Page 76 of A Tower of Half-Truths

Forty-Five

Alain ran through a dense forest, stumbling over roots hidden in the underbrush. He pushed aside a branch, revealing a grove with what appeared to be a stone mausoleum at its center. All around were ominous gray clouds, as if he were in the eye of a thunderhead.

He strode forward. But he made it not even three paces when his foot caught on something solid. His stomach lurched, and the wind was knocked from his lungs as he collided with the ground. He picked himself up, brushed the dirt from his trousers, then turned to see what had made him fall.

A body, long dead, lay facedown in the grass. He knew he ought to leave it alone. The mess of auburn hair was enough to tell him the corpse’s identity, but his muscles were already moving of their own accord. He crouched down, rolled the corpse over.

The skin was tinged with gray, the mismatched eyes lifeless. But the perfect, full mouth contorted as Conor’s corpse spoke to him, just as it had countless times before, in dreams like this one.

“You didn’t even have the gall to come to my funeral. Shameful.”

Alain released the corpse and bolted upward.

Conor propped himself up on his elbows, shook his head. “I always knew you were spineless.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

Conor rose to his feet. Alain peered up at the statuesque figure, forced himself to once again confront the achingly beautiful face that had haunted his dreams over the past year. Because Conor was beautiful, even in death. Even with cruelty behind his eyes and hollowness in his expression.

“But I knew so much about you,” Conor said. “I knew about your mother’s wealth, and how you were so eager to share it. After all, you were one of the few at the University who actually paid their assistants.”

“Not this again,” Alain groaned as his hands formed fists.

“I knew all the gossip, too. How you’d always been so dedicated to your work, it had cost you colleagues, friends, even a betrothal.”

“Stop it!”

“You would be the last person on Perrun to admit it, but beneath that stoic facade, you were desperate for a friendly word, a lover’s—”

“SHUT UP!”

Alain lunged forward, reached up, seized Conor by the throat. His skin was as cold and unrelenting as stone.

“I never wanted you to die,” he said through clenched teeth. “Your death was an accident. It was not my fault.”

“Is that what Mavery told—”

“Keep her name out of your mouth!” Alain’s knuckles paled as he tightened his grip, yet he left no indentation on Conor’s throat. “You have no right to speak her name.”

“That may be, but you know deep down she’ll never know you as I did. She’ll never love you as I did.”

“ ‘Love’?” Alain spat. “You never loved me. You only saw me as someone you could exploit.”

Conor opened his mouth. But this time, when Alain clenched his fist, the apparition choked on its words.

“You’ve said enough, and I’m no longer listening.”

A hairline fracture formed beneath Alain’s hand.

It snaked up Conor’s throat, erupted into a web of fissures across his face.

Conor’s entire body crumbled, leaving Alain with only a fistful of dust. He unfurled his fingers and let the breeze carry away the remains.

With Conor gone at long last, he turned toward the temple again.

But there was no temple, no forest. Only a dark, endless void.

“Oh, darling, you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Though he couldn’t see Conor, his voice was everywhere—ringing inside his head and surrounding him on all sides.

Alain began to run, but something cold and unyielding grabbed him around the middle.

He couldn’t move. His feet sank into the loam.

The taste of decay filled his mouth as he was pulled down, down, down…

He awoke drenched in sweat, his heart hammering in his throat.

He eyelids fluttered as he regained his bearings.

The double bed he lay upon comprised the majority of the unfamiliar room.

A light breeze drifted through the open window, fluttering the patchwork curtain and filling the room with the scent of fresh pine.

Somewhere nearby, a clock ticked softly.

He’d been dreaming. Yet, there was still decay on his tongue, a weight against his body.

Mavery was asleep beside him, atop the quilt and fully clothed.

Her arm was wrapped around his, and she clutched a damp rag in her hand.

Beside her was a stack of papers bound together with thread—her Compendium of Knowledge, she’d called it.

It was open on a page taken from a Soudremancy textbook: an overview of arcana deficiency-induced comas.

As Alain reached for it, she stirred. Bleary-eyed, she raised the rag to her mouth to cover a yawn, then gasped.

“You’re awake!” She threw the rag aside, then threw both of her arms over his torso. “Gods, you had me so worried.”

He put the Compendium aside and returned her embrace, though his arms felt as though they were made of lead. His entire body felt that way, in fact—save for his mouth, which was drier than a desert’s worth of sand.

“How long was I unconscious?” he rasped.

She peered at a clock on the bedside table. “About thirty-two hours.”

He couldn’t remember the last time a single spell had left him incapacitated for that long. Luckily, only a little more than a day had passed. They could still investigate the temple, albeit on a tighter schedule than he would have liked.

He raised his left hand to summon a protective ward. A faint wrinkle in the air indicated that he was successful, but even this most elementary of spells left an acute ache deep within his marrow, much like walking on a broken bone that hadn’t fully healed.

Mavery grabbed his hand and forced it downward, dismissing his ward. Of course, she’d very clearly seen what he’d done.

“No magic,” she said. “At least, not until you’ve made a full recovery. Don’t over-exert yourself.”

He sank into his pillow with a sigh. He considered telling her that she didn’t have to play healer.

Despite what her Soudremancy texts may claim, he’d been through this enough times to know that being able to perform any magic meant he was nearly fully recovered.

But, if he was being honest, he didn’t mind being fussed over—and especially not if she was the one doing the fussing.

“All right,” he said. “No magic.”

“Can I get you anything?”

He attempted to wet his lips, but his tongue was too parched to accomplish even that.

Without his needing to ask, Mavery rolled off the bed and poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table.

Alain shifted to a seated position, then gulped it down as if it were the most wonderful thing he’d ever tasted.

He handed Mavery his empty glass, which she promptly refilled.

“What happened after I passed out? Is everyone else all right?”

She nodded. “More or less. Ellice had to drive the carriage for a bit. Evrard was so shaken up over the ordeal, he cried for nearly an hour, poor thing. Last I saw him, he was in the taproom downstairs, a few pints deep and reconsidering his entire stagecoach idea.

“After I made sure you weren’t injured, I healed Neldren’s arrow wound, though I couldn’t do anything about the kutauss claw poison. We got him to a healer as soon as we arrived here last night.”

“And ‘here’ is…?”

“Archstone, a village a few miles west of the temple. Evrard’s brother, Benard, runs this inn. He was so grateful that we helped Evrard, he gave all of us rooms free of charge.”

Alain winced. “That’s too gen—”

“I know. I offered him money, but he refused.” Mavery sat on the edge of the bed and smiled warmly as she brushed a sweat-soaked clump of hair from his forehead. He blinked slowly at her touch. “You were incredible yesterday. I still can’t wrap my head around how you pulled off that spell.”

He chuckled. “Neither can I, truth be told, and it will likely take weeks before I can repeat it—assuming I even remember how. I improvised most of those modifications. I knew if I could extend the spell to another person, it stood to reason that I could extend it to multiple people. The odds of pulling it off in a moving vehicle seemed nigh on impossible, but…” His face grew warm, and he tried to hide it by taking another long drink of water.

“But what?” Mavery asked.

He looked up with a sheepish smile. “You were with me.”

“But you didn’t draw from any of my arcana.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t need it. Your presence is all the assurance I need that there’s no such thing as impossible odds.”

She smiled broadly as she cupped his face, then pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. But it was exceptionally brief. She pulled away with a grimace.

“No offense, love, but your breath is…”

“Like death?”

“You said it, not me.”

He laughed. “Yes, lying comatose will do that to a person.”

After a hot bath, a beard trim, and a mouthful of tooth powder, Alain was ready to rejoin the living. But his legs were still weak. He slowly descended the stairs, leaning on both Mavery and his staff for support. The latter, she assured him, had been cleaned thoroughly.

This establishment’s taproom was boundlessly more inviting than the Salty Surling, or even the Lettered Gentleman.

The scent of fresh-cut wood filled the air; the pub tables and spindly stools, untouched by age or heavy use, seemed to be the source.

The floors were polished and unmarred. Evrard tended a bar stocked with gleaming bottles.

He spotted Alain and gave an enthusiastic wave.

Through the windows, a red-orange sunset streaked the sky. Dinner service was well underway, and the local villagers filled the room with laughter and lively conversation. Along the far wall, a familiar face looked in Alain and Mavery’s direction. Neldren rose from the table as they approached.

“At last, our hero returns!” he cried, arms outstretched.

Alain bristled as he expected Neldren to follow that up with a sarcastic remark about wizards needing their beauty rest, or something along those lines.

Rather, Neldren strode forward, clasped a hand on Alain’s shoulder, and pulled him into a hug.

Alain was so shocked, he clung to his staff to avoid tumbling to the floor.

Neldren gave him a few firm pats on the back before releasing them, then held out a hand.

“A thousand thanks for yesterday,” he said. “Turns out, I was wrong. At least one wizard is capable of saving a hide that isn’t his own.”

Alain eyed his hand cautiously, expecting this newfound cordiality to be a ruse. Mavery stepped between them.

“Believe it or not, he’s been singing your praises ever since I took that arrow out of his arm.”

“Only because you were too busy to do it yourself,” Neldren said. Alain flinched as Neldren’s elbow nudged his ribs. “Did she mention how she barely left your side since we arrived in town? We had to force her downstairs this morning to eat something.”

At that, Alain’s stomach grumbled. His only sustenance since leaving the last village had been the spoonfuls of broth Mavery had managed to slip down his throat. For the first time in ages, he had an appetite—and it was ravenous.

“Give him some room,” Mavery said, taking Alain’s arm and guiding him to an empty table. “And a plate, while you’re at it.”

Tonight’s offering was chicken paired with lumpy gravy, undercooked dumplings, and carrots that had been boiled within an inch of their lives.

The innkeeper, Benard, provided a complimentary bottle of wine that could have been mistaken for cooking sherry.

But, for once, Alain couldn’t care less about quality.

He devoured an entire plate of food, then asked for another, all the while being a terrible conversation partner.

But Mavery seemed amused as she ate her own beige dinner.

He was halfway through his second plate when Neldren and Ellice approached their table.

“So, are we still heading to the temple?” Neldren asked.

Mavery frowned at him. “Can we talk about this later? He’s been awake all of two hours.”

“It’s fine,” Alain said, placing his hand over hers. “We ought to plan our next steps, seeing as my recovery put us behind schedule.”

“No, mate, my ‘shortcut’ put us behind schedule,” Neldren said. “If we’d continued down the Royal Turnpike, we would’ve made it to Archstone only a few hours ago.”

“I can’t believe you, of all people, failed to account for highwaymen,” Ellice said, rolling her eyes.

“Last time I passed through this province, those woods were Corryn territory. How was I supposed to know there’d been a change in—”

“Enough!” Mavery groaned. “Regardless, the fact of the matter is, the temple is a three-mile hike from here, and Alain is in no shape for that.”

“Not at this precise moment, but I’ll be much better come morning.”

She turned to him with a frown. “You want to go tomorrow?”

“What choice do I have? Best-case scenario: we complete the field experiment tomorrow, then we have another two-day journey back to Leyport. Not accounting for further delays, we’ll be arriving home the night before the presentation, with scarcely a moment to spare.”

She sighed. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll leave in the morning. The earlier, the better.”

“Excellent,” Neldren said. “Let’s meet here at first light.”

“First light?” Ellice grumbled. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

“Best make it an early night. Be mindful to avoid too much drink and strenuous activities.”

He threw Mavery an exaggerated wink. In reply, she narrowed her eyes and flicked her nose at him, which prompted one of his barking laughs. He slung his arm around Ellice’s shoulders, and the two of them proceeded upstairs.

Alain blinked. “Wait. Are they…?”

“Who knows,” Mavery said, raising her glass. “But he would be the type to replace me with a younger model. Bastard…”

Their hands remained joined as they drank their terrible wine. There was no need for conversation when her thumb brushing his knuckles spoke volumes. The only downside of their silence was that there was nothing to distract him from his thoughts, which included scattered echoes from his dream.

She’ll never know you as I did.

Alain took another sip of wine as he tried to silence that one. Though, he had to admit, there was some truth to it. As much as he and Mavery had shared with each other over these past months, he was acutely aware of the things they hadn’t yet shared.

He watched her over the rim of his glass. He didn’t believe in luck or fate, but for this clever, caring, all-around brilliant woman to enter his life, and for her to love him as he loved her… Well, that was almost enough to make him a believer.

“What is it?” she asked.

A heady warmth flowed through him, and it had nothing to do with the wine. He lowered his glass with a smile.

“You know, my arcana isn’t the only thing that’s been restored.”