Page 43 of A Tower of Half-Truths

Twenty-Six

When Alain reinstated his wards after his accident, he’d decided that locking the front door would be redundant.

So long as Mavery gave a courtesy knock, she was free to enter as she pleased.

The morning after her trip to the library, she rapped on the door, then opened it to find Alain amid another bout of pacing and spell-revising—mercifully, with protective wards in place.

“Good morning,” he said, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. “How was your day off?”

“I did as you suggested and went to the library on my own.”

His eyes brightened. “Did you learn anything interesting?”

She held back a laugh as she thought of her conversation with Wren. But she wasn’t ready to press him on that.

“Not in the way I’d hoped. First, Kazamin wasn’t joking when he said this was a niche field. The library has hardly any books about Sensing.”

Alain nodded. “I should have warned you I already own every book that’s worth the paper it’s printed on.”

“At least I got to see that for myself,” she said with a shrug. “I then asked one of the arcanists about that word I found in your copy of Enodus’s spell tome. He said there’s no such thing as ‘kay-tonic’ magic, ‘kuh-tone-ick’ magic, however the hells you’re supposed to say it.”

“But you don’t believe him.”

She shook her head. “He didn’t even bother looking into it. He turned defensive—hostile, even—like he was hiding something.”

“Which arcanist did you speak to?”

“The Head Arcanist. Tristan, I think his name was.”

Alain nodded. “I can only recall him acting in a similar manner once—when I inquired about Aganast—though I always assumed his disgruntlement had more to do with the stockpile of books I’d kept past their due date.”

“But he still helped you with your research.”

“He did.” Alain considered this for a moment, scratching his chin. “Well, I doubt our understanding of that word will affect our progress with our spellcraft. Let’s revisit it after the presentation.”

Though he seemed unconcerned about Tristan, dread gnawed at Mavery’s stomach. Before she could persuade him to reconsider, Alain spoke again.

“While we’re on the topic of spellcraft, I’d say you’re overdue for another Etherean lesson.”

That lifted her spirits enough to put the matter to rest, at least for now.

For what felt like the thousandth time, Mavery repeated the incantation.

A tendril of Ether manifested in the air, hovering a few inches above the iron coin on her palm.

As she recited the words, the tendril slowly floated downward, wrapped around the coin and the single strand of dark hair lying atop it.

Bolstered by her Etherean, the metal glowed.

But then the Ether evaporated almost as quickly as she’d conjured it, and the metal dulled once more.

“I almost had it,” she groaned. She placed the coin on the floor, then blew on her clasped hands. Outside, it was a pleasant spring day. Inside, she sat on the floor, back to the fire and shivering as if it were still the dead of winter.

Conjuring an orb of Ether had been as natural as breathing. Turning the coin into a basic compass had been more challenging, but she’d succeeded after half an hour of practice. After three hours of reciting this spell, however, the only thing she’d achieved was feeling like an icicle.

Alain had shown her an augmentation that, using a strand of his hair, would modify the compass. Instead of indicating north, the coin would glow when pointed in his direction. He’d made it sound so simple.

“You stumbled over the last two runes,” he said.

He stood a few paces away, holding his lecture notes, though he’d rarely referenced them at all that morning.

It seemed Mavery had convinced him that the “practical” approach to learning Etherean was superior to his “tried-and-true” method. That was, until now.

“It’s hard to enunciate when my teeth are chattering,” she said, rubbing her arms as she continued to shiver.

Alain frowned. “Wait here.”

He went to the bedroom and returned with the fur-lined faculty robe he’d put away until next winter. He crouched in front of her and wrapped the plum-colored fabric around her shoulders. While the robe didn’t relieve the arcane chill coursing through her body, it took the edge off.

“Thanks.”

She pulled the robe until she was completely shrouded in it. But she still continued to shiver; so, too, did Alain’s frown persist.

“Are you sure you don’t want the potion?” he asked.

“I told you, I won’t always have it handy. I need to get used to spellcasting without it.”

“I understand, but it’s sweltering in here and you’re half-frozen to death.”

Though Mavery felt nowhere near warm, Alain’s forehead glistened with sweat.

He’d removed his vest and undone the top buttons of his shirt.

He remained crouched in front of her, close enough for her to catch a glimpse of his bruise—now a deep brown—raise her fingers, place them against the hollow of his collarbone, and complete the healing process with a simple transfer of arcana.

But she knew he’d never agree to it; he was still committed to letting his injury heal naturally.

You’re just looking for an excuse to touch him…

She silenced that thought as Alain stood up.

“If half my students had half your talent, my job would be infinitely more enjoyable. You’ve made extraordinary progress considering you learned your first incantation just last week. You’ve earned yourself a break.”

“I could say the same about you. Did you rest at all yesterday?”

“Yes, I had afternoon tea with my mother.”

“And after that?”

“I didn’t work on the spell tome…”

“But…”

“But I did make some adjustments to the anti-Sensing potion.” Mavery pulled a face, and he chuckled. “If you can think of a better name for it, I’m all ears.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Bring me the damn potion.”

“Actually, I’ll need to make a new batch, but it shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

“Do you need any help?” She shrugged off the robe; it had made little difference. “Maybe getting up and moving around will do me some good.”

“I’ve always treated alchemy as a solo endeavor.” He smiled, and the slightest flicker of warmth stirred within her. “But I wouldn’t mind some company.”

He offered his hand, and she grasped it as he pulled her to her feet.

They stood chest to chest for the duration of a few heartbeats—not long enough for Mavery to fully appreciate their closeness.

Alain dropped her hand and turned toward the kitchen, leaving her even colder than she’d felt a moment ago.

“I hope you’re not expecting a lesson,” he said as he opened the kitchen door. “I know enough about alchemy to be dangerous, but not enough to teach it in any meaningful capacity.”

“That’s fine. Besides, I already know my way around a mortar and pestle.”

“Then how about I leave that part to you?”

He retrieved his notebook from the table.

It was the same one he’d used the day they visited the café, when he’d first thought of the potion.

As she hovered over his shoulder, still rubbing her gooseflesh-covered arms, she glimpsed observations he’d made about her Senses, early drafts of the potion recipe, and a few sketches.

“Wait,” she said. “Was that…?”

He sputtered something in protest as she reached forward snatched the book from his hands.

She paged through sketches of the herbs hanging in the kitchen, the birds that occasionally perched outside the sitting room window, the view of the Merimar from that same window. Then there was a series of the same human subject: reading, writing, drinking tea.

“Are these all of me?”

Alain’s face flushed, which was all the confirmation she needed.

He reached for the notebook, but she took a step back, taking it further out of reach.

She was being childish, but she couldn’t resist. She’d never given much thought to the contents of his notebook; his bouts of sketching and note-taking had simply become another of his quirks.

Her heart fluttered as she wondered how often he’d been drawing her, studying her, without her ever realizing it.

“You’ve had your fun,” Alain huffed. “Now, can you please hand it back?”

She relented. He continued searching for the recipe, but his shaky fingers struggled to turn the pages.

“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” Mavery said. “In fact, I’m flattered.”

“That’s a relief, though it’s difficult to not feel guilty whenever I devote even a few minutes of my time to art…if you can even consider this art.”

“Why would you feel guilty about that?”

“Because it’s been long ingrained in me that anything not directly related to my work is a waste of time.”

Her heart sank as she remembered what he’d once told her about his painting hobby. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a waste of time.”

“Thank you.” The faintest trace of a smile pulled at his lips. “I wish the rest of the wizarding community—especially those at the University—thought the same as you do.”

“You really think none of your colleagues have hobbies outside of teaching and research?”

“Don’t forget copious drinking. That’s an age-old academic pastime.

” He gave a half-hearted chuckle that faded as quickly as it had arrived.

“I can’t say for certain, though I doubt many of them have time for it.

That was certainly the case for me. My sabbatical was the first true break I’d had in years.

” He frowned. “Not that I was doing much relaxing.”

He looked at his notebook, then out the window. Thanks to Wren, Mavery had a good idea of what his sabbatical had consisted of. She gently touched his shoulder, and he tore his gaze away from the window. His weak smile did little to ease her concerns.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Of course.”

“When I was rereading the Covenants last night, I noticed that there are many ways you wizards can retain your rank. Teaching is only one of them.”