Page 71 of Twisted Magic

“No!” Cillian shot a finger into the air. “It is not common, my excellent student, nor is it ethical. If they do make any changes, they are supposed to include a note to that effect. It’s acceptable to correct errata in later versions, but not to eliminate blocks of text. Essentially these newer texts have rewritten history. Wizard Dolores Harahel must be spinning in her grave.”

“So, what was in the original that got eliminated?”

“I’d need to do a sentence-by-sentence comparison, so I’m not certain yet.”

“You could’ve done that instead of baking cinnamon rolls,” she felt compelled to point out.

“I could have, if I’d had days instead of hours. I researched enough to identify the major lacunae in the historical information, confirming that House Phel did participate in developing Convocation law. The house was very involved in a great deal of legislation, especially involving familiars, their rights as citizens, and protecting them from experimentation.”

Alise believed that, too. “Gabriel Phel must be the reincarnation of one of his ancestors,” she remarked.

Cillian looked interested. “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”

Did she? No. But…

“No,” she answered decisively. Convocation teaching was clear on the subject. There was no life after death. If there was, wizards would have found a way to penetrate that veil and contact souls on the other side. House Elal had been—speaking of historical research—very involved in that research. Even the most powerful Elal wizards had been unable to summon the dead. Spirits existed in the world, from simple elementals all the way to the highest echelon spirits such as those used in combat or for more complex tasks, but none of them had ever existed as living, corporeal beings. That had been conclusively established, which Cillian should know, and she told him as much.

“There’s a ‘however’ in your tone, however,” he said, very seriously, but she suspected him of teasing her.

“Magic is something else entirely and there is evidence that it replicates from the past,” she informed him loftily, quite sure he knew this, too. “For example, House Phel itself—once Nic and Gabriel elevated it from its watery grave—has continued to restore itself according to patterns no one living remembers. Nic says it’s because Gabriel’s wizardry connects to his wizard ancestors and thus informs the house on a level that isn’t conscious.”

Cillian looked fascinated. “I’ve read theories on the subject, but never witnessed it. There are vanishingly few opportunities to observe real-life scenarios of that kind. I’d love to visit and see for myself.”

Alise nearly said they should go right then, but naturally they could not. They had a mission at House Harahel and were expected. Just imagine if she’d taken the permission to go on this field trip with Cillian, and then diverted off to House Phel instead. She’d not only never graduate, they’d likely make her a pariah in the Convocation. “If you already know what’s missing from the Wizard Dolores Harahel’s history by comparing this recent edition with the ancient one, why do we need to go see your family?”

“Aha.” Cillian held up a finger. “Because our text is original, to the point of containing margin notes in Dolores’s own hand. We also have—or should have—every edition printed since. I want to see when the alterations first occurred. Besides which, there’s the matter of you bringing this petition to the attention of Lady Harahel and her senior staff.”

“Right.” The petition, in which she wasn’t at all sure what she could and couldn’t say. “I was going to ask you, what—” She broke off as a Ratsiel courier bearing the Convocation Academy conformation zoomed up to the carriage, flashing urgently. Shit. This was it. Her worst fears come true. She’d be humiliated. Scorned. She’d let down the people who mattered to her the most. Would they have sent hunters, too, to drag her back in a collar and chains like they’d done to Nic and Seliah? “Didn’t you tell Provost Uriel that you were commandeering my presence?” she demanded, panic fluttering in her breast.

But Cillian was frowning in confusion, tapping the air elemental to stop the carriage. “I did, of course, and Provost Uriel sent approval.” He accepted the message the courier carried and the creature departed immediately, clearly not programmed to await a reply. Reading, his frown deepened. Alise’s fear sharpened.

“What is it?” she asked, the whispered question all she could manage. When Cillian leveled a sympathetic look on her, she nearly burst into tears. “Just tell me.”

“Provost Uriel simply passed along a message sent to her,” he replied, handing her the letter.

It was from Nic.

In that moment, Alise discovered what her worst fears truly were.

“But your Phel family sent the letter to make sure you stayed away,” Cillian argued. “Your sister—Lady Phel, who has the authority to command your obedience—explicitly instructed you to stay at Convocation Academy. For your safety,” he added, unnecessarily stressing the word. “I’m not taking you to House Phel.”

“You don’t have to.” She pointed at the dome housing the air elemental waiting to be told to restart the carriage, and where to go. “I can reprogram the elemental with a thought from here.”

“You would just leave me by the side of the road?” He sounded more curious, as if she were some sort of fascinating specimen, than upset.

“I don’t want to.” She really didn’t, she realized, and not only because it would be an incredibly callous thing to do, especially after his many kindnesses to her, all of them undeserved. “We have to go back near Convocation Academy, anyway. I could drop you off.”

He studied her with interest. “But not if I fight you on this?”

She shook her head. “I’m going. I’ll do whatever I need to do to get to House Phel, even if that means using harsh tactics.”

“You’d summon warrior spirits to evict me from the carriage?” His voice rose, less with incredulity than a thrill of excitement. She so did not understand this guy.

“Don’t make me go to those lengths.” But she would if she had to. She was an Elal, through and through, apparently. The resolve burned steady in her. No remorse, no guilt. She would leave him his food and books though.

“Alise,” he said, gentling his tone and manner. “Please don’t do this.”

She understood he meant going to House Phel, not strongarming him. “I have to. They’re my family. They mean more to me than anything else.”

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