armyinform Chapter 215: At the Threshold
Chapter 215: At the Threshold
Chapter 215: At the Threshold
Damien
Month 8, Day 23, Monday 9:20 p.m.
Back at the University in time for curfew, they found Tanya Canelo waiting at the entrance to their dorm room, doing what looked like a practice exam. This would be the end of her fifth term, giving her a Journeyman certification if she passed. She looked up at Damien expressionlessly as they approached. “Professor Lacer is looking for you, Westbay. He wants you in his office.”
Damien checked his pocket watch. “This late?”
Tanya shrugged, standing up and brushing past Damien to talk to Sebastien. “Miss Gervin reported the situation with some of the other students to me,” she told Sebastien. “I’ll do what I can to keep an eye on them. I may not be a student liaison anymore, but being Professor Lacer’s student aide still has some weight.”
Damien narrowed his eyes. Was it just his imagination, or did she seem a little too eager for Sebastien’s approval? Did she like Sebastien, too? The two of them even had similar hairstyles, though Sebastien’s was getting a bit long. Was Tanya enough older to be considered “mature?” Damien let out a snort and left.
When he arrived at Professor Lacer’s office, the man was still there, though his low ponytail was a bit disheveled and his face was drawn with fatigue. He scowled down at a stack of student papers, holding a mug in one hand and his Conduit in the other as a free-floating pen filled with red ink made angry scribbles and slashing marks across the paper.
The pen dropped and half a second later, Professor Lacer gestured to a chair, which scuttled across the floor and settled ominously in front of his desk. He gestured again, at Damien, and Damien almost expected that he, too, would be magically picked up and moved. However, in the end he had to take the inauspiciously placed seat under his own volition.
Professor Lacer put down his mug, steepled his fingers together and pressed them against his lips, then stared at Damien silently.
Damien gulped. “Why am I here, sir, if I can ask?”
Professor Lacer reached into one of his desk drawers and took out a casting circlet—a clear disk with several bubbles of components arrayed at one end, with the other end molded to fit in the grip of a fist. Free-casters used them to cast powerful spells that required components.
“Did you just cast a spell?” Damien asked.
“A divination spell. It will help me better assess your response.”
Damien’s throat grew tight and his voice came out strained. “A lie-detecting spell?”
“Not exactly. A spell to improve my understanding,” he replied emotionlessly.
It was better than a compulsion spell, but the fact that Professor Lacer felt the need to cast any sort of spell just to have a conversation with Damien was deeply ominous. “Did I do something?” Damien asked, squeezing the chair’s armrest tighter as the urge to wipe his sweaty palms over his pant legs became almost unbearable.
“That is not what this is about. You are in no trouble, Mr. Westbay. Please be at ease.”
Damien wasn’t sure how that was possible, but he nodded jerkily anyway. Showing Damien that he was casting a divination spell was a courtesy and a sign of respect. Either that or the man wanted to put Damien on edge for some reason—it could be a warning.
Professor Lacer leaned back in his own chair, moving the hand with the spell circlet beneath the table, as if not being able to see it might allow Damien to forget it existed. “I hope you are not inebriated, Mr Westbay. You need to be at your best for the exams next week.”
Damien blinked. “No—We just went out to a play and then dinner. Something to get our mind off things. I’ve been kind of stressed lately—well, we all have.”
Professor Lacer nodded easily, as if they were having a conversation about weather patterns in Silva Erde. “Has Sebastien been stressed as well?”
Damien shrugged and chuckled nervously. “He lives in a rather constant state of stress, doesn’t he? So I’m not sure if it counts.”
Professor Lacer raised one eyebrow. “You are his best friend, correct?”
Damien remained silent, unsure how to respond.
“As far as I have seen, you are the person he spends the most time with and speaks most freely with. Would you say that is accurate?”
“I...guess so.”
“Why do you think Sebastien is stressed?”
“Maybe because he’s worried about performing well enough on the exams? He seems to think that if he’s not at least in the top five percent and outperforming people several terms above him, he’s a failure. He’s really concerned about living up to your expectations.”
Professor Lacer frowned slightly. “Is that all?”
Was Sebastien being considered for some kind of special opportunity, and Professor Lacer wanted to judge whether he had the energy for it? Maybe he thought Sebastien would agree to more work, no matter how overloaded he already was.
Or maybe Professor Lacer had heard some of the rumors and gossip floating around the school and thought that Damien should be the one to do something about it.
He couldn’t possibly have already heard some mutated and scandalous version of Sebastien thinking he was the ideal romantic partner, could he?
Damien found himself smoothing back his hair as his thoughts raced, suddenly remembered that he apparently had split-ends, then forced his hands together in his lap. “Probably not,” Damien admitted, “but I don’t know the details of the rest. He always seems to be juggling half a dozen projects or practicing some spell. Maybe he’s having trouble with the extra exercises you assigned for this term.”
Professor Lacer kept staring silently. Expectantly.
Damien cleared his throat. “Or maybe he’s just tired? He always has trouble sleeping.”
“Tell me more about that.” Professor Lacer’s expression didn’t change, but perhaps that was why Damien could tell he was so interested in the answer. Normally, Professor Lacer would have scowled, scoffed, or made some scathing comment. Restrained neutrality was abnormal for him.
“You know.” Professor Lacer said. “Or you have a good idea. Tell me.” His command was so strong it almost seemed to hold a compulsion of its own.
Damien was worried that this was not, in fact, the optimal solution.
“You will not leave this room without sharing this information with me,” Professor Lacer said, his voice hard. “Speak.”
“The High Crown!” Damien burst out.
Professor Lacer’s eyes and nostrils both flared. “What happened?” he asked softly.
“During Sowing Break, when the Raven Queen made that huge ruckus and rescued a group of people from the Pendragon Corps... They had kidnapped civilians. Children.”
Professor Lacer’s knuckles grew white as he squeezed his large spherical Conduit within a fist.
Damien continued. “Sebastien said that he had been trampled by a crowd during the panic. But...that was a lie.”
“How was he injured?”
“A Pendragon Operative tried to kidnap him. He fought back and was injured. And...someone else, I don’t know who, saved Sebastien. That person used a memory-modifying spell on the Pendragon Operative so that they wouldn’t realize they failed. I guess just to make them think they couldn’t find him.”
“Why did he not say anything to me?” Professor Lacer asked, still strangely calm.
“Because if anyone knew, then they might try to come after him again. And memory-modification spells are illegal.”
“Who saved him?”
Damien shook his head, dread building in his stomach again as he realized that this was the failure point of revealing what he had. “I don’t know. I’m not sure Sebastien knows, either. I don’t think that person wanted anyone to know who they were. I... Please don’t say anything about this. You can understand why we kept it secret, right? It’s not just the danger from the High Crown. Sebastien can’t say anything about the person who saved him, and if he knows I told you—”
Damien wouldn’t actually keep what he had revealed a secret from Sebastien, of course, but this desperate attempt was the best way he could think of to keep Professor Lacer from digging in a direction that would lead him to the secret order.
“Yes, I understand,” Professor Lacer said. He stood slowly, dropping the component circlet and squeezing his Conduit even tighter. He slammed his fist down on the table. In a flash, a wave of force rolled out from his body. He hadn’t been calm at all; his rage had only been concealed beneath the surface.
Damien’s eyelids fluttered and his heart clenched so hard he thought he might pass out under the force of Thaddeus Lacer’s Will.
Everything in the room rattled and jumped in place as the man’s anger came to life.
Sound disappeared.
The air froze, trapping Damien’s breath in his lungs.
The light dimmed strangely in a way that reminded Damien of the moon passing in front of the sun, and Damien wasn’t sure if it was because he was on the verge of passing out, or if it was real. He saw multicolored stars that reminded him of the fire witch’s show earlier that evening.
Damien caught a glimpse of Thaddeus Lacer’s eyes and had the sudden, intense certainty that someone was going to die.
Damien skin seemed to ripple strangely despite the stillness of the air, as if he had gone thrill-jumping off of the white cliffs. He began to hear a phantom sound. Something more sensation than noise, and approaching from a great distance.
Damien tried to scream, to throw himself to the ground, to crawl to the door on his hands and knees and escape.
And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pressure receded.
Damien was in his chair, unscathed.
Professor Lacer dropped his Conduit, letting the celerium sphere clatter onto his desk. He blew out a long breath, just on the edge of a whistle, before lifting his head to meet Damien’s gaze again. “I apologize, Mr. Westbay. It has been a long time since I allowed my emotions to overtake me so shamefully.”
Damien pressed his trembling fingers into his thighs, blinking rapidly as he took a few deep breaths to reassure himself that he was okay. His jaw ached where he had been clenching his teeth together, and his heart beat like a fleeing jackrabbit drenched in acid, but there were no real sensations of pain. “Are you...going to do something?” he croaked.
“To the High Crown?” Professor Lacer closed his eyes and took another deep breath. “Sebastien’s injuries— He had my apprentice beaten, and if not for—” He cut off again.
Damien’s bladder tightened shamefully and his eyes stung with the prickle of oncoming tears as he realized how close beneath the surface Thaddeus Lacer’s rage still was. “Sebastien is safe,” he forced out. “The Pendragon Corps never took him.”
“But he is still in danger.” Professor Lacer looked up at Damien, then adjusted his chair and sat back down. “Was Sebastien attacked just because of the fact that he has had a positive interaction with the Raven Queen? Just because he could have been used as bait? Or is there something more?”
“It—it’s possible the High Crown is paranoid and thinks Sebastien could be a threat? Ana, she looked into Sebastien’s background, and we think maybe he’s connected to the original Siverlings. And Princess Krell, she maybe had a baby that survived. With the promise Sebastien has been showing, maybe the High Crown believes Sebastien could be long-lost royalty. Technically, he would have some kind of claim to a...kingship?”
Professor Lacer shook his head. “No. I am aware of the original Siverlings, but Sebastien is not of royal blood. Or at least not...that...kind.” His gaze went distant.
“Sir?” Damien asked, confused.
Professor Lacer ignored him, staring at nothing.