Page 30 of Reluctant Wizard

“Yes,” Cillian answered immediately, saying it loudly and emphatically over Alise’s protest. “She has to know about this, Alise. There could be other people affected,” he added meaningfully. “We have a responsibility to protect everyone at Convocation Academy.”

Glumly, Alise agreed, very much not looking forward to the provost’s reaction to Alise being involved in yet another problem.

“You’ll have to wait until the day after tomorrow, as it’s a rest day,” Healer Jonathan continued, jotting down some notes. “No work for you. I want you to actually rest.”

“Oh, but I can’t—” Alise began.

“You can and you will,” he interrupted sternly. “I did deep work on you. You won’t feel it yet, but what I did will exhaust you as much as a physical surgery would have. I want you to sleep in, sleep all day if you can. I’ll give you a tea to make sure of it. You need to stay out of sight, away from everyone, until you can meet with Morghana, and you shouldn’t be alone, for several reasons. Do you have someone you can stay with? Your brother, perhaps.”

Her laugh came out bitter at the thought of asking Nander to help her out. He’d be more likely to turn her over to her enemies, and dance a happy jig as he did so. “No.”

“Then you’ll stay here.”

Alise gave the echoing, empty ward an appalled glance. “I’d really rather not.”

“It’s not exactly peaceful, especially when daylight comes,” Healer Jonathan agreed ruefully. “However, you need someone to keep an eye on you in case there are any mental side-effects. And to keep you safe from further attempts at psychic manipulation. You can’t be alone.”

“She can stay with me in the faculty wing. Alise can have my bed and I’ll take the couch,” Cillian said, giving her an owlish and impatient glare when she opened her mouth to protest. “You know you’re safe with me, right?”

She did know that, so she closed her mouth again. Still, staying in Cillian’s small, junior-faculty apartments seemed unwise on an entirely different level. But avoiding this thing between them hadn’t worked either so… “All right, thank you.”

“Thank you for not arguing further,” he returned wryly.

~15~

Alise stood back, nerves in her belly, as Cillian thumbed open the Iblis lock on the outer door to his apartments, then popped the door open and invited Alise to precede him with a sweeping gesture. They hadn’t spoken on the short walk from the infirmary. Alise had a very strong sense that Cillian was waiting until they were alone to pursue his many questions for her, now that she was free to answer them.

She probably should have opted for the infirmary.

Wandering to the center of the living area, Alise wrapped her arms around herself and surveyed the small, cluttered room. She’d only been there the one time and it felt like a lifetime ago. It also seemed like very little had changed since then. The teetering piles of books that looked haphazard still covered every surface. Notes, scrolls, pens, and other bits of writing things occupied the interstices. Several shelves contained not books, but numerous small figurines and collectibles.

“I’ll brew your tea,” Cillian said, setting a tiny fire elemental to heat the teapot. “And warm up something to eat. Then you can go to bed. Are you cold?”

“No?” she answered, puzzled, then realized she probably looked like it, with her arms nervously wrapped around herself.

“There’s a throw there if you do get cold.”

Alise followed his pointing finger to the colorful quilt tossed over the back of what was clearly his favorite reading chair. Fingering the soft fabric, she knew it must be handmade, love in every stitch. For the first time she wondered about Cillian’s family, probably totally unlike her own. The kind of people who sent him to Convocation Academy with a quilt made with hands, not magic.

Though she politely kept her gaze averted from the notes he’d scribed in a surprisingly stylish script, she couldn’t help noticing the title of the book on the table next to the chair, bookmarked halfway through. The Saga of Sylus and Lyndella. “You’re still reading it,” she said aloud in her surprise.

“Yes. I apologize for my careless remarks about it. I still have issues with some of the content, but I believe I better understand why it’s so beloved. Why you love it, in particular.”

That arrested her. Also, this conversation was far better than the much-dreaded demand that she explain what Gordon Hanneil had said to frighten her so. “Interesting. Why do you think I love it?”

Cillian glanced at her from behind the high counter, meticulously measuring the herbal tea Healer Jonathan had given her. “It’s a study in loyalty, isn’t it? Beyond the intensity of the love affair, it’s a tale of a magical partnership where Sylus and Lyndella are loyal to each other until death—and beyond. They’d both rather die than allow the other to come to harm. They become a true, unbreakable unit, loving each other despite their flaws, perhaps even because of them. But ultimately it’s about unshakeable loyalty, the family they made with each other, one more important and profound than the families they were born to.

“Also,” he continued, “Sylus is arguably awful to Lyndella, but I can see why you find his behavior captivating.” He strained the tea, considering thoughtfully. “Nothing matters to him more than her, being with her, possessing her. There’s a thrill to that fantasy, that you could mean that much to someone else. In particular, that someone so difficult to literally everyone else in the world, would love you. Sylus loves only Lyndella, alone of everyone in the world, which makes her the center of his entire universe. That’s powerful.”

He brought her the mug, holding it rotated so she could grasp the handle. “Careful—it’s hot. But it’s also at optimal steeping time, so try to drink it quickly. You can sit there.”

She nearly protested that it was his chair, but also every other possible surface sported books and papers, so she sat. And sipped. Processing Cillian’s rather astounding assessment of the saga. “I mostly thought it was sexy,” she admitted. “And romantic.”

Cillian sat down in front of her on a low table, facing her, a half-smile on his lips. “No, you didn’t. I’ll accept that you thought those things, sure—and it is sexy and romantic—but I bet I’m right and you just don’t want to admit it. That’s fine.” He cocked his head at the ding of a bell. “There’s the kolaches warmed up. You’ll eat one.”

“You sure are bossy all of a sudden,” she griped.

He pointed at the book as he went to the kitchen nook. “You like bossy.”

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