Page 29 of A Tower of Half-Truths

Eighteen

When they arrived at Kazamin’s office, the old wizard was hunched over a tome that took up the full width of his desk, examining it with a magnifying glass. Alain knocked on the doorframe, and Kazamin peered up at them with a comically enlarged eye.

“Ah, Aventus! Come in, come in,” he said. With a grunt and a creaking of joints, he closed the massive book. “It’s good to see you again! But, er, remind me why you are here. Did we have an appointment?”

“I’m here to see Enodus’s spell tome. Your letter said to report to you first.”

“Oh, of course! Bear with me for one moment while I write your pass for the portal room.”

From a desk drawer, he pulled out a leaf of vellum and a quill—archaic, even for a man his age—and began to write. While he was distracted, Mavery took the opportunity to inch toward the closest curio cabinet.

“It’s not in our library?” Alain asked.

“No, the tome is too delicate to leave the University of North Fenutia’s library. Did I not mention that in my letter?”

“You said I could view it ‘at the library.’ Now that I think on it, you didn’t specify which one.”

“My apologies. My mind has been a bit addled as of late.”

That was excellent news to Mavery. Even better, the curio cabinet’s lock appeared more decorative than protective. She wouldn’t even need her tools; a hairpin or a letter opener would do.

“Here you are,” Kazamin said. “One pass for the University of North Fenutia’s portal. When you arrive, ask to speak to Dolokir. He will be expecting you.”

“Thank you, sir, but I see this pass has only my name on it. What about my assistant?”

“Oh, no, she cannot go with you.”

That tore Mavery’s attention away from the cabinet. She stepped forward.

“What do you mean I can’t go?”

Alain winced. Kazamin balked at her, much like he had during their first meeting when she’d spoken out of turn.

“The tome is in the special collections, which are only accessible to wizards,” Kazamin said tersely. “Since you are not a wizard, you are not allowed entry.”

“But the whole point of his research is to make a Sensing spell. Shouldn’t the fact that I’m a Senser count for something?”

“I’m sorry, Margery—”

“Mavery!”

“—but these are direct orders from North Fenutia’s arcanist. Even if I had any say in the matter, your lack of decorum would make me loath to write you any passes, I can assure you of that!”

She opened her mouth. Before she could continue her tirade, Alain grasped her arm.

“Don’t,” he whispered, then dragged her toward the door. Over his shoulder, he called to Kazamin, “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the efforts you took to arrange this.”

“Think nothing of it,” Kazamin said, cheerful once again. “I hope your research proves fruitful. Oh, and Aventus?”

Alain stopped and turned to the dean.

“You would be wise to review the Covenants with your new assistant.”

Mavery continued fuming in silence as Alain led her into his office and closed the door behind them.

The room was so small, they were practically standing on top of each other.

The tiny window provided little natural light, but it was enough to half-illuminate Alain’s frown as he rubbed his temples.

“I understand your frustrations, Mavery, but please watch your tone around my supervisor.”

“I will once that old codger bothers to remember my name,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” She sighed. “I’ll try to be on my best behavior from now on. And what did he say on the way out? Something about some Covenants?”

“The Covenants of Wizarding Decorum. Essentially, it’s a long list of professional standards all wizards are expected to follow.

I have a copy around here…somewhere.” He glanced at the mountain of dust-coated papers on his desk, then shrugged.

“Well, what matters most is that we treat our fellow scholars with respect.”

She rolled her eyes. “That ‘respect’ goes in one direction, I take it. Does that arcanist think my non-wizard fingers will taint their precious books?”

“Trust me, I like this as much as you do, but if that’s how the arcanist wishes to run their library, then that’s how it must be.”

Mavery scoffed, though she should have known better than to expect anything else from the gatekeepers of arcane knowledge. Alain placed his hand on her shoulder. Her mood turned slightly less sour.

“I’ll be sure to take copious notes,” he said. “If need be, I will stay there all afternoon, until I’ve made a perfect copy of the spell tome.”

“And what am I supposed to do all afternoon?”

“Go about campus, attend a class or two. Assistants do it all the time. No one will bat an eye, so long as you’re wearing that.” He nodded to her black robe.

She was eager to learn more about magic. Almost as eager as she was to break into Kazamin’s office and stuff her pockets with curios. She didn’t even care if they were worthless; she was motivated purely by spite. Maybe she would have time for classes and some petty thievery.

“All right,” she said, “but how am I supposed to know when you’re back?”

Alain walked around the desk and began rummaging through the drawers.

“There’s one,” he muttered. “Now, where is the other…?”

While he was preoccupied, she swiped a letter opener from atop his desk, then slipped it in her pocket. Just in case.

“Ah, here we are.”

Alain held out his palm, revealing a pair of stones that were roughly the size of hen’s eggs. They were identical, from their deep scarlet backing, to their bands of rose-tinted quartz.

“Bloodstones,” she said.

“I assume if you recognize them, you’re also familiar with how they work.”

She nodded as she took one of the bloodstones.

It was cool to the touch. Stones cut from the same vein, like this pair, were perfect mirrors of each other.

She channeled a small amount of arcana into it, and the bloodstone warmed her skin as the quartz glowed.

Alain’s stone glowed simultaneously. Together, they bathed his office in pink-hued light.

When she cut off her magic, the stones dulled, and the room darkened again.

“I’ll send you a signal once I’ve returned to campus. Let’s meet at the fountain,” he said. Mavery slipped the stone in her pocket. As she grasped the doorknob, Alain added in a low voice, “I know it’ll only be for a few hours, but…I’ll miss having your company.”

From the opposite side of the desk, he was too obscured in shadow for her to see his face, but she could feel his gaze on her. A tightness in her throat made it impossible to speak; even if she could, she wasn’t sure what she would say. All she could manage was a brief nod before opening the door.

As she rode the lift back to the ground floor, her thoughts cycled between losing her temper at Kazamin, crying in the bathroom, bringing about a magic surge, embracing Alain…

Stop letting your emotions get the better of you.

Yet, was that really such a bad thing?

Being a career criminal meant being constantly on her guard; a single slip-up stood between pulling off a successful scheme and getting caught, thrown in prison, or worse.

Compared to that life, being a wizard’s assistant was akin to living in the lap of luxury.

She could afford to let her guard down, even if that meant risking the occasional magic surge.

And she couldn’t think of anyone better equipped to handle those than a wizard.

If she wanted to make an honest living and become a legitimate wizard’s assistant, she needed to be honest about everything. Coming clean about her past would be the first step.

Or, it could very well be the last.

“Gods damn it,” she groaned as the lift opened. The student who’d been waiting outside the door gawked at Mavery as she trudged past.

The potion was still working. The corridor appeared as it had on the way up to the common room: completely devoid of magic.

She passed by a classroom where a score of students practiced incantations, and she didn’t Sense a thing.

She continued past a few more rooms as she tried to gather her thoughts.

“—members of the Order of Asphodel—”

Mavery stopped. Where did she know that name? She carded through her memories, then recalled when Alain had shared his theories about the Innominate Temple. Or, at least, he’d begun to share his theories.

If her life as a wizard’s assistant was on borrowed time, she wouldn’t squander an opportunity to use one of its perks. She doubled back and approached the lecture hall.

The room had seating for at least fifty, but there were only eight students scattered between the two front rows. Mavery slipped into a chair in the back row. The professor glanced at her and, exactly as Alain had implied, continued on as if nothing had happened.

Around their neck, the professor wore a pendant depicting an hourglass.

It marked them as a follower of Chroniclus, the Deity of Time and Records.

Chroniclers, believing themselves to be observers of the world rather than participants, eschewed many societal norms: marriage, bearing children, owning property.

And, like the deity they followed, they eschewed the concept of gender.

The professor was tall and willowy, with a light olive complexion. Their wrinkles suggested they were middle-aged, though their waist-length brown hair didn’t have a single streak of gray.

“The Order was tried together, all twelve of them, on the eighth of Fervidor, 533,” the professor said. “Does anyone remember from the reading what made this trial so significant?” Half the students raised their hands. The professor pointed at a blonde girl in the front row. “Yes, Ms. Harrow?”

“It was the shortest one in history.”

“Exactly! From the opening statement to the final verdict, the trial took only two hours. It was presided over by Guiscard Pomeroy. That name should ring a bell or two, yes?”