Page 67 of A Tower of Half-Truths

Thirty-Nine

Halfway across the presentation chamber, Alain froze.

The spell tome lay atop the podium.

The previous three times Alain had presented a spell, the High Council had taken the tome, created copies for peer review, and stored the original in its archives. They’d never returned the original to him. Perhaps they’d changed their process at some point in the past two years.

Or, perhaps Alain had failed.

He approached the podium cautiously, like an animal trying to avoid ensnaring itself in a trap, as a tempest of dread churned within his stomach.

Seringoth’s voice resounded through the room.

“Aventus the Third, after much deliberation, the High Council has decided that your spell lacks the scientific rigor necessary to proceed to the peer review phase. Your spell requires significant revisions, based on these recommendations.

“Firstly, you must remove any and all references to Enodus the Second’s ‘Sensing Spell,’ as this tome is no longer in circulation. That includes the entirety of the translation of his treatise. Second—”

“Ex-excuse me, Archmage,” Alain said, avoiding Seringoth’s eyes. He knew speaking out of turn could worsen this already volatile situation, but surely he’d misunderstood. “How is that possible? I viewed it myself at the University of North Fenutia less than a month ago.”

“Arcanist Dolokir recently deemed it unfit for scholarly research, on the grounds of it being an unfinished spell. Now—”

“How recently?” Mavery interrupted. Alain could hardly blame her for breaking decorum—not after they’d just disparaged her primary contribution to the tome. Muttering rippled across the High Council’s bench, but she stood firm. “When, exactly, was it removed?”

Seringoth shuffled some of his notes. “The twenty-third of Pluviose.”

Two days after her trip to the library. One day after she’d spoken of her encounter with Head Arcanist Tristan. Alain had dismissed her concerns, insisted they would revisit that topic after the presentation. If only he’d known at the time they would be nearly a fortnight too late.

“Aventus, Ms. Culwich, the sooner you let me proceed without interruption, the sooner we can all be on our way.” Seringoth shuffled his papers again.

“Secondly, while you dedicated a lengthy portion of the discussion section to the spell’s theoretical implications, you failed to identify a single practical use.

As it stands, this spell is little more than a parlor trick. ”

Mavery clenched her fists, and Alain could nearly feel the heat emanating from her skin. But he couldn’t find it within himself to share her rage. Rather, he stood still as a statue, hands clasped behind his back, as he let the Archmage’s deluge of criticism wash over him.

“To rectify these shortcomings, you must conduct a rigorous field experiment. Test the spell on any Gardemancy spells of your choosing, so long as they were not cast by yourself or your assistant, then present your findings to the High Council in one week’s time.

Inside the tome is a portal pass for your follow-up presentation.

Fail to appear, and your rank will be rescinded immediately. ”

Alain dared to look up. He wished Seringoth’s gaze contained simmering fury, or even utter contempt. Either would be preferable to what he found instead.

Regret.

“To speak frankly, Aventus, the High Council is most disappointed in your performance today. A wizard of your fortitude ought to be capable of more sophisticated spellcraft—especially following a year-long sabbatical. Consider the follow-up presentation as a one-time courtesy.”

The Archmage fell silent as he returned his attention to his stack of papers.

Though he’d spoken on behalf of the High Council, Alain knew the truth behind Seringoth’s words: the disappointment was personal.

For a moment, Alain remained frozen on the spot, unable to say or do anything.

He felt like a boy of twenty-three again, the first time he’d failed to meet his mentor’s expectations.

Seringoth looked up. He raised his brows, as if surprised to see Alain still standing there. “Unless you have any further questions, you are dismissed.”

Alain swiftly tucked the tome under his arm, slung his satchel over one shoulder, and turned for the double doors. Behind him, fabric swished and heels clacked across stone as Mavery hurried to catch up.

He remained silent as he retraced his steps through the waiting area and down the corridor, pausing only once he’d returned to the portal room. He handed Mavery the vial of anti-Sensing potion, then turned toward the University of Leyport’s portal. She grasped his shoulder.

“Alain, wait.”

He stopped and turned to her, though all he wanted was to keep moving and get away from this place.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I think you did an amazing job.”

He shrugged, then said flatly, “If only that was worth anything to the High Council. Come on, let’s go home.”

“But wasn’t the plan to visit Kazamin next?”

“I’m afraid the plan has changed.”

He readjusted his satchel, then stepped through the portal.

It was said that, in the seconds preceding death, one’s entire life would flash before one’s eyes. In Alain’s case, he thought of nothing from his past. His thoughts focused solely on the present.

And the present was pain.

His body erupted in acute, white-hot agony. It originated in his chest and spread in waves to his extremities. Bones, blood, muscle, skin… Every inch of him, inside and out, was on fire.

The pain vanished as everything turned to darkness.

Then, after what could have been either a second or eternity, light returned.

He lay on a metal table in an unfamiliar room.

He sat up. The air was cool and somewhat damp against his skin.

A dull ache pulsated from deep within his chest. He looked down and found himself undressed from the waist up.

An incision—raw, violent pink—bisected his torso, from an inch above his navel to the center of his breastbone.

“Idiot boy.”

He flinched at the familiar voice, then looked to his right, where Seringoth sat in a chair.

Behind him, a surgeon rinsed his bloodstained hands in a sink.

But there were no healers present, nor were there any surgical instruments lying about.

The walls were lined with jars containing organs—hearts, lungs, livers, kidneys—suspended in viscous liquids.

The room was still enough for Alain to detect a faint undulation of arcana in the air.

This was not a surgeon’s operating room, but a Resurrectionist’s chamber.

“I told you to leave that section of the incantation alone,” Seringoth said. “Yet, you, an assistant scarcely three months graduated from university, thought you knew better than an Elder Wizard.”

Alain opened his mouth, readying an apology, but no sound escaped his lips. His lungs had shriveled, his vocal cords had turned to dust.

Seringoth leaned closer. His face contained no relief in seeing his assistant returned from the dead. His eyes were as cold as a midwinter sky.

“By every right, you should have died today as a result of your imprudence,” he said in a low voice.

“Instead, I chose to give you a second chance, as I know there is great potential within you. But understand that, by bringing you here, I have violated the Covenants. This is a matter I do not take lightly, and one that I will never repeat. I have paid the Resurrectionist handsomely for his silence, and you will speak of this to no one. Do you understand?”

Alain nodded, and Seringoth rose from his chair.

“Good. Do not make me regret this decision.”

“Alain?”

He turned his gaze from the window—it was a cloudless, sunny day, as though the weather itself were making a mockery of his failure—and toward Mavery. Though the carriage he’d hired had a spacious bench, she sat close to him, resting her hand against his cheek.

“Alain, where we you just now?”

The first time I died.

“What was that?” she asked.

He blinked, not realizing he’d spoken aloud. He cleared his throat. “Er, nothing. I was only…lost in thought.”

“Obviously. Do you want to share any of those thoughts, or are you going to continue keeping me in the dark about why you abandoned the plan?”

He sighed. “Now is not a good time to hand in my resignation. Think of how it would look, further abandoning my duties immediately after delivering the High Council a mediocre spell—”

“Mediocre?” Mavery scoffed. “You took a spell no one had touched in two hundred years and completed it in two weeks. You’re a brilliant scholar, despite everything those assholes said back there.”

He gaped at her. “They’re the greatest wizards of our time!”

“And who decided that? The Elder Wizards themselves?” Mavery frowned. “Don’t tell me you believe that bullshit excuse for removing the spell tome.”

“I don’t,” Alain said without hesitation, much to his own surprise.

It was the truth, though he could only admit it to Mavery.

He’d never be so brazen as to speak those words before the High Council.

“There are scores of incomplete spell tomes in the University of Leyport’s archives.

I know every arcanist weeds their collection based on their own criteria, but—”

“The arcanists’ criteria, or the High Council’s? I’ll bet you anything this has something to do with that magic Enodus mentioned.”

She ground her knuckles into her forehead, and Alain knew this discomfort had nothing to do with her Senses.

Not directly, at any rate. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

At least the two people sitting in this carriage knew that Enodus’s spell tome had once existed.

They still had Alain’s transcription and Mavery’s translation.

But what good were those now? Even if they discovered what “ktonic magic” was, what could they possibly do with that knowledge?

Throughout history, there’d been scholars who’d gone rogue and attempted to publish their research without the High Council’s blessing.

Their names had been remembered—but only to serve as a warning that there were far worse punishments than losing one’s wizard rank.

“All this time, I was hoping I could spare you one of the pitfalls of being a scholar,” Alain said softly.

Mavery replied with a frustrated groan.

“And now,” he said, “just when I thought our work was complete, we have this field experiment to address. In the past, a theoretical analysis had been sufficient. Granted, I last presented a spell over two years ago. No wonder Kazamin encouraged all that peer review.”

“Which you never finished.”

“Between the potion and the spell, I didn’t have the time.” He shook his head. “That’s too often how it goes.”

Mavery loosened herself from his embrace. As she drummed her fingers against her chin, Alain could almost see the gears within her brilliant mind turning, formulating a new plan.

“At least the field experiment should be simple enough,” she said. “We could stop by the provincial courthouse, test the spell there. I know for a fact that place is overflowing with wards.” Alain arched his eyebrows, and she shrugged. “It’s a popular place for thieves.”

“I assumed competent thieves would know how to avoid ending up in court.”

She smirked. “No, competent thieves know how to avoid ending up in prison. I can assure you, this former thief never spent much time there.”

He laughed, but it flattened as he recalled Seringoth’s words from nearly an hour ago—and over a decade ago.

There is great potential within you…

A wizard of your fortitude ought to be capable of more…

Do not make me regret this decision.

Mavery’s idea would be fine if Alain could get away with the bare minimum. But this afternoon’s events proved that he needed to do more than that.

He needed to do something extraordinary.