Page 46 of A Tower of Half-Truths

The professors laughed in unison.

Something prodded Mavery in the arm. She looked to her side and found Wren watching her with unfocused eyes. The scent of ale emanating from her was stronger than before.

“I said, ‘How have things been with Aventus since we last spoke?’ ” Wren’s speech was so slurred, Mavery barely understood her.

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered her answer.

“Complicated,” she said at last.

“That’s him to the letter!” Wren cackled, then her eyes widened. “Oh, no, I grabbed you before you had a chance to order a drink, didn’t I?”

“Don’t worry about—”

“Nonsense! What would you like?”

Wren attempted to stand, but her knees buckled. She clung to the back of her chair, which was the only thing preventing her from colliding with the floor.

Mavery stifled a laugh. “I would like you to stay put. I’ll order my own drink.”

As she rose from the table, Nezima called out, “Whatever you’re ordering, put it on my tab.”

“Er, thanks.”

Nezima replied with a tip of her wineglass. Mavery continued to feel the professor’s eyes follow her out of the room.

The pub had become much livelier, filled with even more patrons in University robes.

Mavery had to shoulder through a small crowd to approach the bar.

The cigar smoke had also grown thicker than ever; it lingered in the air like a dense fog, and the smell was so intense, it had lost all its pleasantness.

Mavery peered in the mirror behind the bar and quickly identified the culprits: a group of male professors playing cards.

She caught the bartender’s eye. He asked her for her order, much to the dismay of the men who’d been waiting in the queue.

She assumed Nezima had accumulated an impressive bar tab, which was why the bartender was giving her preferential treatment.

Not to mention she was the only woman presently at the bar.

As she waited for a glass of red wine, a chillingly familiar scent cut through the smoke: arcana-infused ash.

Her heart raced as she subtly glanced around the room.

To her left, halfway down the bar, a man had just extinguished his cigarette that now smoldered in an ashtray.

Mavery sighed, then chided herself for being so paranoid.

Even if she had Sensed shadow magic, this room was filled with wizards.

It could have come from any number of them.

“Your wine, madam,” the bartender said.

She nodded in thanks as she took her glass. By the time she entered the back room, her heartbeat had returned to normal.

Most of the assistants were too busy gossiping to notice Mavery. Wren, however, had fallen silent. She stared at her empty tankard with a blank expression, much like how Alain had looked that afternoon. Mavery then recalled what Wren had told her only days ago.

She would bet a hefty sum that the ill-fated research trip had been exactly a year ago. She’d even wager that today marked the anniversary of their colleague’s death. How had she not made that connection sooner?

“Over here,” Selemin called out, patting the empty chair to their right. As she doubted Wren was in any state to reminisce about the Innominate Temple, Mavery approached the professors’ table.

“As you can see,” Selemin said as Mavery sat down, “I’m the odd one out in this little drinking club.”

“This is a support group,” Nezima said, using the same tone she’d used when reprimanding her students. “And it is open to any scholar not of the male persuasion.”

Drinking club, Selemin mouthed, then threw Mavery a wink before taking a swig of ale.

“It’s good to see you again, Mavery,” Nezima said.

“Likewise, and thanks for the drink.”

“Think nothing of it.” She gestured at the other two professors. “Have you met our colleagues?”

“I’m Rivalda,” the raven-haired woman said, extending her hand. “Professor of Aumbremancy.”

Mavery could have guessed this professor’s innate School with ease. Rivalda had the ashen look of someone who, like most shadow-wielders, preferred to avoid sunlight whenever possible.

The woman sitting beside Nezima reached across the table and also offered Mavery a handshake. She was not only the oldest among the group, with her white hair and liver-spotted skin, there was a sagacity behind her crystal blue eyes that the other scholars lacked.

“Corenta, Dean of the Faculty of Faisancy,” she said. “I’ve been at the University of Leyport longer than most of them have been alive.” She inclined her head toward the assistants’ table. “Rumor around campus is you’re a Senser.”

Mavery nodded. “The rumors are true.”

“And Aventus’s latest project is to develop some sort of Sensing spell,” Nezima said.

News did indeed spread quickly at the University. Mavery took a long drink of wine. She wasn’t sure how much of his research Alain would want shared publicly, but she could safely assume he’d want none of it shared with Nezima.

“I’ve been wondering, how did you and Aventus begin working together in the first place?” Nezima asked. “After all, no one from the University had seen him for the better part of a year.”

In hindsight, this was a question Mavery should have seen coming, and one that she and Alain should have prepared an answer for. She took another sip of wine as she formulated a response that was as truthful as it was vague.

“I came to Leyport almost two months ago, looking for work, and we crossed paths. Once he found out I was a Senser, he got the idea for the spell and decided to take me on as his assistant. It was…serendipitous, I suppose.”

“Quite serendipitous, considering assistants don’t typically need to go about ‘looking for work.’ ” Nezima peered at Mavery over the rim of her wineglass. “You told me you were in the midst of a career change. What were you doing before you came to Leyport?”

“Wardsmithing,” Mavery said. It was also a job for “unlearned types,” to borrow Alain’s phrasing, but at least it carried a bit more prestige than wardbreaking.

Nezima gave an amenable nod, then appeared to ready another question.

“Can I ask you something?” Mavery said, eager to turn this interview around.

Nezima’s lips drew into a thin line. “That depends. Is it about my heritage?”

Mavery blinked. “Do people often lead with that?”

“More than you can imagine,” Corenta said.

“Some can’t fathom the idea of a Nilandoren who isn’t absurdly tall,” Selemin said, shaking their head.

“Those are often the same people who can’t place Nilandor on a map,” Rivalda added.

To Mavery’s surprise, Nezima was blushing slightly; there was a purplish undertone to her slate-colored skin.

“Well, no, it wasn’t about that,” Mavery said. “I once, er…courted a Nilandoren man, so I know a bit about the culture.”

“How very worldly of you,” Nezima said flatly. “In any case, I wouldn’t be able to inform you of much on that matter. I am only half-Nilandoren, and I was born and raised in this very city.” She drained her glass, then rested her forearms on the table. “So, what did you want to ask me?”

“I wanted to know more about your research. Alain once mentioned something about poison warding.”

Nezima’s embarrassment gave way to faint surprise. Thanks to the wine, it took Mavery a few seconds to recognize her blunder.

“Not even two months, and you’ve dropped his honorific. Curious.” The corner of Nezima’s mouth quirked into a smile. “He is correct: the bulk of my research has been on the convergence of Gardemancy and Alchemy. But I doubt whatever he told you was coupled with admiration and praise.”

Mavery raised her eyebrows, and Nezima’s smile broadened.

“Aventus has always harbored some resentment against me for subjecting my assistants to the hazards of poison research—hazards that all my assistants are made fully aware of upfront. It’s a necessary evil, of course, as there’s little use for warding against health tonics.”

“Al—er, Aventus—also said his mother once helped you with a poison warding fabric.”

“Yes, that was what earned me my wizard rank. Priscilla and I have remained good friends ever since.” She settled back in her chair.

“As a matter of fact, she told me about the most delightful chat she had with her son this past Finisday. He’s positively smitten with some mystery woman; he could hardly stop talking about her. ”

“Is that so?” Mavery said as a warm tingling sensation washed over her. She raised her glass and took another long drink, hoping Nezima and the others would assume the wine was to blame for any sudden change in her demeanor.

“Do you have any idea who his new paramour might be?”

She lowered her glass and met Nezima’s eye. “Not a clue. What he does in his spare time is his own business.”

“Really? From what Wren tells me, the two of you are thick as thieves. Surely he would have told you something.”

Mavery glanced at the other table, where Wren was now dozing in her chair. Had running into her outside the library been a coincidence, or did Wren’s duties go beyond hauling around Nezima’s paperwork?

“I think she misunderstood me,” Mavery said. “We’re on friendly terms. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

She raised her glass again, only to find that it was now empty.

“Please, have another drink on me,” Nezima said. “And while you’re at the bar, order another bottle of Maroban Cinsaut. The 1034 vintage, if they still have it.”

“I owe her this round, Nez,” Selemin said. They grabbed their empty tankard and pushed back their chair. “Besides, I could use a refill myself.”

Mavery, thankful for an excuse to escape Nezima’s scrutiny for a moment, followed Selemin back to the front room. The cigar-smoking scholars were gone, though their haze still lingered.

“I promise Nezima is usually more welcoming,” Selemin said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately.”

Mavery shrugged. “I suppose even academics aren’t immune to gossip.”

They laughed. “That, my friend, is an understatement.”

The two of them approached the bartender, who was in the middle of filling a dozen tankards for a group of men who appeared young enough to be students. Selemin, rather than standing while they waited, pulled up an empty stool.

“While we’re on the topic of scholarly gossip,” they said, “tell me more about that Innominate Temple theory Aventus has cooked up.”

“Oh, that.” Mavery sat in the empty stool beside Selemin. “He thinks the temple is tied to Aganast—or, at the very least, the Order of Asphodel.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before. What’s the connection?”

“I’m not sure. He was about to share that part of his research with me, but…” She thought back to how he’d snapped the journal shut and hidden it away. “Something came up. He told me this much: he thinks the temple wasn’t used for worship.”

“I reckon he could be on to something. The Order’s meeting place was a little cabin about a mile or so from the temple’s approximate location.”

“ ‘Approximate’? What, does it move around?”

“Some would argue it does. But no, the magical protections wreak havoc on compasses and shroud the area in perpetual fog. You can’t calculate the temple’s coordinates, even by mathematical means, so it’s impossible to place its exact location on a map.”

“Huh…”

Perhaps Mavery’s Senses hadn’t been the only thing preventing her from reaching the temple all those years ago. Wren and Neldren were the only people she knew who had actually seen the temple in person. In Wren’s case, it had been a result of sheer luck—or misfortune.

“I’ve never had any desire to go there myself, so that’s the extent of what I know,” Selemin said.

“Going back to the cottage, the Church of the Dyad had it burned to the ground right after the Order was rounded up. Could be the members also used the temple—or structure, I should say—for their official business.” They shrugged.

“But until someone finds a way into that old ruin, we’ll never know.

And even then, it’s hard to know whether those findings would ever see the light of day. ”

“What do you mean?” Mavery asked.

“We scholars can research anything we desire. But when it comes to sharing our findings, the High Council has final say on what’s allowed in bookshops and libraries.”

“I thought the arcanists controlled that.”

They gave Mavery a pointed look. “And who controls the arcanists?”

At that moment, the bartender approached them.

“What can I get you ladies this time?” he asked.

“That’s lady and Chronicler.” Selemin fingered the hourglass pendant hanging from their neck.

“Beg your pardon.” The bartender bowed his head. “Didn’t realize you were clergy.”

“Only a humble scholar, but close enough.” Selemin pushed their empty tankard across the bar. “Another pint and a bottle of that Maroban something-or-other for Nezima’s tab, if you would be so kind.” They looked to Mavery. “You don’t happen to remember what year she asked for?”

She smirked. “I thought you were the historian here.”

They snorted, then waved a hand. “Oh, just grab something old and expensive. Wine is wine, as far as I’m concerned.”

The bartender blanched at that sentiment. Shaking his head, he turned to the rows of bottles behind him.

“What about you?” Selemin asked Mavery. “Your next drink is on me.”

She leaned over the bar. But instead of spotting a rare vintage, something in the mirror caught her eye.

Red hair and a familiar face.

Mavery blinked, and both had vanished. She took a deep breath, nearly choking on the lingering cigar smoke as she focused her Senses. Paranoia had not gotten the better of her after all; the scent of ash was not coming from any cigarette.

She slowly turned her head as she observed the room. In the corner by the front window, the shadows shifted unnaturally. The shrouded figure, knowing they had been spotted, was moving toward the door.

“Shit,” Mavery muttered.

“Having trouble deciding?” Selemin asked. “See, this is why I stick with ale. Makes drinking so much more straightforward.”

“Sorry, Selemin,” Mavery said, mustering an air of cheerfulness, “but I’m afraid that drink will have to wait a little longer. I just spotted an old friend I haven’t seen in ages.”

“Oh? Why not invite them to join us?”

“I can assure you she’s not the scholarly type.”

“Ha! Fair enough,” they said as the bartender passed them a fresh tankard. “Well, enjoy catching up with your friend. I’ll get you that drink another time.”

Mavery nodded. “Yes, another time.”

She turned away from the bar and focused on the area by the entryway.

The Sense of arcana-tinged ash was as strong as it had been a moment ago.

Her target hadn’t made it far, thanks to a line of professors who were stumbling out of the pub.

The faltering shroud slipped behind the final inebriated scholar, and out into the street. Mavery followed closely behind.