Chosen (9781742844657) (37 page)

Renatus should be told.

The lesson eventually ended and the students filed out. Aristea was among the first out the door, but was stopped just outside by a friend. Aubrey found himself wishing she would go away, and immediately felt bad. She was one of his students and he should regard her the same way he did all the others, but it was becoming difficult not to associate her with the Dark Keeper, who Aubrey very much resented.

Renatus was an idiot. He'd had a rough trot, admittedly, but he'd spent years under the wing of one of magical history's greatest men and squandered away the incredible opportunity this presented with every breath he took. Every step was in the wrong direction. Every scathing word burnt another bridge. His tenuous loyalties were unclear even to those close to him and Aubrey knew he'd never succeed in his own role if he allowed himself to rely on Renatus.

Aubrey quickly turned his thoughts away from this dangerous path before anyone could overhear and lecture him on how Renatus had never actually
done
anything wrong and that the council had never had any
real
reason to question his loyalties…

Right.

Aristea's friend waited until most of the other students were gone before coming inside, and Aubrey, now shuffling through the crap on his desk once again, attempting to put everything into some semblance of an order, recognised her as Sterling Adams. Nice girl; bubbly; talkative. She'd not seemed all that interested in his class previously, though, so he wasn't sure what she wanted.

‘Hi, Sterling,' he said. ‘What is it that you need?' He made an effort to paste an approachable expression across his face, even as Aristea trailed uncertainly behind her.

‘Nothing much,' Sterling said. ‘I just wanted to, you know, talk.'

Aubrey looked up, immediately wary. Talk? About what? He glanced at Aristea (
Why can't you just talk to her?
) but she appeared just as confused as he was.

‘What would you like to talk about?' Aubrey asked, speaking slowly but his mind working at the speed of sound. Shit, this was the
counsellor
part of his job.
Please, goddess, please don't let her cry in front of me, and please, please don't make me listen to any talk about boys.

‘Uh, like, school stuff,' Sterling said with a small shrug and a coy smile.
Thank you, goddess
. ‘I was just thinking, you know, how all the subjects are so linked together, and how spell-writing is really at the core of it all.' She smiled wider. ‘Your subject is kind of the most important of all, and I'm no good at it.' She glanced back at Aristea. ‘I've got this. You can go if you want.'

The young scrier nodded and began to slowly walk away. She shot an uncertain glance back, and Aubrey knew why. Sterling's entire demeanour, her tone, her body language, had all changed abruptly. She'd shifted her weight onto one leg, one hip jutting out, calling attention to her curvy female shape, and her cute face was tilted to one side. What on Earth was she doing?

‘I wouldn't say it's the most important one,' Aubrey disagreed, wondering whether he was meant to be flattered by that notion, ‘and you're working on it, which is all anyone can ask of you.'

Aristea had paused just inside the doorway to retie her shoelace. Aubrey was kind of glad for her remaining presence.

‘Well,
I
think that creating magic with your words is the most impressive magical art, and I want to be better at it. I've been practising. See?' Sterling withdrew a folded sheet of lined paper from the pocket of her denim miniskirt and moved closer to hand it to him. Aubrey accepted it, and weirdly, she held onto the page for a beat too long. He met her eyes, and she was looking straight at him, smiling. She let go. Starting to feel uncomfortable, Aubrey turned his attention back to her handwriting as she continued speaking. ‘I know my calligraphy isn't great, but yours is so perfect. Could you rewrite this for me?'

‘Sure.' That request seemed harmless enough. Stepping back over to his desk to put some much-needed space between Aubrey and his overeager student, Aubrey grabbed a pen and began to rewrite her amateur spell underneath the first. Sterling moved close again.

‘I love watching calligraphers,' she commented. ‘I just love how the pen just glides across the paper, like a caress on skin.' She giggled girlishly. ‘And when you use the proper pens, and dip it into the ink, it's like the pen kisses the ink-'

‘Sterling,' Aristea interrupted, straightening suddenly with a knowing look of dread on her face.

‘Aristea, just go. I'll see you soon,' Sterling insisted, smiling brightly. Aristea looked unconvinced and did not move. Sterling turned her attention back to Aubrey. ‘You hold that pen really well,' she admired, and Aubrey knew he was in trouble. ‘Does the grip make a difference?'

‘A little bit.' Aubrey remained focussed on writing. She didn't let up. She rested a hand on his forearm.

‘Like, is it better to keep your grip loose…or really
tight
and
firm
?'

She tightened her grip to accentuate her words, and Aubrey was saved the humiliating horror of having to ask a seventeen-year-old sweetheart to back off by Aristea.

‘Sterling,' she said, her tone pleading, and Sterling pulled her hand away. ‘We have to go to-'

‘I'll meet you there,' Sterling said meaningfully. Aubrey recognised his cue.

‘I actually have to go, too,' he decided, handing the page back, unfinished. In his haste to avoid her contact, he let go before Sterling had a grip, and the paper fluttered to their feet.

‘I'll get it,' she said, bobbing down at Aubrey's feet and reaching around his legs to collect the sheet as it fluttered further away.

‘No, don't bother,' Aubrey protested, still trying to maintain a casual air. His desk prevented him from backing away. ‘Really, just leave it.'

‘No, it's okay, I've got it,' Sterling said brightly as she got back to her feet, way too close. ‘I-'

‘What is going on?'

Qasim's powerful voice scared all three of them. Sterling sprang back, Aubrey turned quickly and Aristea was immediately encased in an invisible bubble of magic. None had expected that Qasim was near. He stood now in the doorway, looking angry.

Everyone stood in stunned silence for a very long moment. Sterling's face went steadily redder with every passing second.

‘Nothing's going on,' Aristea eventually managed, moving over to her friend and grabbing her hand. ‘We were just leaving.'

Sterling practically ran behind the young scrier as they left the classroom. Aubrey collapsed into his chair, suddenly exhausted with relief.

‘What on Earth?' was all Qasim could ask, and Aubrey could only shake his head helplessly. Qasim folded his arms, and Aubrey knew that his response wasn't going to be enough.

‘I have no idea what that was,' he admitted, sitting up straighter. The Scrier commanded a sort of respect that few men could ask for, and Aubrey couldn't help but give it. Qasim was a man he admired, with his firm morals, unshakable standards and no-nonsense attitude. The other senior councillors had welcomed their new three with warm smiles and endless patronising kindness, but Qasim had remained distant, determined that Jadon, Teresa and Aubrey would
earn
his trust and respect.

Qasim would be the next Lord of the White Elm, and he would be great, probably better than placid, eccentric Lord Gawain. Despite finding him terrifying, Aubrey had made the effort to familiarise himself with the Scrier. He felt compelled to earn Qasim's respect, to be properly accepted. He was sick of being “one of the new kids”, almost grouped in with the students, left to baby-sit the students while the older councillors went about important business without him.

‘Sterling has never acted like that before,' Aubrey elaborated, still surprised and confused by her odd behaviour. It had seemed extremely flirtatious, yet, in his classes, all she talked about was Renatus. ‘I've never said or done anything to encourage anything more than a professional relationship. I can't think of what might have brought that on.'

Qasim's sharp gaze clung to Aubrey as the senior councillor considered his words. Aubrey waited, nervous but patient. He hadn't lied – he'd never done anything to incite Sterling's behaviour, and he'd
never
have touched her even if he had – so all he needed was for Qasim to realise this, however long that took. Eventually Qasim unfolded his arms and moved his hands to his hips with a sigh.

‘They're a pool of potential, but they'll not be in control of their magic until they're in control of their hormones,' he conceded finally. ‘It was probably fortunate that Aristea was still present. It would serve you well to avoid being alone with students. You are young and friendly, and some of these children have blurred boundaries.'

Aubrey nodded immediately. Qasim was still regarding him shrewdly, and for a too-long moment, neither man spoke. Aubrey was determined not to crack, and so he waited.

Qasim took a small cloth bag from the inside pocket of his jacket and held it up.

‘Can you write me a trace? Two of them?' he asked shortly. Aubrey blinked, wondering before he could stop himself what sort of test this was.

‘Uh…Yes,' he answered warily. ‘What sort?'

‘Jackson broke a vase at Emmanuelle's when he was tearing around looking for…the treasure. Some traces of his magic or his essence should remain on this piece. Also, there's a possibility that some trace of Lisandro may remain in the orb Aristea shattered, but after all the hands that thing moved through, it would be a very slight one. Jackson is clumsier and more likely to have left energy lying around. I want you to write a trace spell to track him. Can you do that?'

Aubrey didn't know what to say.
Of course
he knew how to write a trace – he was a Crafter; he wrote magic as naturally as he breathed. But this was the first time in half a year anyone on the council had actually
asked
him to write anything more interesting than a document. This was what they should have been using him for all along – the council's only Crafter – but nobody had trusted him enough up to this point to give him such tasks.

‘I…Yes, I can do that,' Aubrey agreed finally, still surprised. He'd been waiting for this day for so long, and now it was here. He really hadn't expected Qasim to be the one to finally branch out from the old White Elm family and ask for “outside” help.

The aging Scrier strode closer and dropped the bag into Aubrey's hand. When the Crafter opened the top and looked inside, he saw that the shard of ceramic was encased in a bubble of magic. A few slivers of glassy crystal lay inert at the bottom of the bag, almost certainly useless.

‘No one else has touched it?' Aubrey checked, referring to the ceramic. Qasim shook his head.

‘Not to my knowledge. Emmanuelle locked it into that orb and nobody would be getting through that to interfere with it. It's been sitting in Renatus's office.'

Aubrey nodded slowly, feeling a strong sense of satisfaction growing within him that he didn't bother to hold back. Renatus had had these for days, and had experienced no success tracing Lisandro or Jackson. The council had exhausted all their usual options, leaving them with only Aubrey – who should have been their first port of call. The idea that Renatus was in any way superior to Aubrey (except in his freakish capacity for power) was stupid anyway. His lineage was corrupt and embarrassing. And his extra year of service to the White Elm definitely did not warrant the extra respect he got for free from Lord Gawain, like he was some kind of honorary senior councillor. There were mere months between the ages of Aubrey and Renatus.

‘Do not screw this up,' Qasim advised, quite lightly, and left. Aubrey shook his head again.

No, he wouldn't screw this up. This was what he'd been waiting for. Finally, a chance to do what he was here for. Finally, a chance to do his job.

There was no nice way of describing how I felt about Sterling right then.

‘Well, I
told you
to leave,' she defended, trailing behind me as I dragged her by the hand as far from Aubrey's classroom as I could. ‘There would have been no problem if you'd just gone when I said.'

‘Oh, no problem, you reckon?' I asked, mildly hysterical. How was I ever meant to show my face in that room again? How would Sterling? ‘Tell me, how did you picture that escapade ending? A handshake?'

‘No, I-'

‘Only,' I interrupted, pulling her behind me as I took the stairs, ‘I could only see that ending with your suspension from his class, or the two of you having sex on his desk.'
Ew
. I shook myself in disgust. Sterling started laughing. What was funny about this? ‘Your grand plan to Renatus's heart was to get yourself suspended for sexually harassing one of his colleagues? Or is this all just to get into detention like me?'