TRISTAN

The library had a set of windows staggered along the wall, following the flow of the hillside. What was once a large, open room with wide aisles between the bookshelves now contained additions of varying heights and styles cramped between the walls and shelves. Keeper Amphalise had given up on keeping it in order about three years after my arrival.

Olwen was busy going through a flat file full of maps, and her frustration over the state of the library was clear. I would probably be stuck helping her out later. That, or I would get stuck with babysitting Vincent.

I took a fortifying breath and prepared myself for Monty's handiwork.

Sitting at a nearby desk were two surprisingly clean and presentable men. It was a pleasant surprise. Instead of looking like a pair of vagrants, they looked like any normal pair of men found at a pub after a long day's work. The rumpled state of Vincent's shirt had me frowning for all the wrong reasons.

I needed to focus on something else.

A map of the country was spread before them, and Vincent was writing on a slip of paper. As I drew close, I saw it was a list of cities and towns. 

I dropped the bag of tools and materials I had gathered onto the desk in front of Vincent. "Here. For all intents and purposes, you're a charm worker. I just need to track down a forged license."

He set his pencil aside and opened the bag. He pulled out the roll of tools I had put together. "I fear I never learned charm work. It was beneath Father," he said quietly. His aura flittered with the greys of disappointment. Hints of embarrassment shone through some of the broken shards.

"We have sources for decent charms and amulets," I said. His embarrassment faded into relief. I gestured to the tools. "This is in case someone asks questions."

"I see. I suppose I should still familiarize myself with what's in here. I don't need a beating in the case that I can't tell a needle from a… Whatever this torture device is." He lifted an awl that had a hefty wooden handle.

"An awl." His face didn't give anything away as he looked over the tools, but his aura flooded with confusion. I couldn't explain how each tool should be used for fear of giving myself away. "It's for poking holes. Easier than using the needle. Like with leatherwork and bookbinding. Lotsa trades use the same tools. This is a bunch of what I can remember seeing."

Should I get him a book? Finding a book on charm work would be more difficult than getting a second set of tools. A proper kit could be scrounged up from other trades, but a book was practically banned for casual practitioners. If I could alter my handwriting enough, I could write a little pamphlet on the basics.

With how his aura shimmered with brightening interest, it might be worth it. I would have to search the Crypt's lower library later and see what had escaped confiscation.

"Feel free to mess around with them," I said as dismissively as I could. "Maybe you'll get lucky and make a working amulet on your first try."

"The dampeners don't allow the flow of magic. In or out," he said hesitantly. He shrugged and rolled the tools back up into their cloth. "I'm afraid I'm rather useless aside from knowing of Father's properties."

Right. Most people weren't used to wearing dampeners of any sort for extended periods. What I saw as a mild annoyance was a true disability to others. It was hard for me to recall what that first year was like. "So you don't want them off?"

His head shot up in surprise. "You would offer that? Monty had been rather adamant in keeping me in them."

Monty looked at me with a raised brow. "We don't know what he's capable of."

"He's not much of a magic detector with them on," I said, crossing my arms. My own detection skills were practically nonexistent when I didn't actively look past my talisman. If Vincent could do it, then he was more useful without dampeners.

"No, I'm not," Vincent agreed, shaking his head. He rubbed at one of his wrists as a glimmer of hope floated around him. Now I'd actually have to help him get those damned things off. "I have a fairly high range. I could give you plenty of warning."

"You gonna run off?" I asked.

His aura spiked with fear as he gave me a blank stare.

"My father wants me dead. Or worse." He lowered his eyes and busied himself with tying up the roll of tools. He stared at the roll in silence before looking back up at me and then away. "My only salvation at the moment is being your captive. I have the convenience of plausible deniability if we're caught​. Besides, I'm not good with attack magic. I understand the theories, but I've never been able to follow through."

There was the flicker of a lie swimming around him. I didn't want to believe that this was some convoluted trap for one tiny cell of the Resistance. So far, he'd been honest about wanting nothing to do with his father.

Personally, I wouldn't want my captors or escorts, or whatever we were supposed to be, to know what I was capable of, either. I couldn't fault him for not trusting us when I didn't trust my friends with my own secrets.

Monty chuckled before speaking up. "Can't get it up in the magic department, eh?" He grabbed up the roll of tools and looked through them, quickly losing interest. "That hold true with other parts?"

The opening was too good to pass up. I settled Monty with a mean grin and let my eyes drift over to Vincent. "I hear they got spells for that. You any good at those?" 

"I beg your pardon?" Vincent looked between us, his aura matching the confused look of shock. He swiftly recovered, the mask of polite indifference falling into place.

"Monty here might be in need of one." That one earned me a push, sending me back a few feet.

"My equipment works just fine, you little brat."

Vincent pressed his lips together, looking between us. He glanced to where Olwen was still going through the flat file. "Might I be excused?"

Monty and I both answered, "No."

Olwen looked over from her task with a sigh and silently approached. She gave Vincent's shoulder a light pat and pointed at the door. "You're with me, and I'm not in the mood to listen to this."

Vincent took a brief moment to look between Olwen and the roll of tools before grabbing them up and following her. It wasn't like I was teasing him. He wasn't the one that needed to run away. He looked over his shoulder as they left and quickly looked away again.

"Don't worry about it," Monty said as he stood. "I'm sure she's just mensing."

No, that was currently me and the whole reason I had clung to Olwen's idea of finding every map we were allowed to mark up and take. Any excuse to keep the convenience of my small washroom and its spelled walls for more than one night.

"How can you be sure if you're not going through her laundry?" I asked.

The sharp laugh I received made me feel a little better. Vincent might not be open to a little teasing, but I could always rely on Monty to take it and throw it right back. 

"Yeah, we should offer to— No!" He snapped his fingers and grinned up at me. "Let's teach Vinnie to do laundry. Make him useful."

"If we get the dampeners off him, he could probably warm up our coats when we get closer to Lysan," I said. A little incentive would help change Monty's mind. That, and my own selfishness for wanting a little luxury on our stupid trip. "It's my understanding that bowls and mugs are easy, too."

He nodded along. "Would be convenient. Not happy about the thought of him being able to cast spells on us in our sleep, though."

A knife would be easier, and I said as much. And judging by the perturbed look on Monty's face, I just shattered his world view.