Page 9 of Reluctant Wizard

So, for the second time that day, Alise found herself shuffling her feet, waiting like a child to be called on the carpet. The seeping dread was ridiculous. She’d faced down vicious hunters, malevolent automatons, and other monsters. She’d nearly died, for dark arts’ sake, so a dressing down from a professor should hardly feel threatening. Somehow though, even with Gordon Hanneil’s vile threats still curdling her stomach, his compulsion worming in her brain and undermining her will, this felt like the last straw that might bring her down.

At last, Professor Cixin looked up, scrutinizing her, but thankfully without any psychic magic. He’d been a House Elal wizard for some time, though he’d moved to teaching at Convocation Academy long before Alise had been born, apparently as a form of semi-retirement. He taught only the Advanced Practicum in Manipulation and Control of Noncorporeal Entities and Alise had been his prize pupil at one point, enough so that she’d been referred to as teacher’s pet. Not so much anymore.

“What happened today?” he asked without preamble.

“I apologize for my tardiness, Professor. I only just returned to academy a few hours ago and had to meet with Provost Uriel before I could return to class. It won’t happen again.” She hoped that was all he referred to.

He waved that off. “Proctor Divya explained. I mean, what happened with today’s exercise?”

So much for that hope. “I know I’m lagging behind on the material. I promise I’ll catch up. It’s a priority for me.”

Giving her a long look, he sat back. “Let’s shortcut this conversation, Wizard Alise. I know what you are capable of. I probably understand the full scope of your abilities and potential better than any other living person in the Convocation, including your illustrious father. That assignment should have been a mere stretching of the legs for you, the equivalent of an extra lap around the track for a long-distance runner. Had you actually tried.”

Stung, Alise glared at him. “With all due respect, Professor, I did try.”

He dashed a hand sideways. “Had you actually attempted the task, you would have succeeded. No more prevarication. We’re both well aware that you are on probation here. Shall I tell Provost Uriel that you are not putting full effort into your advanced practicum, arguably the single most important course for you to complete for graduation?”

Alise struggled to contain her immediate argument. Every professor always thought their class was the most important, so that wasn’t worth debate. But for him to threaten her with this when he knew exactly how precarious her position was at Convocation Academy felt like an exceptionally low blow. And she was in no state of mind to take any more blows. “No, Professor,” she answered tightly.

“Then explain the problem.” He gave her a long stare from sharp wizard-black eyes under bristling white eyebrows.

She took a breath, hoping the words would spring to her lips. Blew it out again when nothing came to her. No way could she explain her real problem, but then what could she say?

“I am a master-level wizard of spirit magic, young Alise,” Professor Cixin said. “However, my MP scores in psychic magic are woefully low. I cannot read your mind, even should I wish to, which I do not. Therefore I require that you answer my question, explicitly and honestly.”

Alise stared back, feeling fully alone and helpless, the sensation overwhelming enough to make tears prick her eyes, which was even worse than all the other emotions.

“Come now, child,” the professor said, not unkindly. With a twitch of magic, he established a silencing shield around them. “If you cannot confide in me, the teacher you must rely upon to guide you to your fullest potential, then who can you?”

No one. The easy and obvious answer came to her. She could never share with anyone the potentially earth-shattering news that she could break the wizard–familiar bond. That wasn’t just paranoia, either. That information could upend the entire power structure of the Convocation on a massive scale and, on a personal scale, doom herself to execution, imprisonment, or a long tenure of curtailed liberty and being experimented upon, followed by execution.

But she clearly was going to have to say something to Professor Cixin—unless she wanted to let everyone down by being expelled for a third and final time, the first in her family to fail to graduate—and say it soon, as Professor’s impressive brows were drawing together in a thunderous expression promising imminent explosion.

“I’m afraid of becoming like my father,” she blurted, surprised to discover as she said it, that it was true.

Unfortunately, Professor Cixin didn’t seem to buy it. He sat back and steepled his fingers. “Piers Elal is one of the most powerful wizards in the Convocation and head of one of the largest high houses,” he said. “Why wouldn’t you want to follow in the footsteps of your sire? Despite recent kerfuffles, he will almost certainly reinstall you as his heir-apparent. Regardless of what your brother tells everyone who will listen, Elal has yet to name him as heir—or to formally disinherit you.”

Was this a test? If so, was it a test of her loyalty to House Elal or of something else? It suddenly seemed that a great deal rode on her response and she was playing blind.

She attempted to assemble her scattered thoughts, tried to think what Nic would say and do. One of the fallouts of Nic being the elder sister, with such magnificent MP scores across all categories, and with everyone’s expectation that she would manifest as a wizard and become the next head of House Elal, was that their father had devoted his considerable attention and training to Nic, not Alise. Nic had been the one to learn the finer points of house politics and navigating conversations like this. Even their maman had given extra attention to Nic on matters of etiquette, arcane details of Convocation society, and how to be a high-house lady. Probably Maman had believed she had time to teach Alise such things when she was older. But they’d all run out of time.

Alise had only her own instincts to go on. Here went nothing. “Tell me, Wizard Cixin,” she said, deliberately dropping the honorific demanded by his current station, “why did you leave House Elal? By all accounts you had a high position there, well paid, and with considerable influence.”

He tapped his steepled fingertips together, not angry or offended as Alise had expected, but quietly thoughtful. Perhaps, unless she missed her guess, even intrigued. “I was not happy with the… expectations placed upon me in my position there,” he said slowly. “Now, I answered your question. You answer mine.”

“I am afraid of the effect on me of having too much power,” she said, bluntly enough, a nice ball of truth to obscure what she couldn’t afford to confide. “I’ve seen too much in these last weeks, of huge amounts of power, both magical and worldly, used in terrible ways.”

To her surprise, he smiled slightly. “Ah, now we are coming to the heart of the matter. Thank you for your trust, young Alise. In return, I shall offer you this advice: you wield enormous magic whether you wish to or not. That ship has sailed. In truth, it was never up to you whether you would be a wizard, no more than it was mine, no more than it was your sister’s choice to be a familiar.”

“Nic would’ve handled being a wizard better,” Alise muttered ungraciously.

“I agree.” Professor Cixin nodded at her shock. “Do you know why Nic would have made a better wizard?”

“Because she’s smarter and more capable?” Alise offered sardonically.

“Not in the least. Because she was never afraid of it.”

That was true. Nothing frightened Nic. Whereas Alise felt like a slowly unraveling ball of terror.

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