Page 61 of Librarian

He’s taken off his cuffs. They glimmer on top of the piano in a careful pile of multicoloured metals. Without them, the twisted lines across his skin are plainly visible.

It’s painful how purposeful each mark is. Aside from the covenant mark, none of them touch his hands or venture above his collarbone. He has the cuff, but even without it, all of them could be hidden by a shirt.

“I hoped I wouldn’t wake you.” It’s not an apology, but it holds the same careful regret. “Do you want me to stop?”

I prop myself up, resting my head on one hand. “No. Keep playing.”

He bows his head in acquiescence.

I should go back to sleep but watching him is oddly soothing.

“Do you think Anthea will come out of this alive?” he finally asks, the words almost swallowed up by his playing.

Oh. He’s thinking about his sister?

“If she’s smart, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that she might evade enforcement for years.”

There have been a few arcanists in history who ran for decades before being caught. They benefited from periods of chaos in society or within enforcement’s ranks. Both of those scenarios are happening now that Benny has set the cat among the pigeons. Was that part of his motivation for doing so?

However, none of those fugitives were the daughter of a rector, or open necromancers, and all of them were caught…in the end.

“My grandfather set her loose to be hunted down like a rabid dog, and my mother told enforcement I was a necromancer so they could do the same to me.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “I know Anthea can take care of herself, but…”

“She’s your sister.” I hug his blanket to my chest. “Do you want to help her?”

The piano music continues, filling the void in the conversation.

“We have a complicated relationship. I…I’m not proud of myself for how I behaved when she asked for my help to gain Sanctuary.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” I tell him. “Enforcement likely would’ve turned on the Arcanaeum had I tried to offer protection to a known necromancer.”

I walk a delicate line every time someone invokes Sanctuary. On one hand, my rule over the Arcanaeum was absolute; enforcement had no jurisdiction. On the other, I did my best not to get in the way of the law, helping them when requested. Would I have helped Anthea, knowing she was a necromancer? Possibly not. Necromancers killed me. I don’t trust them.

And yet…I offered Pierce Sanctuary, even though I suspected him of being one. I could make excuses, say that it was solely down to the deal with Benny, but was it?

Or is it just another case of the heirs being the only exception to every rule I’ve ever made?

Pierce trails into a new song, something modern that I don’t recognise, and more melancholy than the first.

“She’s made the accusation now,” he mumbles. “I’ll never escape it, even if I somehow convince them I’m not one.”

“No. You likely won’t.” Arcanists have long memories. “But sometimes that can be an advantage.” As a parriarch, having a rumoured dark side often garners its own kind of respect. “Do you have a plan to prove your innocence?”

His head shake is small, uncertain.

Despite it all, my heart sinks on his behalf. He didn’t choose any of this, but who would really believe that? Necromancy is a black and white line in the sand for most arcanists. One is either a necromancer and evil, or they aren’t.

To my shame, I’ve allowed myself to fall into that same moral absolutism, but Pierce…Pierce is different.

“I have, on occasion, given testimony that was sufficient to persuade enforcement to look the other way,” I begin.

The piano cuts off, and he swivels to pin me in place with a dark look. “I’m not asking you to lie for me. One look at my grimoire, and they’d know the truth anyway, then you’d be in just as much trouble as I am.”

“The Arcanaeum is more than capable of creating a forgery that will fool any enforcer,” I retort. “Books are, after all, our speciality, and we have a unique connection to your magic that would allow us to convince even their most skilled divinator of your innocence.”

“In exchange for what?” The sudden flatness in his voice is startling, and I lift the covers a little higher.

Pierce doesn’t come from a world where things are given out of kindness. To him, favours are transactional. Even Benny, for all that he professes to care for his grandchildren, is so deep in the depths of his own machinations that he’s utilised Pierce as a spy for years, which can only have translated to conditional love in the mind of a child.