Page 64 of Reluctant Wizard

“I’m willing to take that chance,” Alise said with dignity.

“No, Alise,” Cillian protested, the vigor of his denial entirely undermined by his unsteady weaving on his feet. “You can’t do this. Not for me.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” she returned fiercely. She wouldn’t say aloud how little she cared about graduation at this point. She retained that much discretion, at least. In a world where a Uriel wizard could squash a wizard with Gordon’s power, Alise could recognize she had a great deal to learn. She might need to return to the academy someday—but she didn’t have to be a doormat about it. “I’m finishing what I’ve started,” she said instead, catching and holding the provost’s gaze.

She didn’t think she imagined the glimmer of approval in Provost Uriel’s wizard-black eyes. “Off with you then,” the provost instructed, as if they said goodbye at a faculty reception. “I’ll deal with this mess.” Dubiously, she toed the heap that was Gordon Hanneil. Or had been.

Alise couldn’t be sure if he was alive and, in truth, didn’t really want to know. He would obviously never threaten them again and that’s all that mattered. “Come on, Cillian,” she said gently. “Let’s go to the infirmary. With any luck, it will be Healer Jonathan and we won’t have to do a lot of explaining.”

Cillian resisted her efforts to pull him along, instead facing the provost. “Thank you, Provost,” he said simply.

“You are welcome, Archivist,” Provost Uriel replied.

“I’ll need to clear my faculty apartments.”

She waved that off. “In time. I’ll have them sealed. Who knows, we may need them for evidence at some point.” Amazingly enough, she winked, then ruffled Priyan’s hair. The familiar smiled at her in adoration. “Now go. Oh, and both of you—please don’t set fire to anything else.”

~30~

Alise was right and they were in luck, amazingly enough, and Healer Jonathan Refoel was indeed on duty. That seemed particularly fortuitous given the run of exceptionally bad fortune they’d been experiencing up until then. Although, Cillian had to acknowledge, Tandiya Uriel had showed up at exactly the right moment. He owed the provost a great deal, more than Alise could understand, truly.

Especially as he couldn’t ever tell her.

He didn’t think he ever could describe to her how it had felt to be locked inside the prison of his own mind, unable to think his own thoughts. It wasn’t only that he likely wouldn’t be able to get the words out—though he feared he might not be able to—but also that he didn’t want Alise to know. He’d rather that she have no idea how profoundly that brief experience had affected him. She’d blame herself, which wasn’t fair to her and would only make him feel worse.

Those few minutes of being Gordon Hanneil’s utter captive had aged him decades and broke something deep inside. The one thing Cillian had always been able to rely on was his own intelligence, his ability to think. He would never be the hero, the beefy sword-wielder, or even a wizard worth much of anything besides sorting books. But he had always been proud of his smarts. Even at his loneliest, he’d always had his own thoughts for company.

Without that, he’d been reduced to nothing in a blink. A minor exercise of Gordon Hanneil’s prodigious talents and Cillian had ceased to exist. And that was on top of Cillian’s utter failure to take action against the vile man who’d hurt Alise. For all of Cillian’s nursing of his anger and dreams of revenge, when the opportunity had arisen, he’d done nothing at all.

He didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget that feeling. If he’d felt unworthy of Alise before, Cillian’s complete failure to act in the face of that fight proved his worst fears. Not only had he failed to protect Alise; he’d been a liability.

“You’ll be fine,” Jonathan Refoel said, meeting and holding Cillian’s gaze, seeming to be attempting to reinforce the message on several levels. He rested his lean, brown fingers against Cillian’s temples, his mint-scented healing magic infusing Cillian’s mind with paradoxically invigorating calm.

Behind him, Alise hovered, face pale and drawn and dark eyes huge with anxiety. He’d done that to her. “Carrying that archive is a drain on you,” Jonathan continued, “but it’s nothing you can’t withstand. And don’t worry—your secret is safe with me. The primary problem at this point is that your encounter with the psychic wizard exhausted you. I’d recommend bed rest and a few nutritious meals to rebuild your energy, but I understand from Provost Uriel that there is an urgent need for you to travel to House Harahel.”

“Yes, that can’t be delayed,” Cillian said, forcing himself to focus on what mattered. His existential angst ranked far below getting this stolen archive to House Harahel for analysis. And it had been kind of Tandiya to withhold that he’d been summarily dismissed for the gravest of transgressions. “I’ll leave immediately.”

“And I’ll be with him,” Alise said, flashing him a stubborn glare, clearly annoyed that he’d said “I” instead of “we.”

In truth, as much as he’d dreamed about bringing Alise to House Harahel, to meet his family, to see all his favorite places, now he saw those fantasies for the foolishness they were. “You should go to House Phel,” he suggested, not meeting her eyes. “You’d be safe there.”

“Highly debatable,” she replied crisply. “And you can save your breath. I’m not letting you travel to House Harahel alone. I’ll go arrange for a carriage and supplies,” she told Healer Jonathan. “Can someone bring him to meet me by the griffin door in half an hour?”

“I don’t need to be escorted,” Cillian griped at her.

“When you can stand without leaning on someone, I’ll believe that,” she retorted, eyes snapping. Then she relented. “You’d insist on the same for me.”

She was right, which only bothered him more. He liked being the one to take care of her. That’s what he brought to the table. If he became a burden on Alise in that aspect, too, then what? He hated to imagine her staying with him out of guilt. But this wasn’t the time or place for that conversation—especially with Healer Jonathan present—and he could see Alise was entrenched. There would be no arguing her out of going. Maybe, once she’d satisfied herself that he was happily ensconced in the bosom of his family, he could convince her to return to the academy. That’s where she belonged.

If Alise didn’t graduate because of him, he’d never forgive himself.

“I’ll meet you outside in half an hour,” he told her.

“In the meanwhile,” Jonathan put in, “I’ll continue to infuse Wizard Harahel with healing magic. That should go a long way to helping him withstand the journey.”

Alise hesitated, as if tempted to say something more, then lifted her chin, nodded to them both, and left. Cillian let himself put a hand to the pocket where he carried her promise of a favor. He kept it on him all the time now, like a good-luck totem. Briefly he considered using it to protect her, to force her to separate from him. But she’d find a way around that. And something told him he might need that favor for a more extreme situation in the future.

Healer Jonathan gave Cillian an encouraging smile. “She’s worried about you. That’s not a bad thing.”

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