I was hunched over the grimoire like it might suddenly start making sense if I stared hard enough.
It didn't.
The runes on the page just sat there—elaborate, smug, utterly indecipherable. Like they knew I was faking it.
I dragged a finger under the letters, mouthing each sound out like some deranged puppet. "Ruh… oh… tuh…"
"Orthography is hard," I muttered to myself, as if the book cared. "Too many bloody vowels. And what's with all the silent consonants? If you're not gonna make a sound, why show up?"
Words blurred. My eyes ached. The ink shimmered with malicious joy.
Eventually, I gave up. Slammed the book shut. Kicked off my hideous scholar clogs with enough force to dent divine geometry. Threw on my cloak and snuck out under moonlight.
The Dragon was camped two valleys out, behind the ridge with the crooked pine and the waterfall that sounded like someone constantly sighing.
He looked up from his pile of scrolls and roasted rabbits as I approached, clutching a smaller book under my arm.
"What's that?" he asked, tail flicking lazily.
I held it up like a sacred relic. "The Happy Alphabet of Arcania. For beginner minds."
He squinted. "Are those… cartoon letters with smiling faces?"
"Don't judge me."
"I told you this was a stupid idea."
I stamped my foot. "Teach me."
"Teach you what? High Draconic? Demotic Lepintic? Or maybe Deathrune Syntax 101?"
"Yes. All of it."
He stared at me like I had just asked him to braid a basilisk.
"Saya," he said slowly, "the moment I teach you to read those glyphs, your immunity is gone. You'll see the death magic in Gregory's book—and then you'll die. Instantly."
I blinked. "…Oh."
"Oh indeed," he hissed. "The protection is your ignorance, darling. It's the only thing keeping your soul inside your perky little body."
I crossed my arms. "Well what the hell am I supposed to do then? Charm my way past a blind demonic-cat-sporting librarian who can sniff literacy?"
"Yes," he said. "That. Precisely that."
I scowled.
He added, a little more gently, "Find another way. Use that dirty little brain of yours. Or those hips. But don't you dare open that book with your eyes trained."
I sat down beside him and sulked. The fire crackled. He handed me a chunk of rabbit. I chewed in silence.
Stupid knowledge. Stupid Gregory. Stupid cursed book.
"Stupid alphabet," I muttered.
He chuckled. "You should've stuck to whorecraft."
"Shut up."
***
The Archdeacon's bed was, predictably, austere. Iron frame. No pillows. Sheets like monastic parchment. Still smelled like incense and denial.
I lay curled against his side, one leg draped over his robe-clad thigh, humming softly into his ear. He hadn't quite caught his breath.
"Mmm. I bet that succubus in your binding circle never made you feel this way."
He tensed.
"So stiff. So controlled. So bound by contract. Not like me. I'm just…" I kissed the tip of his ear, "curious."
He swallowed.
"About knowledge," I purred. "About forbidden things. About ancient texts and scholarly integrity."
A long pause.
"Also," I whispered, tracing my finger down his chest, "I was wondering if you might do me a tiny favor. Just a little… verification."
"Verification?" he said, suddenly wary.
"A signature. On this." I slid a folded parchment from beneath the sheets. "Just to confirm that I've passed my Entry Examinations in Theoretical Binding and Arcane Orientation."
His brow furrowed. "But you haven't—"
"Ah-ah." I pressed a finger to his lips. "Let's not sully this beautiful moment with technicalities. I mean, you felt the strength of my… willpower. My application of sacred technique."
The succubus in the circle across the room gave a low growl.
I grinned.
"She's just jealous."
He looked at the paper. At me. At the circle.
"One little signature?" I coaxed. "Just a squiggle? You've already compromised your clerical purity—what's a bit of paperwork between scholars?"
His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the quill.
The Archdeacon frowned as he examined the parchment.
"But you only attended the introductory lecture."
I stretched, bare and smug against the sheet. "Yes. And I found it… illuminating."
"One lecture does not qualify you for access to the Lower Sanctum."
"Oh, I don't know." I leaned in, voice syrupy. "I know plenty now. Like, for example…" I gestured toward the binding circle in the corner of the room, "about her."
The succubus blinked slowly. Her claws tapped the chalk sigil, eyes glowing faintly.
"She's not registered, is she?" I asked sweetly. "Not declared to the clerical board? Not documented as a shared instructional resource?"
He stiffened.
"You've been keeping her all to yourself. Naughty, naughty. What would the rest of the faculty say?"
"The Holy Inquisition—" he began.
"—Would be very interested," I said, sitting up and letting the sheet fall just enough. "In your teaching methods. In the… extracurricular activities. In the misuse of bound infernals."
He swallowed. "You wouldn't dare."
I tilted my head. "How do you know I'm not already an agent of the Grand Inquisitor?"
His face went pale. The succubus grinned.
"Now be a darling," I said, holding out the quill, "and give me that signature. Unless you'd rather explain your private demonette to the next purity tribunal."
Grumbling, he signed.
I kissed the top of his head. "You're such a good administrator."