Page 12 of A Tower of Half-Truths

This time around, he prepared something that smelled less like tea and more like flowers.

Aventus explained how a long steep in lukewarm water was necessary to extract every bit of flavor from the delicate herbs.

After fifteen minutes, he passed Mavery a cup of what looked like watery ale.

She took a sip and almost gagged; it tasted like perfume.

Aventus enjoyed his liquefied flowers from his armchair, while Mavery sat on the sofa and only pretended to drink.

Though she hated to admit it, he was right.

She was an “unlearned type,” at least to some extent.

Despite her best efforts to study magic on her own, the spells in her arsenal were practical but simple.

They required neither magical stones nor ancient words.

What Aventus did was an art—one that she desired to learn.

“I was wondering,” she said, breaking the lull of the ticking clock and clinking porcelain, “if you could teach me some Etherean?”

Aventus sputtered on his tea. “Gods above, did they teach you nothing at Atterdell?”

She’d barely covered the alphabet by the time she was forced to abandon her studies. But she wasn’t about to tell him that; he’d kick her out of the apartment before the tea turned cold.

“I learned it once, but it’s yet another thing that’s gone rusty over the years.”

“What about Venetum’s First Principle?” he asked. She gave him a blank look, and he threw her an incredulous one in return. “Venetum’s First Principle: ‘Etherean must be practiced daily, for fluency can slip away with surprising ease.’ ”

He’d rattled it off with the fervor of an acolyte reciting scripture.

“Well, excuse me,” she huffed. “Not all of us have the luxury of time for daily language practice. Besides, I’ve survived just fine without incantations.”

She should have kept her mouth shut. From the way he blinked at her, mouth agape, he was readying another tirade. She braced herself.

“No incantations! All this time, you’ve been using only rituals, like a schoolchild? That’s like…like being a painter, but limiting your palette to a single color.”

She shrugged. “You’ll end up with a painting all the same.”

“Yes, but what a boring painting that would be!”

For the second time that morning, Mavery considered throwing something in his face. This time, it was her teacup. She settled on throwing him a scathing look instead.

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

“Doing what?”

“Belittling me.” She clenched her cup. By some miracle, it didn’t shatter. “I’m going to assume you’re the same as every other wizard I’ve ever known: you rarely cast spells outside the comfort and safety of your tower. Or apartment, in this case.”

Aventus’s beard sagged. But, as he issued no rebuttal, Mavery forged ahead.

“I’ve actually used my magic out in the world, and I’d argue I’ve been pretty godsdamned good at it.

I might not know Ven-whoever’s Principles, but I know it’s best to avoid unnecessary risks—especially when you have a history of surges.

I’d rather stick to my ‘boring’ magic than blow myself up because I used the wrong word. ”

As her frustration subsided, regret settled in.

She hoped her little outburst hadn’t been a mistake.

Most wizards had such fragile egos, they couldn’t handle even the smallest bit of criticism.

He was liable to fire her on the spot. He sipped his tea, avoiding her eye.

Though the clock on the mantel continued to tick away the seconds, time seemed to stand still.

“Point taken,” he said at last. She nearly dropped her teacup in surprise. “But let me raise a counterpoint: if you’re so confident in your skills as they are, why ask me about learning Etherean?”

“Curiosity, mostly.” She ran her thumb along the rim of her cup as she chose her next words carefully. “And, as long as I’m here, I thought I’d seize the opportunity to learn from someone who’s very clearly a master of his craft.”

When in doubt, a bit of flattery never hurt. Aventus scratched his chin as he grew lost in thought. She pretended to drink her tea as they sat in uncomfortable silence. Again. This was happening far too often for her liking.

“We could both benefit from this,” he said at last. “You see, I’ve been on sabbatical for the better part of a year.

Before I return to teaching, I ought to revisit my lecture notes, conduct a trial class or two for good measure.

Those can serve as your lessons.” He raised a finger, paired with a warning look.

“But that will happen after you’ve found the last of the library books. ”

“Sure, that’s fair.” Sticking around that long was not part of her plan, but at least he’d given her an offer and not a rejection.

“Though, be warned: once you get a taste for advanced spellcasting, you’ll find those basic spells lacking. You may very well end up taking back everything you just told me.”

“I’ll be the judge of—”

A high-pitched chime sounded from the door. Its tone was bright and pure, as though the Ether itself had been plucked like a harp. This alarm was more pleasant than the ones Mavery had encountered in manors, bank vaults, and other places she’d intended to rob.

“That would be my resonating ward,” Aventus said, then spoke something in Etherean. Another chill swept through the room, and the chiming stopped. “It means we have a visitor.”

“Is that what you heard when I was outside your door?”

“No, this ward was augmented for one specific person.” He groaned. “Well, this is about to be a painful, yet necessary, conversation.”

“Why? Who’s your visitor?”

“You’ll see—or hear, rather—soon enough. Go to the kitchen and keep quiet. I’d rather she not see you, and I doubt she’ll snoop around in there.”

Mavery placed her teacup next to his before retreating to the next room and closing the kitchen door. Curiosity getting the better of her, she leaned against it so that she could eavesdrop. She heard Aventus take a few deep breaths before opening the front door.

“I see you received my letter,” he said.

“Oh, I received your letter, all right,” replied a woman’s voice.

She spoke with guttural ‘r’s, nasally vowels, and an air of superiority.

A textbook Dauphinian accent. “After weeks without a word from you, worrying myself sick, not knowing if you were even alive, you send a letter. A letter! To your own mother!”

“What would you have preferred?” Aventus asked.

His mother scoffed. “I would have preferred you speak to me in person. Or, is a trip to the Garden District too much of a burden?”

“No, but I—”

His sentence was cut off with a rustling of fabric, followed by a surprised yelp. Mavery could only assume his mother had forced him into a hug.

“Oh, Aventus, you poor thing! How did you get so thin? Are you remembering to eat?”

“Yes, I know how to feed myself.”

“Your hair—and that beard!” She gasped, then tutted in Dauphinian. “Oh, you used to be so handsome. Now look at you.”

“On the contrary, I saw in the newspaper that the Duke of Leyland himself plans to sport a similar look this Season.” He took a few steps and closed the door.

“While we’re on the subject of newspapers, what were you thinking, placing that ad on my behalf?

Using the ‘help wanted’ section as though I were looking for a common laborer…

If someone from the University had seen—”

“I never mentioned your name, and I did not place it in The Gazette.”

“There were enough identifying details, someone who knew me would have pieced it together.”

“You are too—oh, what is the word?—paranoid.”

“All right, let’s assume none of my colleagues saw the ad. Even so, you had no right—”

“I had no choice. The High Council tired of you ignoring their letters. I received this almost two weeks ago.”

The room fell silent. Mavery had to press her ear to the crack between the door and its frame to hear what followed: paper being crumpled into a ball, then thrown against something with force.

“You understand now, yes?” Aventus’s mother asked. “I was only trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You and your stubbornness! It is why your assistants resigned, why you have turned away every—”

“Can we not talk about this now?”

“Why not? What are you doing that is more important?”

“I was—”

“Is there someone here?”

“Er…no?” he said. “Why would you think that?”

“You are hiding something.”

“What are you talking about?”

His mother did not answer. Instead, heeled shoes clacked across the floorboards.

“Where are you going?”

A door opened. The one to the bedroom, Mavery assumed. Aventus and his mother argued back and forth in Dauphinian, until the door slammed shut and he reverted to Osperlandish.

“You’ll find nothing in the kitchen, Mother!”

Mavery sighed. Though she appreciated the warning, she would have preferred a more subtle one.

She backed against the wall and made a hugging motion to call the shadows to her. As she wrapped them around herself like a blanket, her arms trembled, and the scent of ash prickled her lungs. She held her breath, lest she cough and defeat the purpose of shrouding herself.

Spellcasting was a bit like speaking a foreign language, even when there was no Etherean involved.

Warding magic was like Mavery’s mother tongue.

Despite not knowing any incantations, nor the inner workings of its mechanics, the magic still felt intuitive.

Shadow magic was like a language she dabbled in only occasionally.

She could stumble through it and achieve something that, though it lacked nuance, still had the desired effect.

But even the simplest spells took a great deal of focus, and no one would ever mistake her for a “native speaker.”