Page 52 of Reluctant Wizard

“No, Provost Uriel,” Cillian answered, chastened by her arch tone.

“What I want to know is, aside from the interference with Wizard Alise’s research, why haven’t you discovered the missing records, or whatever it is under my roof that Hanneil fears will be so damming?”

“I don’t know.” His considerable frustration with his failure made his face heat.

“I certainly hope it’s not a result of you being distracted by your fascination with your lovely new lover.”

And they were back to the beginning of this conversation. “Our relationship is mutual,” he told her, “and we are—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she interrupted. “Consenting adults, therefore I can’t stop you. I won’t attempt to and, after this, I won’t offer my advice. But, Archivist, you are an intelligent wizard. You’ve never struck me as someone who deludes himself about his station in life and what that allows you to aspire to. I don’t mean this unkindly.” She actually produced a sympathetic smile and, in that moment, reminded him of his grandmother—who would probably proffer the exact same advice. Possibly in even more stringent terms. “Szarina was a different matter and ill-advised, but Alise Elal? You have to know that it cannot last and likely will end badly, and that you will be the one to take the most damage.”

“I’m aware, Provost,” he replied, speaking around the ache in his chest. “You are saying nothing I haven’t said to myself. I know I handled Szarina badly, but I’m older and wiser now.”

“Oh, Cillian.” She dropped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, sympathy in the gesture. “You didn’t handle Szarina badly. She handled you badly. Alise is a very different wizard, but I fear the outcome for you will be much the same.”

“I have my eyes open,” he said, standing up so he wouldn’t be obviously shaking off her hand. “I should get busy with the several tasks you’ve laid out for me. If I may be excused, Provost?”

“Go, go.” She waved him away. “In all my years of leading this academy, you’d think I would have learned by now that unsolicited advice is almost always unwanted advice.”

“Unwanted advice doesn’t mean unvalued,” he replied gravely.

She answered with a quirk of a smile, then resumed her usual stern expression. “Begone. I have much to do, as do you. Get me that proof, Wizard Harahel.”

~24~

Alise ended up seeing Professor Cixin at the end of the day, as he didn’t have office hours until then. Thus, she was able to attend her afternoon classes and make some inroads on the backlog of work. The nape of her neck prickled with awareness, her senses alert for the appearance of Gordon Hanneil—ready to practice her new defensive skills—but she never so much as glimpsed the proctor.

Gradually, she relaxed enough to concentrate on her work. Maybe the efficient Provost Uriel had already had Gordon arrested. A comforting thought.

Later, she left Professor Cixin’s office hours unburdened of both the bottle of spirits and residual guilt over missing the make-up lab work she’d recklessly promised days before. Oh, the venerated Professor of Noncorporeal Entities had not been at all pleased with her effort to secure the gaggle of spirits in the bottle, calling her work amateurish, sloppy, and heedless of the potential consequences.

But he’d also used the words “bold” and “innovative,” so Alise felt reasonably good about her wizardry. Plus she’d learned some interesting techniques for putting a bonded spirit into stasis using a one-time enchantment that would not continue to drain her magic. True to form, Professor Cixin had required that Alise perform the actual magic working, under his close supervision, with the upside that he declared the lesson sufficient to compensate for the one she’d bungled. Alise received the definite impression that Cixin was doing her a favor, but she wasn’t too proud to take it. And the reprieve allowed her to procrastinate ever so slightly on working on bond-severing. She’d get there, she really would. But she’d done a lot that day and weariness had set in, a vague headache forming behind her eyes.

That was the downside of all she’d learned. Between the intensive tutelage from Professor Cixin and Professor Seraphiel, she needed her magic reservoirs refilled, which meant finding Brinda. She didn’t care to play the supplicant, but Alise also knew that she’d suffer far more from the people in her life—namely, Cillian—if she let her magic run low again. That meant seeking out Brinda. Fortunately, she had something to offer the Chur familiar. Alise had received a missive from Nic.

The Ratsiel courier had been waiting for her outside of Professor Cixin’s office, lightly landing on her shoulder as she emerged, and digging in imperious talons indicating the urgency of the message. House Phel had paid top coin to send an expensive, enchanted for privacy, private missive from the outside to a student. Those lengths seemed over the top for Nic to share her “secrets” of having a short Betrothal Trials period, so Alise hoped for some news from home.

Home. Funny how House Phel had become that in such a short time.

She couldn’t yet go back to her own room, not until she was certain Gordon Hanneil had been contained and hopefully eliminated. She also wasn’t truly comfortable going to Cillian’s apartments. He probably wasn’t there anyway and it would take time to recode the Iblis lock to admit her also. He’d mentioned it in passing, but she had kind of dodged replying since it felt like a big step. Bigger than taking him as your first lover, knowing he’s in love with you? a snide internal voice whispered, but she ignored it. Still, all of that meant she needed to find somewhere else to read her letter from home.

Settling herself into one of the deep window seats of the long arcade that led to the dining hall, Alise put her back to the corner and coaxed the little courier off her shoulder. Using a bit of wizardry, she verified her identity, unlocked the missive, and let the courier perch on her upraised knee. It had been tasked to receive her reply, which hopefully she’d have time to write.

Eagerly, she began reading Nic’s elegant script.

Dearest Alise,

How good to hear from you—although with questions regarding my betrothal trials??

Not at all what I expected. I hope that you are not contemplating such a step, at your tender age, though it would be entirely your business if you do. And I know you’ll likely want a bonded familiar at some point. I certainly understand you wanting that bond along with the intimacy of a sexual relationship. And children, of course. I just…

Well, I am restraining myself from telling you all of my thoughts on the matter, a heroic effort I very much hope you appreciate.

Alise laughed softly, imagining Nic’s impatient head toss as she wrote that. Also, oops. In her efforts to inquire discreetly, Alise had inadvertently given Nic the wrong impression. She’d have to correct that. Funny that Nic would think Alise had any interest in locating a male familiar to test fertility with when the only person she wanted was… Not a familiar. Firmly setting thoughts of Cillian aside as not relevant to the moment, Alise continued reading.

To answer your questions, there is no way to shortcut the Betrothal Trials. Ignore any rumors you might hear regarding fertility enchantments and so forth. Not only are they impossible in the first place, they’re terribly illegal and strictly forbidden by the Convocation, to the point of voiding even an established bonding.

There was that logical question: why would the Convocation bother to strictly forbid something that wouldn’t work anyway? Nic might be trying to tell her something there. Hmm.

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