Luther's Pride Part 11

Luther stared at Criella. She knew very well that, to his shame, he had no Arcanum. Whatever she thought she found in his father’s journals, he could assure her it was incorrect. Over the years, he had experimented, studied, and turned over every possible stone in search of his arcanum. 

He took every journey of self-discovery the masters suggested, and he underwent every trial the scholars suggested. His efforts were fruitless, and he didn’t need an Arcanum anyway. Yes, it was a difficulty in their society, marking him as deficient in many people’s eyes if they knew the truth. He had never thought Criella would be the one to hold that against him. She knew he took steps to balance the playing field where he could.

Yet, here she was, declaring the mystery was solved. There was no mystery. He’d accepted his abilities, or lack thereof, long ago. Why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t his father? 

Anger surged forth from his heart, birthed by resentment and annoyance, and Criella frowned as he turned his gaze from the journal in his hands to her eyes. 

“Just look.” Criella said, gesturing to the journal and opening the leatherbound pages to the place she’d marked. She jammed a finger onto the page, and Luther lowered his eyes to read. 

The page seemed to end a long list of Arcanums written in his father’s hand. Each bore a title, a brief summary, and citations of formerly known magi with the specialty. Many of the names were unrecognizable to him, but each cited a work on various histories, no doubt cataloged in his father’s library. 

Luther lifted his eyes to Criella and raised an eyebrow. “What is this?” 

“Your father was doing research on arcanums.” Criella explained. “Not from University books, but from historical studies and folklore. Look.” She jammed her finger onto the page again. 

Luther sighed. “It just says: Union, with a single citation to Aethwald’s Histories of the Peoples Volume One.” 

“Yes!” Criella nodded. 

When Luther didn’t share her excitement, she sighed. 

“You don’t remember the stories?” Criella asked. 

“Let’s assume I don’t.” Luther said, because he didn’t. His father told and read many stories to him when he was a boy. If he’d been instructed on the volume, it blended in his mind with his lessons on all the others. 

When Luther returned it to her, Criella clasped the journal in her hands as though it were a treasure unmatched. “The citation is to the History of Annwyn The Mighty!” 

“The Pre-Empire king with fifty spouses?” Luther asked. 

“Yes! That’s the one!” Criella excitedly slapped the book against his chest, causing Luther to wince.

He was sweaty, winded, and was confident he had one broken, or at least bruised, rib from his bout with Helena. 

“It’s a myth and an obscure one at that!” Luther said. “It’s a story! A cautionary tale about what happens when you let power go to your head and use it for selfish gain instead of the good of the people. The entire point of those pre-empire stories is so Aethwald could paint the empire in a positive light and show how much society has improved since those early days.” 

“No.” Criella sighed and glanced at Jo for support. Jo’s confusion was worse than Luther’s, so she abandoned that line of action and returned to Luther. “Listen to me.” She said, calming herself. “Annwyn the Mighty was so strong that he personally had multiple Arcanums, right?” 

Luther rolled his eyes. “A discredited myth. The writers embellished to demonstrate how well he and his spouses worked together until they fell apart.” 

“No.” Criella palmed her forehead and grunted in frustration as she followed Luther, who started walking out of the arena. “Listen!” 

Luther stopped. “Okay. I’m listening.” 

“I think. Your father thinks–thought you might have the same ability!” Criella explained excitedly. 

Luther stared at her. “I don’t have multiple arcanums.” He glanced at Jo and then back at Criella. “Is this why you didn’t attend the dinner party? You were hiding away reading stories in my father’s library?” 

“Your library.” Criella said softly, suddenly rebuked. “I… I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to attend. I’d hurt your chances of finding spouses. The Burvilles and a few of the others are–” 

“I needed you there.” Luther said flatly. “You’re my only friend here and someone I can trust. I wouldn’t want to marry anyone who treats demihumans with disgust. I’m Demihuman.” 

“Yes, but…” Criella stopped herself when she saw Luther’s face. They both knew what she was about to say. His case was different than hers.

“I needed you, and you practically fed me to the wolves.” Luther said. 

“Luther… that’s not fair.” Criella said. “You know I can’t marry you, and I didn’t want to get in your way of marrying someone else. If I’d come tonight, you would have spent all your charm and attention on me, trying to get me to change my mind, rather than securing partners who could raise your status and help you!” 

Luther rounded on her. “I don’t care! I’d rather marry for love than spend the rest of my life bound to bigots!” 

“Well, I’d rather you live!” Criella threw the journal at his feet, tears in her eyes. “I’d rather you grow old, fat, and happy with a bigot or two by your side than let Branan kill you for your title. You know he’s going to challenge you as soon as the law allows, and when he does, you’ll have to prove you’re stronger than he is in a damn challenge!” 

“And you don’t think I can win?” Luther asked. 

“You can’t!” Criella cried. “Not without help! Branan has his spouses to help, and eight on one? With their arcana and battle experience? You’ll be dead in less than eight seconds, and I’ll have to arrange the second funeral for a loved one in as many weeks! You selfish asshole!” 

Criella’s tail swished angrily behind her as she turned away, warding off Luther’s attempt to follow her as she stalked further into the gardens. 

Luther and Jo remained, staring after her. 

Silence crept into the garden, and Luther hung his head. He should go after her, but not immediately. If he approached her now, she’d only fight more; he was already tired of fighting. He stooped to pick up the book and gasped at the pain in his side. 

Jo picked it up for him and brushed it off before handing it to him. “I know this isn’t my place, but… I thought what you did tonight was very brave, clever, and talented in your fight against Helena.” 

Luther nodded, unsmiling as he received the journal and tucked it under his arm. “Thank you, Priestess.” 

Jo nodded. “Do you want me to talk to her?” She asked. “Criella and I… we’re not friends, exactly. Not the way you two are, but we know each other. I could maybe get her to calm down.” 

“No, it’s okay.” Luther said. “If I know her, she’s gone to climb the biggest tree she can find, and she’ll come down when she’s ready to yell at me some more.” 

Jo smiled weakly. “I think what you two have is romantic. You don’t see that much anymore.” 

Luther sighed. “I wish she saw it that way. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was scared of Branan, and that’s why she doesn’t want to marry me.” 

Jo frowned. “You know that’s not why.” 

“No. I know.” Luther sighed. 

“I’ll marry you.” Jo said. 

Luther’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You will?” 

“When you ask me.” Jo said. 

“Why would you do that?” Luther asked. “Knowing that Branan is looming on the horizon?” 

“I’ve never liked Branan very much.” Jo explained. “But you’re handsome and clever, and I can tell you’re a romantic from how you treat Criella. Ours would be a life of love, even if we don’t know each other very well yet, and romance is important to me.” 

“It’s important to me, too.” Luther nodded. “Okay… well, that’s good, then. Are you okay if I wait until after dinner to propose? I wouldn’t want Helena to feel disrespected.” 

“Neither would I.” Jo assured him. 

Luther smiled. “Very well.” He offered her his other arm. “Shall we?” 

“Certainly, my Lord.” Jo took his arm. 

“I should return this to my father’s library.” Luther said, glancing at the book in his right arm. “Or, my library. I guess…” He frowned. “He would have been very cross with Criella for removing it. We were never allowed to touch his journals.” 

Jo nodded, quietly walking beside him as they exited the gardens and letting him reminisce. They reached the house, and the servants guided them toward the dining room, but Luther released her before they entered. “Tell the others I’ll be with them momentarily.” He said. “I’ll instruct Wulfric to serve dinner without me.” 

“Oh.” Jo said, surprised. “Okay… Don’t be long!” 

“I won’t.” Luther said, turning toward the library as Jo entered the dining room. He stopped a passing servant as they moved toward the kitchen. “Tell Wulfric to serve dinner without me. And tell him to inform the guests I’m dealing with a minor artificer contract issue and will be with them shortly.” 

The servant nodded and sped into the kitchen while Luther entered the library. He groaned at shoving the door open and poured some magic into the ring on his finger. His rib started to feel better, healing slightly from the enchanted artifact on his right ring finger. He’d decided to keep those a secret for as long as he could and was glad not to have had to rely on them in his fight. 

He set the journal on the desk and spotted Aethwald’s Histories of the Peoples: Volume One open on the desk. Criella had clearly been reading. He saw the page she’d opened and spotted his father’s handwriting in the margins. 

The presence of such writing was more shocking than anything else. His father never wrote in the margins of his books. He never marked his books in any way. That was what his journals were for, after all. He read the note: 

“Multiple arcanums, impossible. Channeling arcanums, possible. Through Union? Fifty partners, fifty arcanum.” Luther read the scrawl, and lead sunk into his veins. 

He rechecked his father’s journal, searching for any further explanation, but there was none. He read the passage in the History beside the margin note, and his nostrils flared. Hope surged in him for the first time in years. There was a slight chance, but there was still a chance. 

He searched his father’s journals and tossed them aside as he made his way through the shelf. His father kept annotations on the works in his library—notes, references, asides, and personal thoughts. Finally, he found what he was looking for. He pulled the leatherbound volume from the shelf and flattened it against the table as he turned through the pages. 

“And so the Fey King came into the lands of Annwyn the Mighty and was amazed, for never before had he seen one man fight with the might of fifty. His ghostly servants warned him, and his powers of death could not forestall the ever-changing magic of Annwyn, the mage king of many powers, who drove the lord of darkness from the land in single combat. Thenceforth, the Fey King proclaimed those lands his enemy and all who entered his domain from there… yadda, yadda, yadda.” Luther read aloud. 

He checked his father’s notes. “Aethwald refers to Annwyn’s abilities as the might of fifty in one. Magical power is pooled between users in a union, and Annywn is described as wielding multiple arcanums. Is it possible that he possessed a modernly undocumented ability to wield the power and the spells of those he was bound to? Must research further. There’s no point in getting Luther’s hopes up, though if he marries soon and discovers such an ability, Annwyn might give him some idea of how to manifest it. On my part, I hope he does not possess such an arcanum. Such a manifestation would undoubtedly draw attention and threaten the mighty.” 

Luther sunk into the chair behind him. “Well… shit.” He said, his mind racing. Such an arcanum would only manifest after his soul was bound to someone else’s, so it was theoretically possible. This theory had several significant assumptions, all of which revolved around Annwyn being historical instead of mythical. They had no archeological evidence of his existence nor that of his court and lineage. The empire had ruled these lands for thousands of years, and Annwyn predated the empire by thousands more. 

If such an ability existed, why would it be undocumented? Someone must have manifested it between now and then. A single individual able to wield multiple arcanums had the potential to overcome the limitations of other magi. With enough people to marry and enough practice and skill, they could rise through the ranks of nobility and potentially ascend to the emperor’s throne. So why wasn’t there any record of an emperor with that ability? 

Luther didn’t have a perfect recall of the empire's histories, but he was sure he’d have remembered an emperor with that ability. 

Wulfric broke his thoughts, and he realized he’d been sitting in the library thinking and obsessing over possibilities for far too long as the old man entered the library and cleared his throat. 

“Sir, if you don’t join your guests for dinner immediately, they will feel slighted, and I will be forced to make you apologize to them. Are you quite finished licking your wounds and cleaning off the dirt?” 

Luther stood. “I wasn’t licking my wounds or cleaning off the dirt.” 

“Ah.” Wulfric said. “That explains the smell. Never mind, the kitchens are on the way; you can wash if you’re quick.” 

Luther sighed and followed Wulfric out of the library, the books on the table open, and many of his questions still unanswered.