Page 2 of Reluctant Wizard

“Yes, Provost,” Alise answered, sick at heart but unable to deny the truth.

“You were already on probation.” Provost Uriel smacked her palm on the desk, a psychic echo slapping Alise’s mind with stinging emphasis. “Do you recall our conversation regarding your status here, a dialogue we conducted right here, in this very office, not three months ago?”

Alise winced. “I do recall, Provost Uriel.”

“Would you please indulge me and reiterate the, what I thought were very clear, conditions for you to be readmitted to the academy following your last unauthorized excursion? Please begin with the part where I granted you a second chance when I did not have to and in truth had serious reservations about extending.”

Well, this sucked even more than Alise had anticipated. She really hadn’t expected to feel guilty. Not about this, anyway. “You graciously granted me the second chance I asked for, and—”

“That you pleaded for,” the provost corrected.

“That I pleaded for,” Alise agreed glumly, staring at the blunt toes of her boots. “I agreed to all of your conditions—the campus restrictions, the heavy course load, that I would apply myself diligently.” She lifted her gaze, meeting the provost’s. “I accepted the independent study you assigned me, Provost Uriel, and pursued it in good faith. If I may be so bold, I’ll add that I followed through on all of those commitments. My grades were excellent.”

The provost regarded her with pinched lips, then heaved a sigh of exasperation. “You being bold, Wizard Alise, does not seem to be in question. I should count my blessings not to have more bold Elal scions like you and your sister.”

Alise noted with considerable interest that the provost didn’t include Nander in that group. She also said nothing, choosing that course of action as the wisest in the moment.

The provost sighed again. “You were doing well. That’s only one frustrating aspect of the problem you present. You had made impressive strides, particularly with what you’d uncovered in the course of your independent study.”

Alise gave the provost a cautiously questioning look. The terms of her independent study had never been explicitly outlined. The provost had simply given her a full-access pass to the Convocation Archives—a rather dizzying amount of freedom for a mere student—and listed herself as faculty advisor. The provost, possibly acting in House Uriel’s interest, given their long enmity with House Hanneil, had basically given Alise license to look for Hanneil interference in the official Convocation records, especially regarding the fall of House Phel. Alise had sent regular reports to the provost, as her independent study advisor, but Provost Uriel had never replied, nor had she given any indication she’d read, or even received those missives.

Of course, Alise’s “findings” had all been in the negative column: no records of House Phel remained in Convocation Archives. The real discovery had come about when she’d finally relaxed her pride, and justifiable caution, enough to ask for a librarian’s help, which was when she met Cillian. He verified her findings—or, rather, lack thereof.

“That’s why Wizard Cillian was taking me to House Harahel, to search the original documents there and…” She took a breath, decided she might as well say it. After all, the provost’s office was privacy shielded. “And potentially petition House Harahel to investigate suspected tampering in the official archives.”

The provost didn’t exactly straighten, but her psychic magic focused on Alise with an intensity that communicated her complete attention, wizard-black eyes snapping with alert interest. “Librarian Harahel did not mention that information in his field trip requisition to me. A missive that, I might mention, did not request permission, but rather informed me of the expedition,” she added with irritated distaste.

Oh, Cillian. Alise managed not to roll her eyes, but Cillian’s special blend of absentminded professor and single-minded researcher nevertheless filled her with exasperation. “He likely thought he was being discreet, given the nature of our inquiry.”

“Hmm.” Provost Uriel tapped silver-pointed nails on the desk. “I suppose I shall soon enough discover from the horse’s mouth exactly what he was thinking, if he was at all.”

Alise managed not to wince, but she did send a mental apology to Cillian for throwing him to this particular wolf. She didn’t have a very high MP score in psychic magic, so he wouldn’t get the message. Not to mention that meddling in minds even that much was highly unethical and absolutely illegal.

“Will Lord and Lady Phel be petitioning House Harahel in your stead?” the provost asked abruptly.

“Ah, erm, I don’t know,” Alise ventured. “There were a great many things to deal with in the aftermath of the battle at House Phel, injuries and property destruction, and then we received your summons to return to Convocation Academy and—”

“I see. No need to continue. I’ll discuss with Archivist Harahel. He should be waiting outside in the anteroom. Please send him in on your way out.”

“Ah…” Alise hesitated, surprised to be dismissed already, and the provost glanced up impatiently. “Where should I go?” Alise ventured.

“To class,” the provost answered as if Alise were dense. She raised platinum brows in astonishment. “I’m given to believe you’re substantially behind in your coursework. You have a great deal to do to catch up if you’re to graduate on time.”

“Yes, Provost,” Alise breathed, rather startled by the immense relief she felt at being allowed to continue her studies. The sense of reprieve came as a stark contrast to her earlier unhappiness about being back at Convocation Academy only a short time before. “Thank you, Provost Uriel,” she said sincerely, tempted to bow.

The provost flicked her fingers in dismissal. “My reward shall be penning a missive to Lord Piers Elal, explaining why he cannot withdraw his daughter from my school. I believe I shall enjoy tweaking his nose. Begone, Wizard Alise. Please consider a change of clothing before you return to class.”

Alise flushed, surprised to be chagrined. “I was planning to, Provost Uriel,” she replied with dignity. “Thank you for this second, second-chance.”

“You paying attention to your independent study project would be thanks enough. And, I am begging you,” the provost added with a glare and a ping of psychic reinforcement, “don’t screw up again.”

~2~

Cillian Harahel waited in Provost Uriel’s antechamber, a book in his lap as always, but for once unable to concentrate on it. He kept reading the same few lines over and over, until they began to seem like an acid commentary on his entire, until recently, sedate and disciplined existence.

Sylus raged over the loss of Lyndella. In his fury, he tore apart the contents of his arcanium, slamming loose objects against the stone walls to shatter to pieces as useless as his wits. How dare she refuse his offer? She was meant to be his, in every way, utterly and completely. Sylus wouldn’t rest until Lyndella knelt at his feet. And when she did, he would make her pay. For kneel she would. He vowed to make it so.

Cillian didn’t at all understand his fascination for these objectively terrible lines. He’d begun reading The Saga of Sylus and Lyndella in order to better understand romance. And yes, he was drily aware of the implicit commentary on his staid and scholarly self, that he’d approached the topic of romance as a research project. From his tenure in the Convocation Academy libraries, he knew how popular Sylus and Lyndella’s story was. Among the many romance novels available, and then in the subset of those that dealt with wizard–familiar romances, the highly questionable and ultimately tragic tale of overbearing and controlling Wizard Sylus and the delicate, doomed Familiar Lyndella, could not be kept on the shelf. The archives contained multiple copies, enchanted to signal Ratsiel couriers to return them to the library after a set time, because so many had mysteriously vanished over the years.

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