Page 20 of A Tower of Half-Truths

Mavery had hoped to glimpse the library and its hundred thousand tomes, but as they were running short on time, their final stop was the tower that housed the Gardemancy Department. Much of the life on campus had congregated inside the classrooms on the tower’s lowest floor.

Warding magic emanated from the rooms as professors demonstrated spells. The taste of magic around here was more than a metallic tang; it coated Mavery’s tongue like a bitter medicine.

They passed by the open door of a lecture hall, where a Nilandoren woman stood at the front of the room. There was hardly an empty seat to be found.

“Wonderful,” Alain muttered. “Let’s go before she notices me.”

He hurried down the corridor, but Mavery didn’t follow. A female wizard—a female professor—was such a rare sight, she was compelled to stay and watch.

The professor spoke Etherean, and Mavery Sensed the somewhat pleasant chill she felt whenever Alain voiced a spell. The professor instructed her students to repeat the incantation.

Dozens of voices called upon the Ether in unison, turning that gentle breeze into a dead-of-winter blizzard.

The onslaught of arcana squeezed the air from Mavery’s lungs, chilled her down to her core, froze everything from her muscles to her thoughts.

And then her body, desperate for warmth, fought to regain control.

Her limbs trembled, her teeth chattered within her aching skull.

The Ether dissipated once the incantation was complete, but its chill lingered.

Once Mavery regained control of her limbs, she clung to the nearby wall and dragged herself down the corridor.

She inched her way toward the lift, one agonizing step at a time.

Alain was too preoccupied watching the floor indicator to notice that his assistant was no longer at his side.

The lift door slid open with a chime that might as well have been a gunshot. Mavery clenched at her temples, unable to shake the sensation of her head being squeezed in a vise. She desperately needed respite, if only for a minute.

“Wait,” she groaned.

Alain stopped and turned, then gasped. “What happened to you?”

“Magic…too much. My head…cold…”

“Your Senses, of course.” As he stepped toward her, the lift closed and ascended without him. “I should have known. Why didn’t you mention something sooner?”

Mavery replied with a grunt, which was all she could manage.

“No matter, take as much time as you need.”

She wanted to tell him to not risk being late on her behalf, but even the thought of voicing those words made her head reel again. She leaned against the wall, sank to the floor. Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on taking slow, steady breaths.

She’d last experienced this during her failed excursion to the Innominate Temple.

Its warding magic, even from a mile away, had brought on a similar headache, paired with a wave of nausea.

She could only recall flashes of what had followed, but they all involved vomiting—in the forest, outside a public bathhouse, inside her and Neldren’s rented room.

Her illness had lingered long after convincing Neldren to abandon their search for the temple.

Though, as these vague memories resurfaced, she realized that her slow recovery might have had less to do with the temple’s ancient magic, and more to do with her partner’s sour mood.

He’d sulked for days afterward, as their trip had been all for nothing.

A rustle of fabric and a pressure against her left shoulder returned her to the present.

She was certain she would open her eyes and find Alain observing her, recording every painstaking detail of her episode.

Instead, he sat beside her, no notebook in sight, with his hand on her shoulder.

It was the lightest touch, which was fine by her.

She doubted she could handle anything beyond that.

She pulled her robe more tightly around herself, but it did little to alleviate the chill. She closed her eyes again and continued to breathe, grateful that she could use Alain’s hand as an anchor. She leaned into his touch, focused on the weight of his fingers and the warmth emanating from them.

After a few breaths, her headache subsided to a dull throbbing. A few more, and speaking finally felt possible again. She blinked her eyes open, then winced as she readjusted to the late-morning sun pouring through the windows opposite her. She turned her head and was greeted with a warm smile.

“How are you feeling?” Alain’s voice was unusually gentle, like a healer adopting his best bedside manner.

“Better, thanks.”

He nodded and pulled his hand away. A small part of her wished he’d left it there just a moment longer.

“That Senser you once told me about,” she said, “what was his name?”

“Deventhal?”

“That’s the one.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “I think he had the right idea. Given the choice between being around this much magic all the time and becoming a recluse, I probably would’ve done the same.”

“I, too, can empathize with him more than ever. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been away for so long, but I find the magic here a tad stronger than I remember.

And I’m only able to attune myself to the Ether after many years of studying it.

I hadn’t considered what this would be like for someone who can do that innately. ”

She hadn’t considered it, either. After all, she’d managed a few weeks at Atterdell just fine. Now that she gave it some thought, that place was like a one-room schoolhouse compared to the University of Leyport, and none of her first-term classes had included speaking Etherean.

“Wait,” she said. “You can also see magic?”

“Not in the same way you do. Warding magic looks like a ripple in the air, like gazing at a hot stone on a summer’s day.

As for how it feels…” Alain closed his eyes, then breathed deeply.

“The air is thick with energy. There’s a constant push and pull, like waves breaking against a shore.

One moment, it’s a light prickle against the skin.

The next, it’s a vibration deep within the marrow.

That’s how arcana, the Ether, always feels—brimming with contradictions.

It’s subtle and forceful, beautiful and horrible, comforting and unsettling all at once.

” He opened his eyes and turned slowly, meeting her gaze. “Is that how you would describe it?”

He’d spoken with a fervor she had only heard others use when discussing the largest scores, the rarest treasures. For him, maybe magic was exactly like that.

She realized she was staring at him—with mouth agape, no less. She pressed her lips together as she pieced together an answer.

“Er, maybe not in those exact words, but yes. Something like that.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I think I’m ready to push on.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. He stood up, slung his satchel over his shoulder, then peered down at her with suspicion—or was it nothing more than concern? As a thief, she was used to the former. The latter was unfamiliar, a touch uncomfortable.

She took his hand and, feeling foolish for the second time that morning, averted her gaze as he helped her to her feet.

The lift door opened to a spacious room with a stone fireplace at its center.

Assistants, all wearing black robes, sat at tables piled high with books and scrolls.

None of them opted for the plush armchairs by the fire.

The room was lined with doors that Mavery assumed led to the professors’ private offices.

Some of them were protected with warding magic, but most seemed to make do with mundane locks.

Magical barriers likely served little purpose in a place filled with expert wardbreakers.

The only thing attached to Alain’s office door was a bin filled with unopened mail. Inside, the room was all of eight feet long and half as wide. His desk was covered with loose papers—research notes, newspapers, marked-up essays. Everything was dated nearly a year ago and coated in dust.

Bookshelves lined the walls. Much like in Alain’s apartment, these were crammed with leatherbound books.

The tiny window was packed with snow. Alain touched the lamp on his desk, and golden light filled the room.

Mavery spotted no artifacts out in the open, and the odds of this office containing hidden compartments seemed unlikely.

The chair that she assumed was typically reserved for student visitors was piled high with books. So, she lingered in the doorway as she rubbed her arms, attempting to warm herself.

“Why don’t you go sit by the fire?” Alain said.

“All right. At least I’m not Sensing too much magic around here. I think I’ve had enough of that for one day.”

She picked the armchair closest to the fireplace. The moment she sat down, one of the other assistants approached her. She was a petite woman, likely in her mid-twenties, and wore thick-framed spectacles.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear.” She spoke in a voice that, given her small stature, was surprisingly deep and brusque. “Did you mean Sensing, as in arcane hypersensitivity?”

Mavery nodded. And then a half-dozen assistants swarmed around her, like a pack of starving dogs rounding on a scrap of meat.

Each of them wielded pens and notebooks that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere; Mavery wouldn’t have been surprised if they actually had.

The assistants began speaking all at once.

“Are you really a Senser?”

“Can you Sense anything right now?”

“Is that scar related to your Sensing in any way?”

“Honestly,” sneered a male assistant who hadn’t joined the others, “you’re causing this much fuss over Sensing?”

Alain emerged from his office and, with a swish of his robe, swooped in between Mavery and the others. He spread his arms wide, as if simply shielding her from view would quell their interest.

“That’s enough,” Alain said. “If you wish to learn about her abilities, leave a request in my mailbox.”

“Just one question?” the bespectacled assistant asked.

“No.”

The horde of scholars shot him looks of disappointment—one mumbled something about “bloody wizards”—but then retreated to their tables and returned to their work. Alain shook his head as he lowered himself into the armchair across from Mavery.

“I could have handled them myself,” she said.

“Don’t let their meek, bookish looks fool you. An individual scholar is no threat, but together, they’re fiercer than a dragon.”

“Well, in that case, thank you for saving me from the big scary dragon, Sir Knight.”

She shifted her chair closer to the fire.

Up close, she noticed how the flames oscillated in a pattern, there was no crackling of wood—in fact, there were no logs at all—and the heat was too tempered.

This was an Elemental fire, one that had been conjured only to look comforting.

That was for the best, considering how the common room was brimming with kindling.

One errant ember would likely set the entire tower ablaze.

“That’s not helping much, is it?” Alain asked.

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

There was one positive: Elemental magic didn’t affect her Senses. She’d always assumed because this was already the “flashiest” School of Magic; its effects were obvious to everyone, mage or not.

Alain stood up. “Well, time to get this over with.” He spoke as if he were readying himself for a walk to the gallows.

Suppressing a shiver, Mavery hoisted herself out of the chair.

“Oh, er, no need to come with me if you’re still feeling poorly.

We’re only going to discuss some of my research ideas. It’ll be quite tedious.”

“Sounds better than sitting by a fake fire with those weirdos over there.” One of them turned and glared at her. “Besides, you look like you could use a little moral support.”

Alain nervously scratched his beard. “All right. But remember: I warned you.”