Page 25 of A Tower of Half-Truths

Fourteen

Mavery removed the final bottle from her satchel and handed it to Alain.

He stored it inside the larder that now contained more alchemy ingredients than actual food.

The kitchen itself, now more than ever, looked like a laboratory.

The dining table was covered in bundles of dried persilweed, fallowroot, and feygrass, all waiting to be ground up and brewed.

“How are you going to eat with all this in the way?” she asked. “Or, more importantly, make tea?”

“I’ll manage,” he said with a drawn-out yawn.

She placed her hands on her hips. “That does it. As your assistant, I demand you get some sleep.”

He laughed. “That’s not how this works.”

“Then I insist you get some sleep.”

Her words weren’t motivated solely by her desire to snoop around his apartment again. She was genuinely concerned about him. The trip back had drained every last bit of his stamina. He swayed on the spot, barely keeping his eyes open.

“As I told you before, I won’t be able to sleep until I start this project.”

“Fine.”

She plucked a sprig of fallowroot and dropped its violet-hued petals into a mortar. She handed it to him, then the pestle.

“Grind that,” she said.

With a shrug, he humored her. But he gave the pestle only two rotations around the bowl before she snatched the tools from his hands and set them back on the table.

“There, you have officially started.” She pointed out the door. “Now, go take a nap.”

With heavy-lidded eyes, he opened his mouth and raised a finger. Before he could say a word, she grasped his shoulders, steered him out of the kitchen, and closed the door behind them.

“Gods help me, Alain, I will put a blasting ward on this door if I need to.”

“Detonation is the proper terminology.”

She scoffed. “I thought you didn’t care about being ‘proper.’ ”

“Regardless… One day soon, you will think back on this moment and wish you hadn’t delayed me.” He held up his hands. “But, if you insist, so be it.”

He stumbled to the sofa, lay down, and closed his eyes. Mavery knew better than to jump straight to work. She waited a moment, then waved a hand in front of his face and prodded his shoulder. He was out cold.

First, she considered the storage room. He always kept it locked but unwarded while he was at home.

She wasn’t about to reach for the key around his neck, so she would need to pick the lock.

But that risked making too much noise. If he woke up, she would be directly in his line of sight.

The bedroom, which was behind him and always unlocked, was the safer option.

She removed her boots, then tiptoed around the sofa and to the bedroom door. She winced as the hinges creaked, and she wished she knew the Etherean words to create a soundproofing ward. She glanced at the sofa; the noise hadn’t disturbed him.

Once inside the bedroom, she wasted no time.

She closed the door, then dropped to her hands and knees beside the bed, and pressed the floorboards one by one.

The loose one was directly in the center, and she had to lie flat on her stomach to reach it.

Carefully, silently, she prised the board free and placed it aside, uncovering a thin metal box. She reached a little further—

The sofa creaked.

“Damn it!” she whispered. Pulse racing, she replaced the floorboard, followed by the rug, then rose to her feet. She froze, waiting for another sound to follow.

A few heartbeats later, Alain’s footsteps approached.

There was no use wasting her arcana on a shrouding spell when he’d detected her so easily the first time.

So, she did the only thing she could think of: she would get caught on purpose.

She grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the bed, then turned and pulled the door open.

She feigned surprise as she almost collided with Alain face-to-face.

“Oh! Awake already? I didn’t hear you get up.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“You didn’t look very comfortable, so I wanted to bring you these.”

She raised her arms, showing him the pillow and blanket. His gaze softened as he gave her a weak smile.

“Thank you, Mavery. That was very thoughtful of you.”

With a pang of guilt, she smiled. A small part of her wished her gesture had been genuine.

“And you’re right,” he said, taking the linens. “The sofa isn’t particularly comfortable. I’m afraid I won’t be much company, but you can continue working if you wish.”

“I’ll stay a little while longer, just in case you need anything.”

She left the bedroom, then swore under her breath as she leaned against the closed door. She didn’t know when she’d get another chance to check under the bed, but at least now he would be out of the sitting room for the foreseeable future. At last, she could try her luck with the storage room.

She rummaged through her pack and retrieved her lockpicking tools.

She hadn’t used them in ages, and her skills had gotten rusty.

Bypassing the tumblers took her several attempts.

Her quick pulse, shaky hands, and need to glance at the bedroom door every few seconds, all slowed her down.

Finally, there was a soft click as the latch released.

She returned her tools to her pack, then slowly opened the door.

The storage room had no windows, and the light from the sitting room only did so much to illuminate it.

She took the lamp from Alain’s desk, infused it with arcana, and carried it inside.

When she’d glimpsed this room once before, she hadn’t seen the ladder in the center, bolted to the floor and ceiling.

She raised the lamp, revealing a hatch overhead.

She set the lamp at the base of the ladder, then climbed until the hatch was within reach.

With one hand grasping a rung, she pulled the door downward.

The hinges creaked, echoing through the room and sending her heart into her throat.

She waited for any stirring from the other side of the wall.

When she heard nothing, she opened the hatch the rest of the way, then winced as light flooded in from above.

She pulled herself into a round room with a high ceiling and tall, thin windows.

The walls were made of the same red brick as the building’s exterior.

This had to be the northern turret, and Alain had turned it into an art studio.

An easel held an oil painting in its earliest stage: blue streaks across a white canvas.

Propped against the curved wall were more paintings: pastoral landscapes, floral arrangements, bowls of fruit.

The paint was dry on all of them; they’d been completed some time ago.

So, Alain had another hobby aside from potion-brewing and book-hoarding. Mavery wasn’t sure why he’d gone through so much trouble to hide it from her. To her inexpert eye, he had some talent, though the subjects he’d chosen to paint weren’t exactly inspiring.

She descended the ladder. She left the hatch open but still needed the lantern to investigate the crates in the far corners of the room.

Most of them contained art supplies, linens, summer clothes, nothing of real value.

The rest contained items that only held sentimental value: stuffed animals, textbooks, and Barcombe Academy uniforms. Curiously, she found his University of Leyport diploma—he’d graduated with the highest honors—tucked behind a stack of crates.

She also found a wizard’s staff, but without any Ether-sensitive gems, it was little more than an ornate walking stick.

Then, a paint-spattered tarp caught her eye. She pulled it away to reveal a half-dozen portraits. They all depicted the same subject: a young man with light skin, auburn hair, and mismatched eyes—one brown, one blue.

The first was a close-up with muddled features, the proportions slightly off-kilter.

Next was another close-up, but this one had more detail, as if it had been painted from a reference.

The man’s nose was long and regal, his chin pronounced, his features symmetrical.

All except for his eyes, which only heightened his beauty.

The next two paintings depicted the man sitting stiffly on a stool, then relaxing in an armchair that was identical to Alain’s.

The final painting was incomplete; the charcoal sketch was still visible beneath sheer blocks of color.

From the man’s pose—relaxing on a bed—and the abundance of flesh tones, Mavery assumed this was the beginning of a nude portrait.

“I should have known I would find you in here.”

Mavery flinched. She’d let herself get too absorbed in the paintings. And, once again, she’d left her back to the door.

Slowly, she turned around. Alain stood in the doorway, arms crossed. His face was obscured in shadow, but she could only assume his expression was one of anger. She thought back to Neldren confronting her at the inn.

“Alain, I—”

The silhouette of his raised hand compelled her to be silent.

Cold prickled the back of her neck as he spoke a brief incantation.

She flinched again, thinking he was about to use his arcana on her, but he only conjured a small orb.

A flick of his wrist sent it toward her, casting the storage room in white light.

Now that she could see Alain’s face, she found no trace of anger.

But he was nonetheless disappointed and profoundly tired.

“Whatever excuse you’re about to give, don’t bother,” he said in a voice so calm, she almost wished he’d lashed out instead. “I was planning to show you my studio—and my paintings—eventually, when I was ready.”

“Your paintings are fine. Some of them are quite good, actually. They’re nothing to be ashamed of.”

An emotion she couldn’t identify passed over his face. His shoulders slackened.

“Er…thank you,” he said, then shook his head. “But the quality of the paintings was not my concern. Some of them are a bit personal. I’m certain you can guess which ones I’m referring to, and no, I’m not going to tell you who he is.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Yes, I’m glad we agree on that,” he said sharply. Mavery braced herself for the inevitable. “I think it would be best if you leave. Let’s both get some rest and revisit this tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She blinked at him. “You’re…not firing me?”

“Not now, at least. But if you continue to pry, I may change my mind.”

She nodded, then avoided making eye contact as she ducked out of the room, grabbed her pack and her boots—she didn’t bother putting them back on—and left the apartment.

Halfway down the corridor, she stopped and leaned against the wall.

At last, she felt like she could breathe again.

She took a deep gulp of air, and the tension slowly released from her body.

Alain hadn’t fired her. He’d given her another chance.

But now what? Now that she knew what was in the storage room, her only options were to pursue Kazamin’s artifacts or whatever was beneath Alain’s bed.

As for the former, she didn’t know when Alain would make his next trip to campus—or whether he would want her to accompany him.

As for the latter, she doubted he would leave her alone in the apartment again.

She wasn’t sure which dampened her spirits more: her plan falling apart, or the disappointed look he’d given her.

She laughed incredulously as she realized the answer.