Page 64 of A Tower of Half-Truths

His gaze dropped to her lips, sending a trickle of heat up her neck. No, they definitely couldn’t risk doing anything risqué here, of all places. She cleared her throat.

“Besides,” she said, “I’m fine so long as I have a landmark to ground myself. Where’s the Dauphinian Academy of Magic? Can we see it from here?”

“I’m not sure,” Alain said, glancing over his shoulder. “It might be on the opposite side of the city, come to think. I attended a conference there once, but I took the portal.”

“So, you’ve never actually visited Montesse?”

“As in seeing the sights, traveling for pleasure? No, I’ve never had the time.”

“Then maybe we should make that a priority.”

He laughed. “Dauphine may not be the ideal spot for a holiday, considering the rebellions.”

“Somewhere else, then,” Mavery said. “Maroba, Nilandor, the Isles, anywhere. Say the word, and we’ll go.”

A wistful look crossed his face. But it passed within seconds, and he stepped away from the window. “As lovely as that sounds, first things first: let’s get this presentation over with.”

Arm-in-arm again, they continued down the corridor until they reached a chamber.

Before them, a larger-than-life painting of Archmage Seringoth hung over the fireplace.

He looked much like the Archmages before him, with aged skin and a long white beard that matched his hair.

His blue-gray eyes had an intensity that, even in paint, compelled Mavery to avoid his gaze.

On the left side of the room was a set of double doors that shimmered with a soundproofing ward. Running the length of the wall was a wooden bench, and upon it sat a familiar pair of women.

Alain froze.

“Hello, Aventus.”

Nezima gave him a benign smile. Sitting beside her was Corenta, the dean of the Faisancy Department, whom Mavery had met at the Lettered Gentleman over a week ago.

“Nezima,” Alain said with a stiff nod that matched his tone. “I didn’t know you also had a meeting with the High Council today.”

“Yes, Corenta and I are presenting a research proposal.”

“Together?” Alain asked, his arm tensing beneath Mavery’s hand.

“Consider this the first of what we hope will be many collaborations,” Corenta said. Her blue eyes peered at him over her spectacles.

Nezima looked to Mavery. “We missed seeing you on Middisday.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” she said. Alain gave her a sidelong glance, but she kept her eyes focused on Nezima. “We were working on our presentation.”

Among other things that had kept our hands and mouths occupied…

“Of course. Any scholar knows how demanding these presentations can be.” Nezima smiled as her gaze shifted downward. A chill prickled the back of Mavery’s neck upon realizing that her and Alain’s arms were still linked. “Mind if I take a look?”

Nezima was referring to the spell tome, she realized with relief. Alain nodded, and Mavery handed Nezima the tome. In exchange, she handed Alain a scroll of parchment. As his eyes scanned the page, a small contemptuous noise sounded from the back of his throat. Mavery peered over his shoulder.

Where Ethereal Meets Practical:

A New Pedagogy for the Modern Age

―

As mundane technological advancements such as the locomotive engine continue to see exponential growth, it is critical for arcane scholarship to avoid rendering itself obsolete. The traditional pedagogical standard relies on a theoretical approach to magic. However, this—

Before she could read any further, the double doors burst open.

Out came a dark-skinned man in rust-colored robes, trailed by his young assistant.

The wizard ranted in a language Mavery didn’t understand—Zakarzan, she assumed—and chucked his spell tome into the fireplace as he stormed out of the chamber.

The assistant uttered an incantation, plucked the singed tome from the fire, and ran after the wizard.

The bald man who now stood in the doorway looked old enough to be a wizard himself, though his black robes indicated he was an assistant. He turned to Nezima and Corenta, then spoke to them in Dauphinian. From what Mavery could gather, the High Council was ready to see them.

Alain rolled up the parchment. His expression was flat, and he said nothing to Nezima as he handed it back to her.

“Good luck,” Mavery said, hoping that would allay some of the awkwardness.

Nezima nodded. “Thank you, though I believe we will have little need for it.”

The High Council’s assistant guided the two women into the presentation chamber, then closed the door behind them.

“What did she mean by ‘we missed seeing you’?” Alain asked.

“Oh, that. She has a club that meets at the Lettered Gentleman.”

“I know of it. Don’t tell me you were drinking with them last week. I know for a fact you failed to mention that little detail.”

She scoffed. “Who I was with didn’t seem relevant. But yes, I was with them—Wren invited me—though I can’t say I enjoyed myself. Not with Nezima prying about our relationship, thanks to your mother’s slippery tongue.”

“I never mentioned your name.”

“But anyone with a lick of common sense could put two and two together. Your mother knows we’re more than colleagues, and Nezima is definitely suspicious.”

Showing up together just now, arms linked as though Alain were escorting her to a ball, likely had done little to quell those suspicions.

But she didn’t mention this to Alain, who was looking a bit green in the face.

He rushed over to the bench and sat with his hands clenched into fists, knees bouncing.

Mavery sighed, then sat next to him. She placed her hand on his knee, knowing that she was taking yet another risk, and that he would likely mention something about decorum. Yet, he took her hand with a tight, almost painful grip.

“After today, you won’t have to worry about Nezima or anyone else from the University ever again.”

“I’m not worried about them,” Alain said in a quiet voice. “I’m—”

The door opened again—slowly this time. In one swift movement, Mavery and Alain released each other’s hands, then shifted in their seats to put a few more inches of space between them. Mavery folded her hands in her lap, atop the spell tome.

Nezima and Corenta’s presentation had lasted not even five minutes, but judging by their satisfied expressions, theirs had gone much more favorably than the Zakarzan wizard’s.

“Best of luck to you,” Nezima said. As she honed her gaze on Alain, her lips formed a sly smile. “When we reconvene this autumn, I suspect our department meetings will include some industrious discourse.”

Without another word, she and Corenta left the room together, then disappeared down the corridor.

“Well, that wasn’t the least bit cryptic,” Mavery muttered.

Before Alain could respond, the Council’s assistant addressed them in heavily accented Osperlandish.

“Aventus the Third and Madam Culwich, the High Council will see you now. Please follow me.”

The High Council of Wizards’ bench was so high off the ground, Mavery had to crane her neck to spot the wizards looming silently from above.

Archmage Seringoth was seated at the center, flanked by the eight Elder Wizards who each represented one of the Schools of Magic.

All but Seringoth wore hooded robes that completely obscured their faces.

Mavery was reminded of judges presiding over a courtroom.

But this windowless round chamber had no seats for a jury, nor an audience.

There was only a marble podium in the center of the room.

Apart from a few Ethereal orbs hanging overhead, the room was shrouded in darkness.

To Mavery’s eyes, the only hint of color was a flicker of violet over the soundproofed walls.

Footsteps echoed as she and Alain crossed the stone floor. Once they reached the podium, Mavery handed him the spell tome, then took his satchel and retreated a few steps. He wouldn’t need her for the first part of his presentation.

Alain avoided gazing upward, as if making eye contact with any of the Elder Wizards would shatter his already fragile resolve.

“Welcome back, Aventus the Third,” Seringoth said.

Despite his advanced age, there wasn’t a trace of feebleness in his voice; it resonated through the chamber like the pealing of a church bell.

“Per your written request, this presentation will be conducted in Osperlandish to accommodate your assistant. However, the High Council requests that your assistant attain basic fluency in Dauphinian prior to your next presentation.”

The Archmage looked to Mavery, and she suppressed a shudder. She now understood why Alain refused to look upward. To be under that man’s employ—and his piercing stare—for nearly three years… The thought alone turned her stomach.

“Today, you will present an original spell in the School of Gardemancy,” Seringoth said. “You may begin when ready.”

Alain nodded, then cleared his throat as he opened the spell tome. Mavery hoped the High Council was too high up to notice his trembling hands. But when Alain spoke, his voice carried through the room clearly, unwaveringly.

“Arcane hypersensitivity—or Sensing, as it is referred to in the common parlance—is a hereditary condition that allows mages to detect magic in ways that are impossible for even the most highly trained wizards.

“This condition is exceptionally rare: in the past century, there have been only fourteen known Sensers across Tanarim. The formal study of Sensing is equally rare, as the general consensus among the wizarding community is that the centuries-old practice of attuning oneself to the Ether is sufficient. But, I argue, why continue limiting ourselves? Seeing magic as Sensers do would be a tremendous boon to our understanding of every School of Magic, beginning with Gardemancy.”

This garnered a few murmurs. Seringoth raised his hand, and the Elder Wizards fell silent. Alain continued, undeterred.