Page 55 of A Tower of Half-Truths

“Not in the mood for small talk, I see.” Declan leaned back in the chair, rested his steepled hands atop his perfectly round stomach. “Final exams begin on Onisday. I was hoping you and your lovely assistant could help me with—”

“We can’t. We’re presenting to the High Council in a week’s time.”

“A spell presentation, yes?” When Alain nodded, Declan dismissively waved his hand. “This is, what, your third spell? Fourth? It’ll be a walk in the park for a wizard like you!”

“I’m glad you have such confidence in me, but this will be my first time presenting before the Council in over two years. I need to be prepared.”

“I understand, but the thing is…” Declan sighed deeply as he twiddled his thumbs.

Alain braced himself for one of Declan’s favorite tactics: the play upon one’s guilty conscience.

“Seeing as I covered some of your classes this term, a third of my students were originally yours. And since you’re now stopping by campus again, I thought—”

“I’m sorry, Declan, but my answer is still ‘no.’ Our plates are too full.”

“How many students do you have?” Mavery asked.

“Two hundred and thirty-three,” Declan said.

Alain gawked at him. “Examining that many is going to take all week!”

“Three days, actually,” Declan said. “I’m front-loading it, starting with the first-years on Onisday.”

“And you couldn’t have given me more than two days’ notice?”

“I tried! It’s not my fault you can’t be bothered to check your mailbox.”

Alain knew, with the most difficult part of the spell complete, he could spare a few hours. But the University was the last place he desired to be, and he could scarcely think of anything less pleasurable than administering exams.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Mavery looking at him, then Declan, then the tea table. She leaned over and picked up a pack of playing cards that, until this moment, Alain had forgotten about. They’d become well-worn during his sabbatical, after countless games of Patience.

“Declan, you don’t happen to play Tribute?” she asked.

He chortled. “Do I play Tribute? Does a Dyadist worship the moons?”

She grinned. “Then how about I challenge you to a game? You win, and we help you with exams. I win, and we’re completely off the hook.”

Declan’s mustache twitched, indicating a smile lurking beneath that mess of wiry red hair. He looked to Alain. “What do you say, lad?”

Alain sighed. “Fine.”

The three of them relocated to the kitchen. Mavery cleared the table of alchemical supplies while Declan shuffled the deck. The two of them took the chairs at opposite ends of the table, leaving Alain to sit in the middle with nothing to do but watch as Mavery wagered three days of their lives.

“Durnatel rules fine by you?” Declan asked.

Mavery nodded. “Are there any others worth playing?”

“Oh-ho! I like this one,” he chuckled as he began dealing cards.

From what little Alain could recall of the rules, each player began with a hand of five cards.

They then took turns “paying tribute” to the other player by offering the highest card in their hand.

In theory, the game was simple. In practice, the real skill was in tricking your opponent into believing the card on offer actually was your most valuable.

After all, the winner was whoever ended the game with the best hand.

These were only the basic rules; there were dozens of variations, including some that required actual money to be wagered alongside the cards.

Although Alain could manage Patience well enough, anything more advanced was lost on him—especially when deception was involved.

For the first few rounds, Mavery and Declan exchanged cards rapidly but silently, occasionally drawing from the deck, while Alain struggled to keep pace. He soon gave up on following the game and turned to a pastime that made infinitely more sense: preparing a pot of tea.

When he returned to the table with three cups—extra cream and sugar in Declan’s—the deck had dwindled considerably, and the game’s pace had slowed.

“The best I can do is a nine,” Mavery said, laying down a nine of clubs.

Declan grunted. “Oh, I know you can do better than that.”

Mavery shrugged. “Take it, or draw.”

Declan peered at her over his own cards.

Mavery’s expression remained flat, betraying nothing.

With a groan, Declan took the nine of clubs and added it to his hand.

In turn, he offered her a Lord of diamonds.

Alain couldn’t remember how much the cards with people on them—Wizards, Lords, and Priests—were worth.

But he assumed Lords were valuable, as Mavery added it to her deck without comment.

“Why do you need Alain’s help, anyway?” she asked, laying down a seven of spades. “Why not use your assistants?”

“Trying to distract me, are you?” Declan asked. Instead of taking Mavery’s card, he drew from the deck. Mavery discarded the seven of spades. Alain assumed because Declan hadn’t accepted it, the card was no longer in play.

“No, just making conversation.”

Declan frowned. “I can’t use my assistants because I don’t have any.”

“Why not?”

“Leona,” Declan said, offering a Wizard of hearts.

“Who’s Leona?” Mavery opted for the final card remaining in the deck. While Declan moved the Wizard to the discard pile, she laid her cards face-down and sipped from her teacup.

“Go on, lad, tell her,” Declan said. He also put his cards aside in favor of tea.

Alain sighed, then turned to Mavery. “Leona was his last assistant and, briefly, his wife.”

Mavery choked on a mouthful of tea. “You were married to your assistant?”

Declan nodded. “For about a month. We eloped in Maroba, thought we could keep it quiet from the High Council. As you can guess, something like that doesn’t keep quiet for long.

The High Council let me keep both my job and my rank, on the condition that I divorced Leona and never hired another assistant. ”

“When did that happen?”

“About twelve years ago.” He shrugged. “It’s not so bad. The ‘no assistant’ part, I mean. I’ve always favored teaching over research, though it would be nice to always have someone to help with exams and such.”

Alain and Mavery exchanged a knowing look. While Declan gulped down his tea, Mavery drew a Lord of clubs from her hand and placed it in the center of the table.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Declan cried. Tea sloshed over the rim of his cup as he set it aside. “Didn’t you just say you had nothing higher than a nine?”

“Er, yes, but then you offered me a Lord.”

“I know for a fact it was a Lord of diamonds.”

“No, it was definitely clubs.” She glanced at Alain, who raised his brows. Surely she didn’t expect him, of all people, to corroborate her bluff?

“Leave him out of this!” Declan said, then narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been keeping a Lord from me all this time. We show our hands now, or you lose by default. Your choice.”

Mavery sighed, then laid her cards face-up. Declan did the same and, after quickly tallying the cards beneath his breath, clapped his hands and laughed victoriously.

“Gods damn it,” Mavery groaned, crossing her arms.

Alain peered at her cards. “You have two Lords, whereas he has only one. Shouldn’t that make you the winner?”

Mavery shook her head. “One is black and one is red. That means they cancel each other out, so they’re worthless.”

“Durnatel rules,” Declan said as he gathered up the cards. “And trying to offload one half of an unmatched pair is the oldest trick in the book.”

“Sorry, Alain. I guess my Tribute skills have gotten a little rusty.”

“If that was ‘rusty,’ I’d hate to play you after a few more rounds,” Declan said.

“Color me impressed. So impressed, in fact, I’ll offer a compromise.

Instead of all three days, what if you assist me only on Onisday?

You can’t argue that first-year exams, while maybe not the most painless, are definitely the most straightforward. ”

Alain looked to Mavery. “But your appointment—”

“Is at midday,” she said. She reached beneath the table and gently touched his knee. Alain fought to maintain a neutral expression, though it was a miracle Declan didn’t notice his heart pounding against his ribcage. “You help Declan. I’ll be fine going alone.”

Alain cleared his throat. “If you’re certain…”

“Er, beg your pardon, but what appointment?” Declan asked.

“At Mother’s. Mavery needs a dress for our presentation.”

Declan chuckled, shaking his head. “Lad, if anyone can handle your mother, it’s this woman right here.”

Of course, Mother was the least of Alain’s concerns.

He’d agreed to accompany Mavery to the boutique and keep watch outside, just in case that scoundrel, Neldren, was still sniffing around the city.

But Aumbremancers preferred nocturnal schedules, and men weren’t allowed at the boutique during business hours.

Alain hoped both of those factors would be enough to deter him.

“Well, this has been fun, but I must be off.” Declan’s chair scraped across the flagstone tiles. “Mind if I use the facilities? I’m about to piss like a racehorse.”

“Yes, go ahead,” Alain said. As Declan tottered out of the kitchen, he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “And thank you for that lovely choice of words.”

Mavery laughed. “I don’t know why you complain about him so much. Yes, he’s a handful, but—”

“Him being a handful is precisely why I complain.”

“Still, he seems like a good fellow. Why did you never tell him about Conor? I figure he would understand more than anyone.”

“Because Declan couldn’t keep his own marriage a secret. I doubt he’d be tight-lipped about—”

“Shit!” Mavery cried, making Alain jump a solid inch off his chair.

“What is it?”

“The bathroom!” she whispered. “When I took a bath this morning, I forgot to gather up my clothes—including my drawers.”

Alain gasped. Not only from the horrific mental image of Declan stumbling upon Mavery’s undergarments, but from the decidedly not horrific mental image of Mavery disrobing, then soaking in the bath.

She must have done that while he’d been across town, arranging the appointment with his mother.

Of course, it was within Mavery’s right to make herself at home.

And, of course, it was only natural for Alain’s thoughts to meander in that direction while his lips still tingled from the memory of their kiss.

But this was no time for wanton thoughts. Alain cleared his throat—and his head.

“Let me handle this,” he said.

He walked to the sitting room, and as he waited outside the bathroom, he formulated a cover story: Mavery had left her clothes in the bathroom after spilling a potion on herself. But wouldn’t that imply she’d happened to have a change of undergarments with her?

Perhaps being truthful would be best. Mavery was only staying here temporarily, and their relationship was strictly professional. Then again, that was hardly a truthful statement, considering recent events—

His heart skipped a beat as the toilet flushed, then the tap ran for considerably less time than the healers recommended. The door creaked open, and Declan startled at the sight of Alain standing in front of it.

“Whatever you saw in there, I can explain,” Alain said quickly.

Declan’s eyes widened. “Er, yes, you definitely have some explaining to do.” Every muscle in Alain’s body clenched. Declan grinned. “Didn’t anyone tell you broken mirrors are a bad omen? You ought to get a mender to come take a look at that.”

Alain furrowed his brow, then remembered how the bathroom mirror was still cracked from Mavery’s accidental magic surge. It had happened almost a fortnight ago, and Alain hardly noticed the cracked glass anymore. He sighed with relief as Declan clapped him on the shoulder.

“See you on Onisday, lad. Until then, behave yourself. Don’t do anything I would do.”

He nodded toward the kitchen, where Mavery stood at the threshold, then threw Alain an exaggerated wink. Alain’s stomach plummeted as Declan left the apartment, whistling an upbeat tune.