Page 30 of A Tower of Half-Truths

Only Harrow and one other student nodded. Mavery vaguely recognized the name, though Dauphinian history had no shortage of Pomeroys. The professor sighed, then wrote the name on the blackboard.

“Do pay attention, as this will be on the final exam.” At that, the students bowed their heads and readied their pens.

“Guiscard Pomeroy was born in 466 to one of Dauphine’s five Great Houses, he was the first Chancellor of the College of Mystics, and he was one of Tanarim’s leading experts on Mysticism at the time of the Great Demonic Cleansing.

“Despite Pomeroy’s lack of a legal background, the Church of the Dyad and the High Council of Wizards appointed him to preside over all Cleansing-related proceedings. There were no juries, no evidence presented during his trials. Pomeroy’s rulings were based solely on his memory-reading spells.”

That was a detail Mavery’s history lessons had failed to mention. Now that she knew Mysticism had been involved, she would take those rulings with an ocean’s worth of salt.

“He found all twelve members of the Order of Asphodel guilty of illegal uses of Necromancy, possession of demons, and conspiring to hide their founder’s whereabouts.

Can you guess what the punishment was for those crimes?

” The professor raised their hands like an orchestra conductor. “Say it with me…”

“Hanged by the neck until dead,” the class chanted in unison.

The professor chuckled. “Of course, you have no problem remembering the Church of the Dyad’s execution method of choice. Yes, the members of the Order of Asphodel were hanged—all except for their founder, Aganast, who went missing a few weeks before the trial.

“When we next meet, we will cover another of Pomeroy’s landmark cases, in which he ruled that demonspawn were to be treated as a separate species from demons.”

A chime sounded, signaling the end of class. The students rose from their desks.

“Remember,” the professor said, raising their voice over the scuffle, “your term papers are due at the beginning of class on Dredisday. Five pages—not four, not six, five.”

As the students trickled out the back of the room, Mavery made her way to the front, where the professor was stuffing papers in their satchel. They glanced up as she approached.

“Hello, I’m Mavery—”

“Aventus’s new assistant, and our resident Senser.” They smiled. “Word travels fast around our department. I’m Selemin.”

The two of them shook hands.

“So, you’re a Chronicler?” Mavery pointed at Selemin’s hourglass pendant.

“That, I am!” They smiled even wider. “Not many recognize it, so color me surprised—and a little impressed.”

“I once met some Chroniclers in my travels.” She recalled waking up with the worst hangover of her life—and one of those Chroniclers in her bed. “Though we didn’t engage in many, er, scholarly discussions.”

“Oh, you’ve met those Chroniclers.” Selemin chuckled as Mavery furrowed her brow.

“We fall into two camps. First, you have people like me, who practice our faith as professional historians. And then you have my…” They shook their head with a drawn-out sigh.

“My siblings in Chroniclus, who use our faith as an excuse to gallivant about the continent and commit all sorts of debauchery. All in the name of ‘recording events for posterity,’ of course.”

“If you’re a historian, why are you in the Gardemancy Department and not the History Department?”

“Because it no longer exists.” Mavery gawked at them, and they nodded gravely.

“See, when the dean retired six years ago, the department was dismantled and I was thrown in with the Gardemancers. I’m an innate Soudremancer—not that I practice it much these days—so the higher-ups didn’t know where else to put me.

” They shrugged. “At least it was better than getting sacked, like the rest of my colleagues.”

“You’re the University’s only history professor?”

Selemin nodded. “When I first started teaching, Arcane History was part of the core curriculum, but now it’s only an elective—and not a popular one, as I’m sure you noticed.

These days, anything that’s not directly related to fabrication research has to fight for the scraps.

” They cleared their throat. “Anyway, that’s a topic I’d much rather get into after a couple of strong pints. ”

The arts had been one thing. To find out wizards also had little love for arcane history… But Mavery had a more pressing concern on her mind.

“Do you know anything about the Innominate Temple?” she asked.

“Only rumors and speculation, which is to say, not much at all.” They tilted their head to one side. “Why do you ask?”

“Alain has a theory—”

“Who?”

“Er, Aventus.”

They smirked. “Seems all that time he’s spent with Declan has finally rubbed off on him, if he’s also dropped his wizard name. All right, I’ll bite. What’s his theory?”

“He thinks the temple is connected to Ag—”

“Come now, Selemin, you’ve had your turn with this room. That is, unless you’re planning to deliver my next lecture for me.”

Mavery and Selemin turned to the door. Nezima had entered the classroom, flanked by three young women—including the black-haired woman Mavery had seen before, the one who knew Alain somehow. Once again, she’d been burdened with a large stack of papers. The other two assistants were empty-handed.

“Sorry, Nez,” Selemin said. “I was having a chat with—”

“None other than the talk of the department,” Nezima said. She stopped at the front of the room. Her assistants stood a few paces back, hovering like a trio of black-robed phantoms.

Selemin tilted their head, this time in the other direction. “ ‘Talk of the department’?”

“You missed the show, unfortunately. Mavery gave our dean quite the verbal thrashing.”

Mavery scoffed. “It was hardly a—”

“Really!” Selemin’s eyes widened. “What did she say?”

“I only caught a few words, but it was the first I’d heard him raise his voice in ages.”

Selemin cackled. “Oh, what I would’ve given to see the look on that miser’s face!” They turned to Mavery. “I owe you a pint sometime. Maybe then we can get back to discussing that theory.”

“What theory?” Nezima asked.

“Oh,” Mavery said, “just one Al—Aventus, has about the Innominate Temple.”

Behind Nezima, papers scattered to the floor. The black-haired assistant yelped, then dropped to her knees.

“Gods above, girl,” Nezima sighed. “Look at the mess you’ve made!”

As the assistant scrambled to gather up the papers—neither Nezima nor the other two assistants made any effort to help her—students began to fill the classroom. Selemin took this as their cue to leave.

“Nice meeting you, Mavery,” they said. “And I’m serious about that pint.”

“Likewise, and thanks.”

“I must begin my preparations,” Nezima said. “I do hope you’ll stay and watch, Mavery. Perhaps you can relay to Aventus some advice on how to manage his classroom more effectively.” Her lips curled into a wicked smile.

The professor snatched the papers from her assistant, who shot Mavery a glance as she received Nezima’s hushed bout of criticism. Mavery, meanwhile, returned to her seat by the door.

Though Nezima had said she needed to prepare, her three assistants did the majority of the work.

They walked the perimeter of the room, reciting incantations that Mavery assumed were for protective wards.

Though the spells were complex, she saw not a single aura and felt not even a hint of cold.

Once their spellcasting was complete, the assistants sat in the back row, in the seats farthest from the door.

Nezima began her lecture immediately after the second chime, not wasting a second. She paced about the front of the room, delivering her lecture with the same intensity Mavery had once seen her use with Alain and Declan.

From what Mavery could gather, this was an upper-level course on advanced spellcraft.

Some of the jargon Nezima spouted was familiar—the bits and pieces Mavery had absorbed from cataloging Alain’s books.

But it was still too technical for her to grasp, as were the spells Nezima demonstrated.

At least Nezima’s authoritative tone discouraged any nodding off.

“Taking into account Velimar’s Principle of Arcana Conservancy, it follows that—”

In the front row, a pair of students exchanged whispers.

Nezima stopped mid-sentence and turned to them with an icy glare.

She continued to stare at them, completely silent, until the whispering subsided.

The room grew so quiet, Mavery could hear nothing but her own heartbeat.

Inside her pocket, her bloodstone warmed.

She’d left Alain’s office not even two hours ago. How could he be back this soon?

“Is there something you wish to share with the class, Mr. Pitchard?” Nezima said.

“N-no, ma’am.”

“How about you, Ms. Apton?”

“Nothing, ma’am.”

“Are you certain?” Nezima crossed her arms. “For you to interrupt my lecture, it must be of world-shattering importance.”

While Nezima harangued her students on the importance of classroom decorum, Mavery slipped out of the lecture hall. She took a few steps down the corridor, then stopped and turned toward the lift.

She couldn’t keep Alain waiting too long. And if she wanted to make an honest living, going back upstairs was the last thing she ought to do.

But some habits were difficult to break.

Taking off at a slight jog, she headed for the lift.

Her heart skipped a beat upon finding the common room empty and every door closed—including the one to Kazamin’s office. The potion had worn off, and so she could see that Kazamin hadn’t warded his door. She hurried across the room, the plush carpet dampening her footfalls.

Kazamin’s door was locked, and her soft knock received no response.

She removed Alain’s letter opener from her pocket, then jammed it into the slit between the door and its frame.

It wasn’t the most sophisticated break-in method—she wasn’t skilled enough at Faisancy to manipulate a mundane lock—but it was the best she could do with the tools at her disposal.

She shimmied the blade against the latch.

Behind her, another door opened. She stifled a curse as she tucked the letter opener inside her left sleeve.

“Old Kaz is out to lunch.” The voice was familiar, as was the chuckle that followed. “This time, only literally.”

Mavery clasped her hands behind her back as she turned to Declan. “Oh, this is Kazamin’s door?” She glanced at it, then shook her head. “Well, no wonder my key wasn’t working! These doors all look the same to me.”

“That they do, hence the name plates.”

He pointed to Kazamin’s name, embedded in the wood at Mavery’s eye level. She looked at it with faint surprise, as though she were seeing it for the first time.

“Gods, it’s been a long day,” she sighed. “I could use a drink.”

“It’s not even midday yet!” Declan’s eyes widened, but then he gave a hearty laugh. “That’s a feeling I know a little too well. I reckon you were looking for Alain’s office.”

Declan made a beckoning gesture, and she had no choice but to follow him across the common room.

“What did he send you up here for?” he asked.

“Oh, just a book.”

“Which one?”

Mavery was thankful Declan was leading the way and couldn’t see her scowl. “Er…his copy of The Covenants of Wizarding Decorum.” It was the first thing that came to mind.

Declan shook his head. “Knowing the state of his office, you’ll be in there all night trying to find the damn thing.” He stopped outside Alain’s door and turned to her. “Why don’t you borrow my copy? About time someone put it to good use.”

She smiled, hardly believing her luck. “That’s so kind of you.”

As Declan disappeared inside his office, she slipped the letter opener beneath Alain’s door.

Getting rid of it was her best option; she doubted she would have another chance at Kazamin’s office.

Declan returned and handed her the book.

It was much smaller than she’d expected—barely larger than a field guide.

As she slipped the book into her pocket, she decided to indulge another of her curiosities.

“Can I ask you something? It’s about Alain.”

Declan raised his brows. “Er…sure.”

“I was wondering why he went on sabbatical.”

“He hasn’t told you himself?”

“He doesn’t want to talk about it. I was thinking, considering you’re good friends, he would have told you.”

Declan’s bushy mustache twitched as he passed his fingers through his thinning red hair. He was stalling, but Mavery pegged him as the type who wouldn’t dare turn down a woman in need. She gave him her best pleading look: knitted brow, wringing hands, a slight pout.

“All right,” he groaned, “but, by Tanar’s beard, don’t tell him I told you any of this.”

“Of course.” She gently touched his arm. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“A year ago—almost to the day, come to think—he sent his three assistants on a research trip. Only two of them came back.” He sighed.

“In our line of work, death’s simply part of the job, but the poor lad was in a right state over it.

Missed Conor’s funeral because he’d drunk himself into a stupor.

He canceled half his classes, then stopped showing up to work altogether—during final exams, no less.

“Kazamin put him on personal leave, and I had to step in and help Alain’s last two assistants cover exams. Then Lorcan resigned, and it was just down to Wren. And then she resigned a few months later and started working for Nezima.”

That explained Wren and Alain’s frigid exchange from the other week. If only Mavery could separate Wren from Nezima for a few minutes and hear her side of the story…

It was then she realized Declan was staring at her pocket. She looked down to see pink light emanating through the black fabric.

“That’s Alain,” she said. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting. Thank you again for the book—and for the chat.”

“Any time,” Declan said with a nod. As Mavery hurried across the common room, he called after her, “And tell that wizard of yours to answer my letters once in a while!”