Page 21 of Reluctant Wizard

“Ah, hi.” It had been so long since another student had approached her that Alise almost didn’t know what to do with herself.

“I know this is untoward at best and rude at worst,” Brinda hurried on to say, waving her hands to encompass a wide circle before clasping them again, “a familiar addressing a wizard without permission and all.”

“There’s no rule against it,” Alise pointed out, still taken aback and a bit wary. Was House Chur sending a warning now, too? If so, at least they’d chosen an innocuous messenger and a nicely public venue, streams of students parting around them in the busy hallway.

“Yes, well.” Brinda blew out a demonstrative breath and smiled weakly. “House Chur is big on formality and etiquette. If my mother knew, I’d be sat down for a long lecture on how high-house scions ought and ought not to behave. You know how the old high houses are and House Chur is one of the oldest,” she added, as if that explained anything, which maybe it did. “Almost as old as House Elal, which I’m sure you know. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m really nervous and I’m babbling.”

“How can I help you, Familiar Brinda?” Alise asked, not unkindly and trying to be patient. Brinda looked to be about the same age as her, but Alise felt infinitely older than this sweet-eyed daughter of a high house.

Alise did understand—for the most part—what Brinda was attempting to explain about etiquette and the house of her birth. House Chur, indeed one of the founding high houses of the Convocation, governed the powerful magics of sun and fire, rather the polar opposite of House Phel’s moon and water magic, come to think of it. Their trademarks had survived centuries of challenges by upstart houses and, while they brought few direct products to market, their monopoly on the powerful magics that fueled so many other manufacturing processes provided a solid income to bolster their already massive, old-money coffers.

Brinda slid her eyes from side to side, as if anyone paid them any attention, which none of them did, and twisted her long, slender fingers together. “Could we—that is, would you condescend to, ah, speak with me, um, privately?”

Condescend. Alise nearly demanded to know who Brinda thought she was, some sort of wizard-princess too good to converse with commoners? But she bit back the harsh reply. The word reflected House Chur archaic manners and Brinda’s clear sincerity about imposing on Alise’s time and goodwill. It’s not her fault you’re in a horrible mood, she reminded herself firmly.

At the same time—call her paranoid, but—she was leery of all these high-house driven requests for “private meetings.” Not that a familiar could hope to harm her, but Alise was taking no chances. “Can you tell me what it’s regarding?”

Brinda flushed, looking down at her twisting fingers. Seeming to notice that she’d been busily picking at one of her undecorated nails and had it half torn off, she clenched her hands together. “It’s…ah, personal,” she whispered.

How curious. Alise gestured to the window alcove where Brinda had been sitting—and clearly waiting for her. “Let’s sit there and I’ll put up a silencing shield.”

Brinda’s crestfallen expression brightened with relief and gratitude. “Perfect! I always forget that you wizards can do things like that.” She hopped onto the cushioned sill and crossed her legs, hands folded neatly in her lap, beaming at Alise expectantly.

Alise followed her, hoisting herself up, the bottle of spirits banging against her leg and clanking against the wooden ledge. Brinda glanced that way, startled, but politely averted her gaze. The window overlooked the same courtyard that Cillian’s did, from the opposite side. From where she sat, Alise could easily see the faculty wing that housed his rooms, but stopped herself from counting over to figure which were his. He could be there even now, reading, or perhaps gazing out the window, and… And what in the dark arts was wrong with her?

She focused on Brinda who waited quietly. “What’s going on?” Alise asked. “The shield is up,” she added when Brinda looked around. Alise had forgotten to make it clear she’d done so.

“Oh!” Brinda smiled and tapped the side of her head. “Silly me.” She sobered. “So, I wanted to ask you something and I know it’s asking a lot, but you’re the only person I can think of who might be able to help me. Well, not the only one able to, but the only one willing to, maybe.”

Alise began to get a bad feeling about this. “Help with what?” she prompted anyway, feeling the longed for hour of quiet in her room ticking away like sand through her fingers.

“I graduate soon. We’re in the same class. I don’t expect you to remember that, or care or anything,” she hastened to assure Alise, who was chagrined to acknowledge, if only to herself, that she hadn’t remembered that. “I manifested early, but some of the coursework took a while,” she confided. “Especially Convocation History. I just can’t seem to remember all those dates and names and—” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “And I’m wasting your time! My apologies, Wizard Alise. Maman always says I’d talk the dead to sleep.”

“It’s all right,” Alise said, trying to be patient and holding on by her mental fingernails. “But I will have to head to the dining hall soon or risk missing my dinner.”

“Yes! Yes, me too. All of us.” Brinda laughed nervously, twisting her fingers in her pretty flowered skirt. At least she was leaving her poor nails alone. “See, the thing is, when I graduate, I’ll return home, to House Chur,” she clarified unnecessarily. “And then I’ll start the Betrothal Trials.” Brinda flushed and stared out the window.

Ah. Alise understood now. The Betrothal Trials were exactly the sort of archaic tradition House Chur would insist upon, just like House Elal. Nic had endured several months of the Betrothal Trials—Alise had to admit to herself that she wasn’t sure how long it had been, she was that awful of a sister—before meeting Gabriel Phel. Some called the practice barbaric, and surely it was, and inflicted only on female familiars. Effectively locked away from all male contact, the women received wizard “suitors” once a month, a different one each month, until they turned up pregnant. With their fertile compatibility confirmed, the wizard bonded the familiar and they became a permanent pair.

The oldest houses swore by the tradition, saying the practice ensured the vitality of their bloodlines. Male familiars sometimes endured similar testing, but—due to the happy difference in biology—didn’t have to be sequestered. Their female wizard partners kept track of ensuring parentage. The Betrothal Trials didn’t offer familiars much of a choice in their wizard partner, but familiars rarely had the autonomy to make that choice anyway. At least the Betrothal Trials rules allowed the familiar to veto any suitors she didn’t care for. Alise imagined some houses made the choices for their daughters, but she knew that their maman had coached Nic and they’d gone through the applicants exhaustively. The process had given Nic a small bit of control over her fate, allowing her to choose the houses where she’d be likely to become the lady of the house, if only via her wizard. It was far better than many of the alternatives.

But it worried Alise that Brinda was asking her, in particular, given this looming future. There could be only one reason why. “I can’t help you escape,” Alise said, lowering her voice furtively even though no one could overhear. “I understand why you’re asking, but I’m on probation here and if I step out of line, even the smallest amount, I’ll be expelled and never graduate.”

Brinda’s increasingly puzzled frown cleared. “Oh! You think because of Han and Iliana? That I want to run away, too?” She laughed with bizarre heartiness, given the topic.

Alise’s head spun and she resisted putting fingers on her throbbing temples. “You don’t?” she asked. It was obviously a rhetorical question at this point, but she needed Brinda to get to the point.

“Why in the name of House Chur would I want that?” Brinda asked with earnest scorn. “Han and Iliana… They were bad familiars. Disobedient. Thinking they’d fallen in love with each other, defying their families. Breaking the law.” She shook her head, the picture of disappointment. “And now they’ll miss out on real love, a true, deeply bonded partnership with a wizard. It’s sad, really. Someday, they will come to their senses, but no wizard will have them then. They’ll live out their lives alone and miserable, begging for someone, anyone to bleed off their magic.” She nodded at Alise, inviting her to agree.

Dumbly, Alise nodded, figuring that would be the most likely path to her escape from this excruciating conversation. Jadren El-Adrel loved to make withering remarks about the group insanity at House Phel, the wrong-headed idealism that communicated itself like a disease, infecting everyone it touched. He’d even cheerfully agree that he’d caught it, too, with no hope of cure.

In that moment, Alise realized that she’d been so thoroughly inoculated with Phel thinking that she’d forgotten how completely most Convocation citizens believed in the current system. Brinda displayed all the glowing fervor of the faithful—and of someone who had no idea what the reality would be like. Given that, however, Alise didn’t at all understand why Brinda wasn’t heaping some of that scorn on her, as well, the person without whom Han and Iliana could never have escaped. There was no way she wanted to hear that answer though.

“I can’t wait to meet my wizard master,” Brinda went on, losing her nervousness in her enthusiastic gushing and saving Alise from having to think up a response. “My parents have selected twelve suitors for me, all from the best families and houses. I have excellent MP scores and my physical health is perfect, along with my fertility.” She confided that last in a whisper.

“I still don’t understand what you want from me,” Alise said, some of her revulsion leaking into her tone, dimming a bit of Brinda’s glow. “Forgive me,” she added. “I’m tired and hungry.”

“No, no, Wizard Alise,” Brinda rushed to say. “I should apologize! Here I am taking up your precious time with my stupid nonsense.” She laughed self-consciously, flushing, and Alise abruptly itched to slap the family that had taught their daughter to think so little of herself.

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