Page 44 of Reluctant Wizard

“Don’t fret, my lady,” he continued, setting her back from him so he could check the consistency of the brandy sauce. “I’m a very happy minion.”

~20~

The gingerbread was, of course, exquisitely good—and the brandy sauce launched it into the realm of paradisial. Alise devoured it all, despite her already full stomach. While she ate, she mused over the full rotation in her relationship with Cillian and how she wanted to handle that.

Cillian was quiet, too, either similarly occupied with eating or giving her room to think. Probably the latter, knowing him. It seemed that, regardless of her best intentions, he had been drawn into her particular vortex of doom and would not be dissuaded from hanging on. So be it. She couldn’t fight everyone and everything, particularly not the gently tenacious Cillian.

“So,” she began, scraping up the last bits of the dessert and focusing on that, not Cillian, but fully aware she had his instant attention, “in the morning you’ll escort me to Professor Seraphiel and go to see the provost about Gordon Hanneil. Once I’m done with Professor Seraphiel, I’ll see Professor Cixin about the spirit bottle.” And still not go to her other classes or make inroads on her passively increasing workload. She suppressed a sigh for that.

“Sounds like a good plan,” he replied evenly, not pointing out that they’d already covered this. Saying nothing more, he waited her out.

She sighed mentally for his obdurate nature. “Fine. And then we can see about a trip to House Harahel and finishing what we started.”

“Good,” he replied instantly. “I’ll arrange it with the provost.”

“If you can.”

“Oh, I’ll make a persuasive argument, no fear. The provost assigned you this independent study for a reason, and appointed me to assist for the same reason. House Uriel can’t openly move against House Hanneil, but I have no doubt that they closely monitor Hanneil’s activities. They have to suspect Hanneil in the actions against House Phel; Provost Uriel’s tacit support of your investigation is proof of it. In addition, Uriel has traditionally seen themselves as the bulwark between Hanneil and their ongoing attempts to conquer the Convocation. Once the provost learns about Gordon Hanneil’s attempts to quell you, she’ll want the evidence of their perfidy even more, and that corroborating evidence can only be obtained in the House Harahel archives.”

“I don’t think it’s entirely accurate to say the information can be obtained only in the House Harahel archives,” Alise replied, looking up at him, her plate scraped as clean as it could be, and finding him preparing to argue. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I said I’d go, didn’t I? And I am agreeing to go because I think we will find valuable information there. My point is that I don’t think Gordon Hanneil would be slithering through these hallways, issuing vile threats, and risking Convocation censure if there wasn’t something to be found in the archives right here.”

“I had the same thought,” Cillian agreed, relaxing again. “I’ve been contemplating the problem and I think I’m close to a solution. Library magic might not be as potent as yours, but it has its uses. I’ve got some ideas for a few things I can try.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said, continuing when he raised an inquiring brow. “You denigrate your magic, calling your wizardry low level and comparing it to mine unfavorably.”

He regarded her a moment, looking taken aback. “I just want you to know that I don’t have delusions about us. I am a low-level wizard, practicing a kind of magic with limited, very niche applications. And I’m at peace with that. I’m happy with my life.”

“Are you though?” she persisted.

“Yes.” But he sounded defensive, looking away to finish his own dessert.

“Because you don’t talk like someone who’s perfectly happy with their life.”

He met her gaze again, black eyes no longer soft but glittering with irritation. “And you know how many people who are perfectly happy with their lives, to know how they speak about it?”

“Fine.” She rose, picking up her plate. “Don’t confide in me then.” She whirled around on the few short steps to the kitchen. “But it’s not fair, you going on about me asking for help and telling you my secrets when you don’t trust me with yours.”

“Have you told me everything then?” he returned.

“I don’t have to tell you everything. We’re not talking about me.”

“Indeed you don’t have to tell me anything at all, but you also don’t get to rail at me for not laying my bleeding heart on the table for you to dissect with your sharp tongue.”

Arrested, hurt, she gaped at him a moment, then took her plate into the kitchen. Tempted to hurl it into the cleaning bin, she instead set it carefully aside, extracted the clean plates from lunch, and found their proper place in the cupboard.

“I apologize,” Cillian said, picking up the plate she’d set aside and handing it to her along with his own to put in the cleaning box.

“No need,” she replied lightly, telling herself she wasn’t hurt, restraining the urge to wail that she’d thought he liked her. “I do have a sharp tongue. Nic has a sharp tongue. Our papa’s is like a double-headed axe. You’re not saying anything I don’t know about myself.”

“Don’t clean up,” he said as she began adding the dirty pots to the bin. “I can do that.”

“You cooked; I can do the dishes. A much easier task.” Unable to resist, she silently enhanced the boxed earth elementals that came with the cleaning bin.

He sighed, boosted himself up to sit on the counter, and watched her work. “I am happy with my life—or I was until I met you.”

Oh, ouch. Several bitter reproaches rushed to her tongue, including pointing out that he had pursued her, not the other way around. But, for once, she decided to say nothing rather than run the risk of speaking sharply. You’re welcome, she thought wryly.

“I can’t—” Cillian started to say, then broke off. “I’m having a hard time shaking the feeling that I’m not good enough for you. That we don’t really have a future. Lady Elal and the poor scholar.”

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