Page 7 of The Entanglement of Rival Wizards (Magic and Romance #1)

Dr. Davyeras steps up to the podium at the front of the room. He’s on the university board and heads up the selection committee—and he’s in the Conjuration Department, but I try not to read too much into that.

He adjusts the microphone. “Thank you all for coming,” he says, and the crowd’s conversation dies down.

Thompson lifts one eyebrow at me. “Don’t stress about it,” he whispers. “We did all we could.”

He’s not only the professor I’m a TA for, but the one who recommended me for this grant and helped me fine-tune my proposal.

I shift on the chair and wish I’d had time to grab something to drink. My throat is sandpaper while I feel like I might sweat right through my blue button-down and gray suit. I did what I could in the bathroom, but I still probably look like I got swept up in a windstorm on my way to campus.

“We are pleased to present another Mageus Research Grant,” Davyeras says. “Every year, we are amazed by the quality of the proposals we receive. This year was no exception. The caliber of students gracing Lesiara University continues to be set by those who study in the Mageus programs.”

My knee bounces. I grip my hands into fists, my tongue caught between my teeth.

It’s happening. It’s too soon and not going fast enough and I can still feel the troubling amount of caffeine wreaking havoc with my blood vessels.

“There were two proposals in particular the committee wanted to call attention to.”

Can’t breathe. Won’t ever again. Here lies Sebastian Walsh; he suffocated at a brunch.

“The first came from Elethior Tourael—”

Ugh.

“—a graduate student in the Conjuration Department who plans to use his degree to continue the vital work his family does for our country, and across the globe, in magical defense.”

Magical defense. Sure. It’s that harmless.

“Mr. Tourael’s proposed research project involves studying the limitations of the energy connection between a conjurer and their conjured item.”

I do not look at Elethior. Briefly, I feel his eyes on me, but I stay focused on the announcer.

Thompson nudges my shoe to get me to stop bouncing my leg.

“Our second applicant of note,” Davyeras says. He shuffles some papers on his podium. “Is Sebastian Walsh, a graduate student in the Evocation Department—”

I can taste blood. I pry my teeth out of my tongue.

“—who plans to use his degree to contribute to spell work in the nonprofit sector. Mr. Walsh’s proposed research project involves the limitation of energy drawn from components during spells.”

Davyeras stops to look up at the crowd. “The committee was met with an interesting challenge this year,” he says. “Both of our front-runners’ projects deal with the connection and control of energy during spell work.”

I barely stop myself from scoffing. Has this guy been talking to Crescentia?

“As you well know,” Davyeras carries on, “there has always been a bit of friendly competition between the Conjuration and Evocation Departments. And at first, the committee’s decision lay along those lines.

Which should we support: Evocation or conjuration?

But the issue is larger than a divide of department.

The benefits of uncovering ways to cap and control energy in spell work appealed to those on not just the selection committee, but on the university board itself.

Our decision came down to what would best serve the magical community as a whole. ”

My heart sinks like the rest of my chest cavity turned to quicksand.

Best serve the magical community.

The Tourael family is one of the heads of the elite magical community.

They’re going with Elethior, aren’t they?

It hits me in a crashing wave, the reality of having to get funding from somewhere else.

If I want to graduate. If I want to keep Clawstar impressed.

If I want to be able to get spell work to people who need it.

Sure, I can scramble to find other sources, maybe get one more loan, why not?

But that would take time. Time I doubt I have, to get started next semester.

But. I could call my father.

I force myself to sit up straight. Like hell will I fold. Like hell will I show weakness. It ain’t over ’til it’s over, gods damn it.

“Given the potential benefits of exploring spell work energy limitations,” Davyeras says, “and the importance of cross-disciplinary teamwork, the committee has decided to provide a dedicated lab space as well as increase the grant’s funding—”

I jerk to the edge of my chair. What? A dedicated lab? And— more money?

“—in a collaborative state to both Elethior Tourael and Sebastian Walsh.”

Everything in my body solidifies. Quick-set cement.

The crowd is dead silent for a beat. Then whispers ripple through, nothing negative, mostly curiosity and interest.

Thompson jostles my arm, his face stretched wide with happiness.

“Mr. Tourael and Mr. Walsh will be expected to make full use of these resources as they not only research their projects, but uncover the ways in which conjuration and evocation overlap in spell energy limitation,” Davyeras tells us.

“They will cooperatively present their findings next spring. A unified project between these departments is a mark of this community’s growth, and we, the selection committee, are excited to see what Mr. Tourael and Mr. Walsh are able to do together. ”

Together.

Cooperatively.

Collaborative.

Oh. My. Gods.

The room breaks into applause and Thompson elbows me.

Again.

A third time.

“Go up there,” he hisses, and I’m moving on autopilot.

I stand. People clap.

Across the room, Elethior stands, too. Everyone else remains sitting so it’s impossible to look anywhere but at him as the two of us converge on the podium.

His face is impassive—until our gazes connect.

That wrath he’d shown in the restroom surges to life, wildfires running rampant.

I’m lodged too firmly in shock to do anything more than gape at him.

There was always going to be one grant winner . It was me or Elethior and it would’ve shut at least one of us up for good.

We reach the podium, and Davyeras pulls us on either side of him. The audience claps still, and a photographer takes pictures of the three of us.

I tell myself to smile.

Nope, not happening.

“Uh, sir—” I start, throat still sandpaper so it comes out scratchy.

Davyeras squeezes my shoulder. Hard. “I know it’s unorthodox,” he says out of the side of his mouth.

Elethior hears him, too, briefly glancing across to give me another cutting glare.

Davyeras catches it and sighs. “This community has no room for juvenile conflicts, boys.” He smiles at me, then at Elethior, and more photos are taken.

“You will work together. As part of the grant, you will have monthly check-ins with myself and your advisors to ensure progress is being achieved. I am excited to hear how you tackle this challenge. This is a great honor, and a testament to how much faith we have in each of you.”

I expected to feel one of two things after the announcement: ecstasy or fury. I have no idea what to do with feeling… numb.

I got the grant. I got funding— more funding. And a dedicated lab space. I’ll be able to do my project and graduate. My future’s being handed to me.

Only I’ll have to work with Elethior Tourael to get any of it.