The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2) (7 page)

The students with Lilith were silent. Theren gave them all dirty looks as they went, and once the hallway branched off, she dragged Ebon and Kalem in another direction. Out of earshot, she pressed them both into an alcove.

“Lilith
must
have had something to do with this. I know it.”

Kalem frowned and looked down at his feet. “I am not so certain.”

Theren opened her mouth, but Ebon jumped in before she could speak. “He is right, Theren. We cannot know anything for certain. We only lost sight of her for a moment. How could she have killed him and then returned to the library so quickly?”

“It was not such a long distance,” said Theren. “I think that, after she lost us, she made for the vaults. But she came upon Credell, killed him, and then ran for the library as quickly as she could before anyone could see what she had done.”

“But why?” said Kalem. “For what purpose?”

“For no purpose,” said Theren. “He must have surprised her. Do you remember this morning, when he asked for my key to the vaults? Credell never enters the vaults, but some business must have called him there. Lilith did not expect that, and so when he saw her, she panicked.”

Ebon looked down the hall, towards where Lilith and the others had vanished. He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “I do not know, Theren. Lilith has been cruel to me since the day I arrived. But a murderer?”

Theren scowled. “I do not think she is some vile killer who sits about plotting the slow, torturous deaths of others. But I know she is ruthless, and ambitious, and tied closely to the dark dealings of her family. The Yerrins may hold no candle to the family Drayden, yet it is known that they, too, will kill any who stand in their way.”

“But Lilith is scarcely more than a girl,” said Kalem. “We all are.”

“You mean
you
are,” said Theren. “She is on the cusp of her eighteenth year. More than old enough to act as an agent of her house—and indeed, I believe she may be. She might not have wished for Credell’s death, but she had a hand in it nonetheless, for Yerrin desires the treasures within the vaults.”

“If what you say is true, I am more fearful than before,” said Kalem. “I want to prove the guilt of those who had a hand in the attack. But if Yerrin will kill to protect the secret, might we not die ourselves? And our new Dean is out for Ebon’s blood. If we try to investigate, we may land ourselves in even greater danger, or be expelled. And from outside the Academy, we can do nothing.”

“If we remain, but do nothing, then what does it matter if we are expelled or not?” said Theren. “Underrealm itself is in danger. Do you think we can attend our studies for the next few years, and hope the war will pass us by?”

Kalem fixed her with a hard look. “I think it is easier for you to say that than for us. You have completed your studies, and everyone knows it. If you left now, you would be a full-fledged wizard, whether or not you had the Academy’s blessing to practice. Ebon and I have not that luxury. You ask us to risk all our learning, many years more of education, trying to prove guilt that may or may not exist.”

Theren had no answer for that, and looked uneasily away from them both. “Do you feel the same, Ebon?”

But Ebon scarcely heard her. His thoughts were far away, upon the southern cliffs of the Seat, where Cyrus’ flesh had turned to stone under his hand. He felt as though he stood upon those cliffs again. He could step forwards, plunging himself into the abyss with no hope of return. If he joined Theren in her hunt for Lilith, he could be expelled, or die—or be forced to kill again. But if he stayed his hand? If he shut his eyes and feigned ignorance of the dark clouds swirling about the Academy? Then others might perish, and if Ebon did not kill them, still he would bear the guilt of it.

“Ebon?” said Theren.

“I do not know. I do not know. I have no wish to be killed or expelled in a hunt for the truth. But neither do I wish to sit and do nothing, when it may lead to the deaths of others like Credell. I know not what to do.”

“That is hardly helpful,” said Theren, snorting. “Choosing to do nothing is still a choice.”

“I do not wish to do nothing,” said Ebon. “Yet I fear to do
anything
. I ... how can I explain it, when I do not understand it myself?”

“Ebon, stop being a coward and—”

“Leave off, Theren.” He pushed her away and strode off down the hallway without looking back, for he knew he would find her glaring at him in anger. Cyrus’ face flashed before his eyes again, and then again, and the former Dean’s dry, crusted lips whispered the word
murderer.

He shivered, hating himself for his indecision. Yet how could he ease his mind? To whom could he speak?

The answer came in a flash. Only one person would understand. Only one soul could hear him freely.

Adara.

seven

It was far too late to consider leaving the Academy to see her, and the instructors were all on high alert after Credell’s murder. So Ebon did as he had promised, and went to Astrea’s dormitory to visit her. But he found Isra sitting in the common room instead. She looked up as he entered. Her eyes were vacant.

“Is Astrea here?” Ebon said, keeping his voice hushed. The common room was empty save for the two of them.

“She has gone to bed,” said Isra.

Ebon nodded. “I should do the same, then. As should you, I suppose. Do you ... do you wish me to walk you back to the dormitories?”

Isra scowled.

He raised his hands at once. “I only mean ... it must have been terrible. To find ... to find him.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment. “I suppose it was terrible,” she murmured. Lifting a hand, she showed Ebon her fingers. He could see them twitching. “See? My hands are shaking.”

“Who could blame you? I can only imagine what it has done to Astrea.”

Isra lowered her hand and looked at the dormitory door mournfully. “I wish she had not seen him,” she said, voice scarcely above a whisper. “She has always been so fragile.”

“You have known her long, then?” said Ebon.

Her eyes flashed. “I am not here to swap tales with you, goldbag.”

Ebon ducked his head. “I am sorry,” he muttered. “Good eve.”

He returned to his dormitory and went to bed at once, hoping his thoughts would be clearer in the morning. Instead he lay awake for hours, wrestling with thoughts of Cyrus and Credell. Both had made his first few months at the Academy terrible, though for very different reasons. And now both were dead. He fell asleep seeing their faces, their lifeless eyes staring into his own.

A dark mood had settled over the Academy the next morning, like a funeral pall thrown over all who dwelt within. The dining hall was somber, and no one dared speak above a whisper. Ebon found Kalem and sat with him, neither saying a word. Theren arrived soon after, and though she sat with them both, she did not meet Ebon’s eyes.

“I did some asking last night, after ... well, after,” she muttered. “Nothing was taken from the vaults. Credell must have happened upon Lilith as she was trying to get in, not out.”

If she did not wish to discuss their argument from last night, Ebon was happy enough to oblige. “That is good, I suppose.”

“Not good for Credell,” said Kalem.

Ebon looked away. Then his eye caught on something strange: a white tabard amid the sea of black robes. He looked about the room to find more of them; soldiers in white and gold, and all bearing swords and shields.

“Who are they?” he said, pointing.

Theren and Kalem raised their eyes, and Kalem’s mouth fell open. “The High King’s guards. What are they doing here?”

“No doubt they were sent to aid the Academy’s defenses after the murder,” said Theren.

Despite himself, Ebon laughed. “What do they hope to do? Have they forgotten this is a school of wizards? Their blades and armor will help them little against all but the youngest of students.”

“Mayhap they think the murderer was no wizard,” said Kalem. “After all, Credell was not killed with magic, but by a dagger to the throat.”

They fell silent at that. Credell’s sightless eyes danced in Ebon’s vision again, and then his face turned into Cyrus’. Ebon’s breath came harsh and shallow, and lights danced at the edge of his eyes.

“Ebon, what is wrong?” said Theren. “Your face is pale.”

“I need ... I need to walk. I need air.” He stood, and they made to follow, but he waved them back down. “No, thank you. I would rather be alone. I will find you later. In the library, perhaps.”

His friends settled back into their seats, though Kalem clearly wanted to come. Ebon left the dining hall, nearly stumbling against the door on his way. The hall was cold, colder than he remembered—or perhaps it was just that the dining hall had grown too warm. He pressed his hand against the frigid stone to steady himself.

He must
see Adara.

Now?
he thought.

Yes. He could not attend his studies like this. Half of him wanted to vomit, and the other wanted to return to bed, to curl in a ball and never rise again. If he could not unburden himself, he feared his heart might fail him.

His mind made up, he went quickly to the Academy’s wide front hall. His heart crashed in vicious thunder at his temples as he entered the open space with its vaulted ceiling—but then he sighed in relief. The sharp old caretaker, Mellie, was not standing guard at the front door as he had feared she might be. It was a bald man instead, with a crooked back and rheumy eyes, who Ebon had heard was named Cratchett—some old wizard called back to duty long after his prime to fill one of the many sudden vacancies in the Academy’s staff. He wandered about his post, eyes seeming to catch nothing at all. Ebon waited until he had rounded the corner, and then ran for the front door and out into the street.

He gave silent thanks for the well-oiled hinges as he swung the door shut behind him. Sticking his hands into either sleeve against autumn’s chill, he set off into the streets. The air bit briskly into his skin, even through his thick robe, and he hurried his pace to get the blood moving. He thanked the sky that it had not yet snowed, though clouds crowded the sky, making him anxious. Quickly he turned his steps west and north, winding his way through the city to where he knew a blue door was waiting.

All about him, the Seat was bustling. Soldiers patrolled the streets, wearing different colors: the white and gold of the High King, the green and white of Selvan, and the Mystics’ red and silver. But, too, there were masons and carpenters aplenty, for buildings across the island were in need of repair. Dulmun had wreaked terrible havoc across the island, as had their allies, the Shades. Houses and shops and taverns alike had been torn asunder, and now, if the owners were still alive, those structures were being rebuilt. The air rang with hammer beats, and the songs of saws, and choirs of shouting builders. After the tragedy, the new activity joined into a chorus that lifted the heart, and yet it held also an undertone of urgency. War was upon Underrealm now, and if it had not yet blossomed to its full fury, not a soul upon the Seat doubted that it would, given time.

When at last he reached his destination, Ebon ducked into an alley and looked furtively about. Most upon the Seat knew that Academy students were not allowed out until evening, and he had no wish for word to be sent back about where he had gone. But no one seemed to pay him any mind. So he slipped from the alley and across to the blue door, entering as quickly as he could.

There were not so many people lounging about the front room as when Ebon had first come. No doubt some had fallen in the fighting, while others had left the Seat. But Ebon guessed that the blue door saw its fair share of customers these days; not only would many seek comfort after the attack, but the Seat now housed soldiers from across the nine kingdoms. His stomach twisted at the thought that Adara might be occupied already—but then he saw her in the corner playing her harp. She flashed him a wide smile, and he returned it. Then the matron swept forwards to greet him.

“Good day, sir. Do you wish to visit Adara?”

“If she will see me.” Ebon reached for his coin purse, but the matron waved it off.

“I do not doubt that she will. But you have not yet used up all your last payment.”

Her gaze slid past him. Adara stood at once and approached, leading Ebon to her room by the hand. Inside, she gripped his robes and pulled him close for a deep kiss.

“I have sorely missed you,” he said, holding her out by the shoulders to look at her.

“And I you. But what are you doing here now? It is the middle of the day.”

“I had to come. My heart is in turmoil, and my mind will offer no rest.”

Her hands slid down his chest, her smile coquettish. “Then it will be my pleasure to soothe you.”

“I ... that is not what I came for.”

She cocked her head, though her smile did not wilt. “I never thought to have you refuse me.”

That made him chuckle. “Nor did I ever expect to hear myself do so. But I came because there are things I must speak of. And they are ... they are things I can say to no one else.”

The smile faded, and her eyes grew solemn. “I think I see your mind. Come, then. Sit, and speak. Will you take wine?”