Page 72 of Twisted Magic

“Even your own future? At best you’ll destroy your prospects in the Convocation with this disobedience. At worst…” He trailed off, his quiet black gaze bleak. “Alise, you could be killed.”

“I know that.” She did know. They could all be killed. But she’d rather that than live her life alone, with everyone she loved dead. What kind of life would that be?

“Nic doesn’t want that for you,” he persisted. “Lord Phel doesn’t either. They paid your tuition and board, plus extra to set you up until you find a position you like if you don’t want to go back to House Elal.”

“I’m never going back to Elal,” she snarled. “They’re behind this. Don’t you see?” Done with waiting, she used her magic to reset the air elemental, giving it instructions to proceed with all haste to loop near enough to Convocation Academy for Cillian to get a ride, but not near enough for anyone to interfere with her plan. The carriage smoothly turned in a circle and sped back the way they’d come, the sun higher and more golden-warm, but the day no longer lovely and full of freedom. “They have no allies,” she continued in the face of Cillian’s accusing silence. “No one else will come to help them. It’s a hopeless situation.”

“Exactly.” He waved his hands in the air. “What can you, one wizard, no matter how exceptional, do to save them?”

“I’ll figure out something,” she replied grimly.

“You’re not thinking straight,” he said, frustrated. “I could recite any number of tales to you about supposed heroes doing exactly what you’re contemplating and dying anyway.”

“Aha, but they wrote stories about them.” She slanted him a crooked grin, but he only glared at her.

“At least come to Convocation Academy with me,” he pleaded. “Talk to Provost Uriel. Maybe she’ll have ideas. Maybe she can rally the Convocation to assist Phel.”

More likely they’d lock her up and keep her from leaving. “Cillian,” she said, abandoning his title since he’d done so with her. She supposed they’d become friends now, of a sort. “If anyone in the Convocation was going to help House Phel, they’d have offered alliances by now. They’d be rallying to support House Phel against their attackers, including sanctioning Sammael and Elal for their previous attack. Has anyone even discussed those possibilities? You read everything, so tell me if there’s something I missed.”

“You didn’t miss anything,” he replied unhappily. “The rest of the Convocation seems to be turning a blind eye.”

“Waiting for the strongest to survive,” she said. “As they always do.”

He pursed his lips, not liking that, possibly searching for an argument. “It’s also possible that Hanneil is interfering there, inhibiting any movement toward helping Phel. If they’re truly involved. But we have no proof of that.”

“I think the time for proof is past,” she pointed out. “It’s too late to do anything but fight back to the best of our ability.”

“And if you lose?”

“Then we’ll have lost either way,” she answered impatiently. “All I know is, I’m not sitting cozy at Convocation Academy pretending I care about studying when the only good part of my world goes down in flames.”

“Oh, Alise.” He looked so sorrowful she nearly wanted to comfort him. “There are so many good parts of the world. There are… all the books. And cinnamon rolls!” He snatched up the basket and thrust it at her. “Have another one.”

“All the cinnamon rolls in the world can’t sweeten the bitterness of this defeat,” she replied, and he lowered the basket.

“Fine then,” he said, but he extracted a cinnamon roll and handed it to her anyway, dropping it in her lap when she didn’t take it, and taking one for himself. “We’d better eat up so we’re ready. Too bad we don’t have a familiar with us.”

“With us?” She began to unwind the coil, realizing he was right.

“Yes. I’m going with you.”

~22~

To Selly’s surprise, Jadren didn’t argue at all about going to the rescue of House Phel. What did surprise her was that he insisted on taking time to send a number of messages first, arguing that sieges take time and no one at House Phel on either side of the battle line was going anywhere very soon. Fortunately, Katica El-Adrel had employed veritable army of secretaries who even now scrambled to do Jadren’s bidding.

“You wanted us to head up House El-Adrel,” he pointed out with asperity. “I warned you that it would involve tedious administration, but no—you were all ‘I love paperwork, Jadren. Let’s do all the boring paperwork!’”

She assumed that silly, high-pitched voice was supposed to be her. “I never said any such thing and I do not sound like that.”

“Close enough.” He was remarkably cheerful, given the circumstances, frequently petting Mr. Machete, once more hanging off his belt. “I can’t wait to see Gabriel Phel’s face when I dramatically rescue him and all he holds dear. Ha! That will show him.”

“Show him what?” she demanded. “Gabriel always believed in you.”

“I know it.” He shook his head in disgust. “With no good reason, too. So this will show him he wasn’t wrong.”

“You make no sense at all,” she informed him, awash with love.

“I’m certain I warned you about that,” he replied with a half-grin, lifting her hand to kiss the back of it. “All right. I’ve officially closed the labs, put everyone working there on probation until they can be properly interviewed, and liberated the… inhabitants.” He stumbled only slightly over the word, a bare tremor in his magic. “Where’s my letter to Refoel?” he asked in a raised voice.

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