Scrivens, p.1
Scrivens, page 1
Scrivens
The Librarian’s Coven, Book 3
Kathryn Moon
Contents
1. Aiden
2. Joanna
3. Joanna
4. Aiden
5. Joanna
6. Aiden
7. Joanna
8. Joanna
9. Aiden
10. Joanna
11. Isaac
12. Callum
13. Aiden
14. Joanna
15. Aiden
16. Joanna
17. Aiden
18. Aiden
19. Joanna
20. Aiden
21. Joanna
22. Aiden
23. Joanna
Epilogue
Continue with the Coven in Ancients!
Also by Kathryn Moon
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright 2019 Kathryn Moon
All Rights Reserved
* * *
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, business or events, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
To my lady covens, all across the world.
Chapter 1
Aiden
“You are being impossible.” The words came out from gritted teeth, and I didn’t know if I was trying to stop myself from shouting or too irritated to speak freely.
“You sound like everyone we’ve been fighting against!” Joanna cried out. The red was high in her cheeks, brown eyes shimmering. I wasn’t fooled. Those weren’t tears begging for pity, but a viper’s spitting anger gathering and I was in the firing zone.
“This is never going to work if you won’t compromise!”
“They’ve left Vermenia to avoid being tagged, and you’re telling me that’s exactly what we’ll do to them when they arrive here!”
“Morning,” Isaac said, voice sleepy and mild as he passed us in the dining room on his way to the kitchen. Neither Joanna nor I broke eye contact at the interruption, and Isaac didn’t bother looking concerned that we were shouting before breakfast.
Weeks ago, when the news arrived that the Vermenian Scribes were looking for safe passage into Enmaire, and the arguments began, Isaac and Callum leapt between us to keep the peace. Now I could hear Callum murmuring a hello to Isaac and pouring the coffee, the pair of them too used to our bickering.
“I am not the one making this decision,” I said, feeling winded by the pause.
Joanna’s jaw flexed, her eyes watching me as she turned away. Frustration warred with a crumpling defeat in my chest. We’d had a good day yesterday. She’d taken lunch in my office, the pair of us curled up in an armchair listening to an old Yewmen recording. But today I was meeting with President Anders about the incoming refugees and Joanna couldn’t help herself from pushing.
Or had it been me who’d brought the subject up first this time?
“I don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t know why we are fighting,” Joanna said, her skirt twitching around her legs as if she was thinking of swinging around again. Her back still faced me.
“We have to make a concession. I know you don’t want to believe this, but inviting the Scribes is a risk for the campus, for Enmaire.”
Joanna’s head shook and a curl fell loose from her braid. “I think you do want to argue. I’m leaving for work.”
Irritation streaked through me like electricity. Stubborn little brat. Why was she so determined? So naive?
“Breakfast!” Callum shouted from the kitchen, but Joanna’s steps took off in the wrong direction, a fast snap against the floorboards.
“I’ll grab something from the canteen.” And then the front door swung shut behind her.
Callum’s shadow appeared in the doorway and I glared at him, daring him to pick up where she had left off. “Don’t.”
Callum sighed, head knocking against the wall. “You’re both running yourselves ragged on this. You should be on the same team.”
My words burst out, too loud for the early morning, “We are on the same team!” Callum only blinked at me and a strangled growl caught in my throat. I swallowed it down and tried again, forcing or faking calm. “You know as well as I do, she’s being unreasonable.”
“She’s being Joanna,” Callum said, lips curling fondly. “Forceful optimist. Determined to make the best of this for everyone.”
“Anders, Mayor Sewell—they’ll never let them in if something happens and—“
“And they need someone to blame,” Callum finished, one obnoxious eyebrow raised.
“You really think this will go smoothly, with no hiccups, like Joanna does?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine a scenario that easy, there were too many variables and possibilities. Callum, of all people, should have felt the same. Joanna and her magic had come to Canderfey, releasing the Hollow, and she’d been entirely innocent in her actions. What would happen when a magical population, so used to hiding, realized they were free to use their powers here?
“I believe that the Scrivens are just as at risk with us, as we are with them,” Callum said, pushing off the wall and crossing the room to me. “It takes away one of their only defenses by putting them on a register.”
“What am I supposed to do, Callum?” My shoulders sagged. I was tired and the closer he stepped, the more I had to resist the urge to cringe away. My body ached with sudden and unwarranted exhaustion.
But Callum hadn’t woken up bristling with fight like Joanna and I had. His hands plucked at the front of my shirt, barely enough to wrinkle me, just an invitation. My feet stumbled forward like he’d tugged at my spine, my forehead landing against his.
“She’s their strongest advocate, and she’s Joanna, so she won’t give up on them. Anders and Sewell are… advocating for the university, the town, and Enmaire too I suppose, in their way,” Callum mused, mint and coffee on his breath.
“Where does that leave me?” I asked in a quiet growl. Trapped between two opposing forces, one of whom I had to make peace with every day to live happily in my own home…our home.
“Applying your brilliant mind to a compromise,” Callum whispered, and I glared at him as he kissed me, a brief, soft peck. “This isn’t warfare, it’s politics. You’re the best of us for the job.”
And then he left the room, grabbing his bag from the hall and heading out the front door. I trailed into the kitchen and Isaac was there, passing me a coffee and wearing that patient expression he had when he was watching us all in an uproar, knowing exactly how the pieces would land by the evening.
“Aren’t you going to say something maddening too?” I asked, watching him over the rim of the coffee cup.
He only watched me and smiled. “They’ve poked the bear and abandoned me.” I resisted the urge to growl and prove his point, and his smile softened. “You know me, I agree with everyone all the time.”
“And Callum agrees with Joanna all the time. I’m left outnumbered,” I said.
His head cocked and his eyes narrowed. “Does it bother you? How close they’ve been after Vermenia?”
It had been a few months since Joanna had rescued Callum from the Vermenian mines and the pair had been inseparable since. Callum had lowered his guard so far, I sometimes barely recognized him, and Joanna, who still occasionally showed a nervous footing in our coven, was as natural in his company as I had ever seen her.
“Of course not, it’s good.” I wondered if I had taken too long to say the words, although they came out quick and nervous on my tongue. I took a swig of coffee to cover the grind of my jaw.
“I think they play favorites sometimes,” Isaac said with a shrug, looking at me with wide eyes as he took a sip of coffee.
I shook my head at him. “Don’t try to draw me out, Isaac.”
“Okay, you’re right.” He finished his mug with a last gulp and left it on the counter, wrapping an arm around my back and kissing my jaw. “The Scribes will be here soon and one way or another, things will have to start to settle. Joanna is trying to fight the unknown right now.”
My back bristled. “And I’m fighting Joanna?”
Isaac narrowed his eyes at me. “This morning you’re fighting everyone,” he said, tone low. “I’m not accusing you, Aiden. I’m asking you to find your patience.”
Shit. Time to rein it in, King, I thought.
My coven deserved better and if I went into the meeting with Anders like this, there would be trouble, probably for the refugees more than me. As naive as I thought Joanna was being about how the influx of Scrivens would go in Canderfey, I wanted it to work every bit as much as she did. Her family—her uncle, aunt, and grandmother—were coming, a connection to her mother she’d lost until months ago. I saw what that meant to her, and wanted it almost as badly for her as she did herself. Not only that, Enmaire prided itself on magic’s freedom within the country. The Scrivens deserved that same freedom.
I released a long breath I’d trapped in my chest and Isaac’s tension eased with mine.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
He patted my chest, appeased. “I love you. Now go polish yourself up or whatever it is you do in the morning and have your meeting.”
“Not all of us wake up looking so pretty,” I said, flashing him a grin. Isaac rolled his eyes and took my qui
My father taught me the power of a good suit—and the value of a tailor—and for most of my life, I’d used the knowledge for attracting romances. He’d been as pleased with my use of clothing as he was with my use of the piano lessons. His son, meant to follow in powerful politics, grown into a romantic musician. At least it pleased him now to hear from me on matters like these, negotiating the arrival of the Scrivens refugees in Canderfey. It suited his policies and gave him something worth boasting over in his clubs.
I left our house, umbrella in hand. Canderfey was damp this time of year, but at least winter had thawed, and spring was arriving with warm rains. I whistled at my shoes and the puddles skirted away from my feet as I walked. The closer I came to the library, the more I forced my eyes away from the windows, even as they ached to search the panes. Joanna was working and anyway, she wasn’t the type to sigh wistfully after an argument. She would be in the stacks, hunting down reference material, making dozens of lists in her head, and lecturing me under her breath.
My lips quirked at the thought. I would find her at lunch. Sooner if the meeting went well.
President Anders’ office sat at the top of the West Building, a palatial Redstone packed with little offices for administrators all the way down into the basement. I took the small cage elevator up to the tenth floor, where a long hall of secretaries and assistants faced a wide staircase leading up to the top story and Anders’ office. It was a pretentious display to walk up to, the banisters designed to mimic the ones in the library, a still forest carved out of dead trees.
Elizabeth Bonde, the university’s rather odd choice for a Vice President, came ducking out of her office, arms loaded with paperwork and hair twisted into some kind of frantic nest atop her head.
“Morning Bonde. Seeing you in this meeting?” I asked.
She blinked, and for a moment I wondered if she knew what I was talking about, or even who I was.
“No? No, not this one. Good luck, he’s rather made up his mind, I’m afraid,” she said, and then she was sliding into the elevator I’d just left, descending before I could ask what she meant.
It didn’t leave me with a strong outlook for how things were going to go, neither in the meeting nor later with Joanna. I walked up the grandiose staircase to the rather preposterously large doors of Anders’ office and knocked, waiting outside until I heard him call out.
Anders wasn’t responsible for the design of his office or where it sat in the building, but it was a good representation of the man. Boastful, staring down at the campus from large floor-to-ceiling windows, the space pristine and rich, devoid of personality. He’d fought against Vermenia two wars previously, and become a bit of a show pony with a reputation for raw power. He’d returned, the only remaining son of his parents, and gone into academia and then… shown no real aptitude for anything but strength. He seemed to be a point-and-shoot kind of man. He could follow a set of directions well enough, but I was beginning to think critical thinking was beyond him.
Perhaps that was too harsh. He hadn’t been my favorite person recently.
“Professor King, there you are,” he said, turning from his windows, hands clasped behind his back.
Stuart Anders was about Isaac’s height, average and unremarkable looking aside from his blatant glamouring to disguise the gray hairs or wrinkles in his skin. It created a faded look about him like he was draped in a hazy filter, aside from the rich colors of his clothing. A silk cravat, the color of mustard, was wrapped around his collar, the elaborate knot like a blossom against his throat. I tried not to stare.
“Good morning, President Anders.” I glanced at the clock on the wall, I was five minutes early. He’d hardly been waiting for me.
“I’ve asked Mayor Sewell to join us this morning too,” Anders said, gesturing over to a low set of chairs by a fire. There was a shimmer of magic in front of the fireplace, one of Anders’ wards keeping the room mild and comfortable, the fire burning only for show with heat glimmering behind the shield.
“Of course,” I said, following him to my seat.
I knew why Sewell was coming. To reinforce the demand for the Scrivens to put their names and residence on a registry. Maybe even so the pair of them could again express their ‘concerns’ about the project as a whole. Part of me wished Joanna was here, witnessing these meetings with me, seeing the personalities of the men who opposed her goals.
When my coven came forward to advocate for the refugees, with my fathers backing the cause in Rhodantis, Joanna was at the lead of the argument here. Somewhere along the way, I became the go-between, representing half-measures Joanna would never have settled for until we had the promise of an offer of safety for the Scrivens and their families. Canderfey was remote enough for the Enmairan government, had enough magical staff, students, and residents on hand to serve as a kind of defense, and donors like Hildy and I backing the project for housing. But the negotiations were one step backward for every two steps forward, and it was coming down to who could hold out the longest.
Mayor Sewell arrived with a young man carrying a coffee tray, pleasantries passed around in a tense ceremony. The Mayor of Canderfey was a quiet, grave man, with olive skin and silver-streaked black hair. He was generally satisfied to let Anders deal with me, watching from the sidelines. I expected if he came to this meeting he was about to break that silence, and I didn’t imagine it would be in my favor. My stomach twisted at the thought of telling Joanna bad news.
As the last drop was poured, my opponents shared a glance, and I sat up straighter in my chair. I was on Joanna’s side. Not only for the peace of my house but because she was such a morally pure creature I needed to succeed for her. The registry might win, but I was determined to steal something back for her in return.
“There’s no budging on the registry, King,” Sewell said, words even and almost without intonation.
My gut felt like a brick inside of me, the cheap, office coffee bitter on my tongue, but in response, my chest burned and my brain raced toward a solution, Callum’s words in my head. Time for politics.
“I understand,” I said, finding my father’s smile on my mouth, a placating gesture to fool them. “Joanna will have the numbers this evening. Hildy and I will look at the housing we’ve gathered and arrange a system for their arrival. A check-in process. Joanna will send word about the registry so they will be appropriately informed.”
Anders’ expression flinched. There, I thought. They never intended the Scribes to know. It could give any Scribes too wary of our hospitality the opportunity to vanish on the way.
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Sewell said, eyes narrowing.
“I don’t believe the alternative would be,” I challenged, meeting his gaze and leaning forward with my elbows at my knees, hands spread in feigned supplication. “If we are doing this for the right reasons, for their safety, then transparency is our ally.”
“And if that transparency costs Enmaire?” Anders jerked his chin at me, voice too loud for the intimate arrangement of the room. He’d run for mayor before long, I suspected. He was already practicing his grandstanding to an audience of two, but I doubted his campaign would come to anything. A good university President would have the support of the campus during an election, but Anders was an ambivalent one at best.
I slouched in my seat, turning my smile crooked and feigning relaxation as if I were amongst friends. “Gentleman, I’m not arguing the need for the registry.” Now I could be glad Joanna wasn’t in the room. “I’m simply reminding you that we are promising to be better than Vermenia.”
Anders sneered but it wasn’t him I was concerned with. Bonde had made me nervous with her words earlier, she’d only been hearing from Anders, however. The Mayor seemed more willing to be swayed. Sewell watched me, practiced neutrality in his expression, but the flick of his eyes gave away his study. He was either weighing my suggestion or, if he was smart, calculating how much further I would push.
