ways.”
I didn’t know whether she’d already investigated that history, but if she hadn’t, she’d find out it was true soon enough. Of all the questionable things I might have done when it came to Rory, defending her legal rights wasn’t one of them. When it came to those actions, at least, I stood on perfectly firm ground.
Unless the blacksuits had something else up their sleeves. Or unless my fellow barons had decided to throw me under the bus along with Rory. Apprehension prickled down my back.
Ms. Grimsworth shifted back in her chair. She glanced at the blacksuit. “I can confirm that Mr. Ashgrave has generally led any petitions involving formal policy when it comes to the other scions, here at the university at least.”
“It seems to me there is some conflict of interest there all the same,” the blacksuit said.
“School wasn’t in session at the time,” I said before she could go on. “And if it would be a problem for me to continue contributing to Rory’s case once classes start up again, then I’ll resign as teacher’s aide. I’m sure the blacksuits would agree that the pentacle must come before a temporary teaching position.”
I said the last bit as evenly as everything else, but it was meant as a parry. No blacksuit would want to suggest, especially in front of a respected witness, that they opposed solidarity among their future leaders.
The woman frowned, but she mustn’t have had any other ammunition—or none that she was prepared to use just yet. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said. “At least not from our perspective.”
“Nor from ours,” Ms. Grimsworth put in. “The matters appear to be quite unrelated. Though while you’re particularly engaged in Miss Bloodstone’s legal affairs, I expect you to ensure that any evaluations of her class performance are conducted by Professor Sinleigh rather than yourself.”
“Of course,” I said, and with that, it seemed the interview was over.
I only had a few minutes to feel relieved. As I headed out of Killbrook Hall, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, and my heart sank.
I’d gotten a single, brusque text from Marguerite Stormhurst—Connar’s mother and the Stormhurst baron. Urgent meeting, 1pm, the field. Your presence is mandatory.
That was less than an hour from now. Which wouldn’t have given me enough time to drive out to the Fortress of the Pentacle if the barons had tried to hold the meeting there… and perhaps they hadn’t wanted there to be any risk that what we were about to discuss could be overheard or recorded by the pentacle’s official administrative employees.
I’d only met the other barons at the isolated field where we occasionally assembled for emergency meetings twice before, once while I was still technically only in training with my aunt Ambrosia as acting baron. The only good thing about the way they’d called this get-together was the fact that she’d almost certainly been left out. On the other hand, if they didn’t like the answers I gave them today, they might be inviting her back into the position that should be mine soon enough.
I switched directions to veer toward the garage, ignoring the impulse to text Rory—or, hell, even Jude or Connar—and tell them why I was leaving campus. It wasn’t as though, if the barons decided to turn their murderous intentions on me, the other scions would be able to do anything about it without putting themselves in even more danger. And I didn’t really think my older colleagues would go to those lengths just yet.
That didn’t mean this conversation was going to be at all enjoyable, though.
The possibilities of what they’d say and how I’d answer whirled through my head as I drove, although I’d already thought through my arguments before I’d first contacted the blacksuits on Rory’s behalf. The issue wasn’t so much what I’d say as how the barons would take it… and if the last few months had taught me anything, it was that for all I knew about them, I was still capable of underestimating them.
The field in question lay a few miles from any habitation, stretches of pine forest shadowing either end. The co
untry road that led to it was full of potholes that jolted my car’s suspension. An even rougher lane branched off, petering out into overgrown grass after some ten feet. It was there that three other cars were already parked when I pulled into the field. The three full barons—Julian Nightwood, Edmund Killbrook, and Marguerite Stormhurst—were leaning against the hoods. Their gazes followed me.
I stopped the car with the uneasy impression that they’d been talking for quite a while before I’d turned up. That they might even have already been together when Baron Stormhurst had called me to this meeting. Together and discussing me.
“Ashgrave,” Nightwood said the moment I’d opened the door. “Glad you could make it.” His steady voice was laced with just enough venom for me to register it, but hardly enough that I could have called it out.
“Of course,” I said. “The pentacle calls, I answer.” They weren’t going to dock me any points on loyalty to this job, that was for sure.
I came around the front of the Honda and propped myself against the hood as the others had, keeping my movements as loose as I could manage to despite the tension wound inside me. Nothing would be worse than revealing I knew I’d done something they wouldn’t approve of.
Distant thunder rumbled in the cloud-choked sky, and a damp wind licked over the field. If we didn’t keep this meeting short, we’d all end up soaked.
“What do we need to discuss?” I asked, as if I had no idea.
Killbrook narrowed his eyes at me, which only amplified the serpentine impression his angular face always gave me. “We were informed that the Bloodstone scion has been released from blacksuit custody, on your request. Something you should have discussed with us before going ahead, don’t you think?”
I blinked at him as if startled by the idea. “I was simply ensuring proper procedures were followed. I didn’t realize there’d be any debate about that.”
Nightwood shifted, with a tiny gesture of his hand that might have signaled something to his colleague. “Naturally we expect the law to be followed,” he said. “But I would trust the blacksuits were in the process of handling it. Bloodstone has finally made a misstep that may benefit us. Surely you could see that?”
A “misstep.” As if murder were a simple mistake. As if they hadn’t orchestrated the entire thing rather than Rory stepping wrong.
I reined in my irritation. “Of course that factor occurred to me,” I said, letting my voice get slightly tart. When dealing with venomous snakes, sometimes you had to show you could respond in kind, or they’d take your apparent weakness as an opening. “It also occurred to me that convicting the sole heir of a barony might be a rather difficult task. If she’s given the full amount of time to mount a defense and still can’t establish her innocence, the judge will be even more… open-minded in the extent of the sanctions, don’t you think?”
He’d be more inclined to lay down harsher punishments—and to give the barons more rein to impose them, I meant.
The other barons were silent for a moment. Stormhurst cocked her head. “How can you be so sure she won’t manufacture some proof in her favor while she’s walking free?”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Considering the blacksuits are tracking every bit of magic she casts, I’m not sure how she could manage that. If she tries to, she’ll only dig the hole even deeper. I can’t imagine how she’d start even if she had unrestricted use of her magic. With the carelessness of the crime, there must be ample evidence against her already, assuming she’s responsible.”
I watched the faces around me carefully. Killbrook exhaled wearily and rubbed his mouth. Nightwood only kept his usual imposing demeanor. Stormhurst gave a snort that sounded just a touch forced. The figures in front of me had far too much practice at holding their cards close.
“She has dug herself quite a hole,” Stormhurst said. “Her access to the barony will depend on our good graces once she’s convicted.”
“As it should have all along, considering the outside influences that have muddled her understanding of the world,” Nightwood put in, the closest he’d likely ever come to admitting he’d not only wanted but intended for this outcome. “The balance will be right within the pentacle, and we can move forward without further distractions.” He fixed his dark gaze on me. “As long as your gambit doesn’t backfire in some way you haven’t anticipated.”
“I’ll be right there to keep an eye on her process,” I said. “I can’t see any way she’ll get herself out of this fix unless somehow she’s honestly not guilty. How much chance is there of that?”
The question might have been a smidge too pointed. Nightwood’s mouth tightened, and Killbrook shot me a brief glance that was just shy of a glower. I kept my expression impassive as if I’d meant it as an honest question.
“I expect we have no need to worry about that,” Nightwood said. “But we would like to be kept informed of any further action you take as it involves Bloodstone. All of our fates are connected to hers.”
“I’ll take initiative as I see the need,” I said. “But I’ll make sure you stay updated.”
Stormhurst’s voice dropped low, to almost a growl. “Before you take any more initiatives on your own, remember you’re not quite full baron yourself. Your fate depends on us as well.”
“I’m only attempting to live up to the role,” I said with a smile, but my stomach balled tighter as I got back into the car. That was as close to a direct threat as I’d ever gotten from them. The line I walked had just gotten twice as precarious.
But it still wasn’t anywhere near as fraught as the path Rory was on. I tried to stir more sense of triumph in me as I started the engine, but it was weighed down by the dread pooling in my chest.
As much as I hated it, what I’d told the other barons was true. If Rory couldn’t prove she hadn’t hurt her dormmate even with the time and freedom I’d bought her, she’d be worse off than if I’d left her to stew in the blacksuits’ holding room.
Chapter Seven
Rory
“If only the school had bothered to invest in security cameras,” Jude lamented, stroking his fingers over my hair where he was sitting next to me on the sofa in the scion lounge.
“They wouldn’t have done us much good,” Connar pointed out at my other side. “Anyone who could pull off the level of magic needed for the rest of the crime could have blocked them off or cast an illusion to change the recording.”
Jude hummed to himself. “True. All right, scratch that complaint, let’s keep all cameras away.”
I resisted the urge to pull both him and Connar closer, to snuggle into them like a shield against the awful situation I was facing. Just because Declan accepted that I was involved with other guys didn’t mean I liked the idea of rubbing it in his face. Besides, the four of us had come down here to the private basement lounge area to figure out the right strategy to tackle that situation. I had to stay focused.
Thankfully, Malcolm wasn’t back from the break yet, so we didn’t have to deal with any interruptions from him.
Declan shifted in his armchair with a frown. “The two of you didn’t come up with anything useful when you were poking around while I was researching the legal aspect?”
Connar shook his head. “Nothing that would prove Rory wasn’t behind the attack or that someone else was.” He gave my knee a gentle squeeze. “What about Victory and her friends? They’ve had it in for you for a while, haven’t they? And they knew about the tension between you and Imogen—they had easy access to the dorm…”
I took a sip of the Coke that Jude had poured for me, the fizzing of the liquid going down my throat sharpening my focus. “They were at the party in the Stormhurst Building.”
“I stayed longer than you did,” Declan said. “I remember seeing Victory and Sinclair there afterward—I was keeping an eye on them in case they tried something. But Cressida…”
I’d seen Cressida, I realized. She’d bumped into me, literally, in the first floor hallway when I’d been heading for
the stairs that led to the dorms.
A chill washed through me for just a second before I remembered Deborah’s account. She’d said the real attacker had still been in the dorm room when I’d come in.
“Cressida couldn’t have been involved either,” I said. Besides, I knew I hadn’t been framed by students, although I guessed it was possible the barons had made use of them somehow. I hesitated, debating for the hundredth time whether this was the right moment to drop that revelation in my lovers’ laps.
Declan redirected the conversation before I had to decide, maybe sensing my discomfort. He didn’t appear to be in any hurry to accuse his friends’ parents of treason either. “If it wasn’t for the illusion spell, your memories would be enough to absolve you,” he said, and rubbed his mouth. “Will you let me do an insight spell on you—just to look at that moment? Maybe there’s something about the illusion that we’ll be able to point in comparison to your actual experiences, so we can prove it isn’t real.”
My spirits leapt with a jolt of hope. “Okay. I couldn’t really tell if there was anything really off about the illusions—but I was pretty distracted in the moment, panicking over Imogen.”
With a deep breath, I willed down the mental shields that had become instinctive. Even though I was surrounded by people I knew wanted nothing more than to help me, my pulse thumped a little faster as Declan leaned forward, his gaze intent on my forehead. Through everything that’d been thrown at me since I’d entered the fearmancer community, I’d managed to keep my thoughts and memories reasonably secure. Leaving myself vulnerable made my nerves jitter.
“What happened when you found Imogen Wakeburn’s body?” Declan asked with the slight lilt of a casting. A tingle raced through my head as he must have delved into my thoughts. I had no sense of what he was seeing. Jude took my hand as if suspecting I needed the extra reassurance.
