Page 63 of Reluctant Wizard

“With all due respect, Provost,” Gordon said, sounding anything but respectful, “I’ve got the situation under control. If the issue needs to be elevated to your attention, it will be.”

The provost’s clear, cool, crisply academic psychic magic glittered with calculation over the little scene. Alise marveled that Gordon seemed to be oblivious to the thorough and clinical assessment—and to the fact that Priyan’s presence implied the provost expected to need power.

Provost Uriel smiled without humor. “I believe that the issue has already been elevated to my attention—Tarin of House Tausa,” she added after a beat, emphasizing his true name. “I’m also utterly uninterested in any explanations or excuses you may offer. I’ve been looking for you.”

Gordon hurled an attack at the provost, exactly like the one he’d used to so incapacitate Alise. With seamless grace, Priyan put a hand on his wizard’s side, supplying the needed magic to her. Tandiya Uriel flicked Gordon’s attack aside with enviable ease, as if it were nothing more than an annoying gnat. Gordon’s flabbergasted expression mirrored Alise’s own shock. She’d had no idea the administrator possessed such ability.

The provost slid her a mildly reproving look, which she then fastened on the Hanneil wizard. “What, you all think I’m Provost of Convocation Academy because I excel at sliding documents around my desk?” With Priyan staying in contact, she advanced on Gordon, who stammered incoherent fragments of protests. Alise expected him to back up, but he seemed to be rooted to the spot. Not through his own will, it turned out a moment later.

“No, indeed,” Provost Uriel continued in a silky tone, laying the palm of her hand on Gordon’s visibly sweating forehead. “I am in charge here because I am the one capable of upholding the sanctity of this educational institution. I am judge and executioner here. This is my academy and the likes of you will not fuck with it.”

On the heels of her words, a blaze of light of blinding clarity billowed from the point of contact between the provost’s hand and Gordon’s forehead. The Hanneil wizard emitted a kind of pitiful squeal, and deflated, crumpling into a boneless heap on the floor. Provost Uriel gazed down at him with distinct distaste a moment longer, then turned to survey a waking, but clearly confused Cillian. She crooked a finger at Alise.

“Now, the pair of you had better explain this business of setting fire to my archives.”

~29~

Alise completely ignored the provost’s demand for information—and ran to Cillian instead of answering. “Are you all right?” she demanded, framing his beloved face in her hands, aware that tears coursed down her own.

Cillian blinked at her in vague recognition, but didn’t answer, and Alise choked back a sob. Rounding on the provost, she reined in the worst of her temper, but couldn’t hold back her own imperious nature. “You have to help him.”

The provost arched her platinum brows in affront. “My dear wizardling, I don’t have to do anything. Especially for a lower-tier faculty member, already on probation for a previous transgression, one who appears to have stolen a valuable set of archives.”

“He was trying to protect the archives,” Alise hissed, pushed past the limits of courtesy. “He only brought them out of the larger archives because I asked him to.”

Provost Uriel gave her a look of very real sympathy. “Alise, I admire your devotion to your lover and your willingness to take responsibility for him. This however, is exactly the concern with Wizard Harahel. It’s not the first time he violated his ethical code, and the rules of this academy, to please a pretty girl.”

Alise went spine-breakingly rigid with indignation. “I know about Szarina Sammael and this is not the same situation.”

“Isn’t it?” the provost returned coolly. “Through an academic lens, viewed objectively, the details are distressingly parallel.”

“That’s ignoring context and nuance,” Alise protested. “You’re not being fair to—”

“Alise,” Cillian said, his voice creaking as if he hadn’t used it in a long time, “Provost Uriel is correct in her assessment.”

Alise practically flew the few steps back to him. “Cillian! You’re all right?”

He smiled faintly, a hint of pain in it, and put his arm around her, less in affection than an obvious need to lean on her for support. “‘All right’ isn’t how I’d describe it, but I’m alive and in possession of my own mind.”

Call her picky, but she wasn’t much reassured by that.

“He needs a Refoel mind healer,” Provost Uriel instructed, not without sympathy, but clearly not happy with the situation. “His mental burden is difficult enough to carry. The Hanneil attack needs immediate attention if the archivist is going to be able to continue to endure the magic drain of holding those archives. Take the archivist there immediately, Wizard Alise. After which he can go home. I’ll hold Wizard Harahel’s dismissal until morning.”

“Until morning?” Alise echoed, aghast at how fast things were moving. It wasn’t the question she meant to ask, but her thoughts were lagging behind her reactions.

“Yes.” Provost Uriel gave her a patient stare, Priyan grimacing in sympathy. “Once Archivist Harahel is no longer employed by this institution, he cannot receive Refoel services provided by the academy. He’d have to pay out of pocket. I’m doing him a favor.”

“This is not a favor!” Alise nearly spat. “You can’t fire Cillian over this.”

“I not only can do so, I must,” the provost corrected. “In truth, merely firing an archivist for removing materials from Convocation Archives will be seen as a dereliction of my duty. I will be called upon to answer for my decision to be so lenient.”

“Lenient?” Alise seemed to be incapable of doing anything but repeating key words from the provost’s incomprehensible statements. “You aren’t being—”

“Alise,” Cillian interrupted her again, squeezing her to his side. “Provost Uriel is doing all she can for us. She’s letting me leave. I can go home.” He gave her a significant look, and understanding dawned.

Home. Not to his faculty apartments, but home to House Harahel. With the Phel archives still in tow. Still, Cillian shouldn’t lose his job over this. She faced the provost defiantly. “I’m going with him.”

“That is your choice,” the provost replied, adding a graceful dip of her chin in resignation. “Though I cannot guarantee that you’ll be readmitted to the academy for a third time.”

---