Page 6 of Reluctant Wizard

The proctor noted Alise’s reaction. “Perhaps you should attend the healers.”

“No, no.” The last thing Alise wanted was for more people poking at her, even if the Refoel healers used their psychic healing magic in an entirely different way. She’d be fine. And she really, really, really didn’t want to risk anyone finding a trace of Gordon Hanneil’s presence on her—and then face the promised consequences. No one could protect her from that. “I’m fine,” she said with determination, willing it to be so. “I’ll go to the practicum immediately.” Alise gestured to the hallway, fully expecting the proctor to escort her there.

Proctor Divya raised a brow, her warm brown face concerned. She had always been one of the nicer proctors. “Wizard Alise,” she said gently, “I am no fashion guru, but even I can see that you haven’t changed your clothes yet.”

Alise mentally kicked herself. She wasn’t thinking straight. Probably she looked like shit, too. “Right. I just need a moment, if you’ll wait for me?”

“Perhaps you should take today to recover from your journey,” Divya said, a faint line between her elegant brows. “You don’t feel well, clearly. You’re upset. Did something untoward occur?”

“No!” Alise said, much too quickly and defensively. Divya’s wizard-black eyes widened in surprise at her vehemence and Alise made herself take a deep breath. “It’s just been a day, what with being castigated by the provost and all.”

Divya smiled in sympathy. “Provost Uriel is a force of nature, to be sure. Still, I’m concerned about your current state of emotional agitation. You know we proctors are here to be more than hall monitors.” Her smile twisted sardonically, making it clear she was well aware of how the students reduced their job description. “We also keep a finger on your emotional wellbeing. And personal safety,” she added, with a lift of one brow that stopped just short of being inquisitive.

“I can take care of my personal safety,” Alise replied, thinking wistfully of how she’d fully believed that only a short time ago, but she made herself sound firm.

Not firm enough, apparently, as Proctor Divya didn’t budge. “A large part of our responsibility,” she continued, “is to ensure that the overt and covert conflicts between the Convocation houses aren’t played out in these halls. We don’t imagine that we can prevent all power plays, but we can and will ensure our students’ safety. The academy is neutral ground. You have a right to pursue your education without harassment. If something untoward has occurred, you may confide in me. I will handle the situation discreetly.”

Alise suppressed a hysterical giggle at the prospect of informing on Proctor Divya’s fellow House Hanneil wizard. That would go well. Divya might fully believe in the ethics of her profession, but house loyalty ran deep. Confronted with a conflict between the two, most wizards would choose house loyalty over a job. One could find new employment more easily than a new house, especially a high house.

Alise couldn’t afford for Proctor Divya to go to Gordon, even with vague inquiries. So, she forced a smile, saying, “And we all so appreciate the proctors for your protection. Where would we be if the many house conflicts seeped into these hallowed halls?” Upon reflection, that phrasing might have been a little too sarcastic. “Nothing happened,” she assured the proctor, willing her thoughts and emotions to support her words. “That is, a lot has happened recently,” she amended. “Very difficult times.”

That had the additional benefit of being actually true. Even without the unpleasantness with Gordon—she heard that word in her maman’s voice, delicately alluding to the unspeakable, unpleasantness—she would still be emotionally reeling. The siege. Maman’s passing. All Alise’s fault.

“Is it exhaustion then?” Divya asked kindly.

“Tiredness, yes,” Alise answered, seizing on the excuse. She couldn’t possibly sleep now, however, and there was no way she wanted to sit in her room alone and think about what had happened. “But I’d prefer to get to class and start catching up. I’m already so far behind.”

Proctor Divya nodded slowly, unconvinced. “Fine. I’ll wait while you change clothes and escort you to your practicum. But I’m also putting in a ticket for you to see the healers at some point this week for an evaluation. I see in your records that you haven’t had a full physical in nearly twelve months. It’s been an eventful year for you, and I’m aware that Provost Uriel deliberately gave you an intense courseload, but surely it is not her intention for you to work yourself to collapsing. You will see the healers by the end of week. Are we agreed?”

Alise agreed with eager relief and a bone-watering sense of having escaped a terrible fate. She would recover her equilibrium and no one would ever know what had happened with Gordon Hanneil. She would never face that horrible fate he’d whispered so greasily into her ear, worms of psychic power crawling through her brain like maggots. Feeling her confidence falter, Alise promised to change with all speed, and just barely managed to close the door softly instead of slamming it in Divya’s kind, intrusive face.

~4~

Miraculously, Cillian had not been fired.

And so he returned to his cozy faculty apartment with a sense of happy homecoming. Nothing like returning to his own cozy nest. The piles of books everywhere, the scattering of papers and writing instruments, his mementos from role-playing games, all of it formed a cheerful chaos to the uninformed eye. For him, though, absolutely everything had its place. His scholarly brand of wizardry crawled over every object, great and small, every tiny bit of font and printed word, cataloguing, assessing, reassuring him that nothing had been moved and everything was as it should be.

More precisely: everything was where it should be. Still, something felt not quite right. The place seemed oddly empty, ever so slightly off, missing something—even though his wizardry assured him that wasn’t the case. Everything was there.

Except Alise, he realized. She didn’t belong in his chambers, obviously, but some part of him had half-expected her to be there, her Elal spirit magic filtering through the rooms like summer sunshine, leaving behind the vague scent of roses. A longing for her washed through him, bittersweet and intense. Irrational. Alise would never again grace these rooms and he needed to get a grip on that reality. He could be friends with her and nothing more. Provost Uriel had been most emphatic on the point.

But he could at least enjoy being friends. To salve some of his longing, and as an alternative to wishing her there, he scribbled a note to Alise, asking if she wanted to meet that evening. He explained his perfectly rational (he hoped) reasoning: that they would need to discuss how to proceed with their original project, to discover the timeline of the disappearance of the House Phel archives and, hopefully, recover what information they could.

It definitely wasn’t a date. Provost Uriel had been most pointed about Cillian maintaining a professional relationship with Alise Phel, even as she’d exhorted him to assist Alise in her independent study. He’d, of course, protested that nothing untoward had ever occurred between the two of them, all while the copy of Sylus and Lyndella’s epic and vaguely disturbing love affair burned like a live coal in his hands. What had possessed him to grab that book right before going to the provost’s office to face the consequences of his actions?

None of it made sense, least of all his own thought processes.

Provost Tandiya Uriel had naturally not disclosed her personal investment in discovering whether House Hanneil had tampered with the archives and the memories of the Convocation regarding House Phel. She’d cloaked her insistence on Alise continuing her independent study as being good for Alise. Still, he knew his history. House Uriel and House Hanneil had once been a single high house, one that split into two over the ethics of using psychic magic on others. Given their ancient enmity, Cillian could easily follow the logical path of internecine house politics.

Provost Uriel, probably at the behest of her house, wanted Alise to uncover this mystery from the past, and she wanted it enough that, instead of firing him, she’d appointed Cillian Alise’s interim advisor on the project—provided that he keep the relationship strictly professional.

Naturally, and with as much sincerity as he could muster, he’d protested that his conduct with Alise had never been anything but professional, which was the absolute truth. Still, Tandiya had fixed him with her knowing black gaze, stopping just short of reading his thoughts. No one of House Uriel would commit that kind of invasion of mental privacy, not without a court mandate.

Still, she had the ability to evaluate his mental temperature. House Uriel had refined the ability to assess motivation and intention to a fine degree. That art allowed them to determine the honesty of an interview subject at a core level. It didn’t matter what glib assurances or prevarications a person offered, a high-level Uriel wizard—and Tandiya was as high-level as it got, short of being head of the house—could sense the mindset behind the words.

Thus, the provost had no doubt sussed out the true state of Cillian’s heart and mind: both that his relationship with Alise had always been strictly aboveboard, and that he longed to change that sad fact. Hopefully she also discovered his earnest desire to do right by Alise, regardless of his own yearnings. The provost had tipped her head, allowing a small sigh to escape.

“I know you’ll conduct yourself with utmost integrity,” she said, confirming that much. “You possess excellent self-discipline and the resolve to carry out your best intentions. Those are the only reasons I’m allowing you to continue to work with our young student. But, Wizard Harahel, I will caution you strongly: you must govern your passions.”

---