Page 54 of Reluctant Wizard

Brinda’s anticipatory expression faded, her brow furrowing in what looked more like petulance than puzzlement. “She did not.”

“She did,” Alise insisted. “She said it was a terrible experience for her and that even the most dismal-sounding option is better than putting yourself through it.”

“But she won,” Brinda said, as if explaining it to Alise.

Alise shook her head, fingering the heavy stationery of Nic’s letter. “The Betrothal Trials isn’t something you ‘win.’ She calls it something you endure.”

Brinda’s face set in mutinous lines. “I’m going to win! I’m going to snag the best possible wizard to be my master and have a brilliant life. Your sister is just jealous because she ended up with a black sheep of a Phel.”

Well, that took a turn fast, Alise thought to herself, but then, she’d known Brinda wouldn’t take this news well. And she was young, not experienced at moderating her reactions. “My sister is very happy with her life at House Phel, and with Gabriel Phel,” Alise told her with gentle insistence. “This advice does not come from a place of jealousy—again, I didn’t say who was asking—but from a place of genuine sympathy and concern.”

Brinda sulked a moment longer, arms crossed over her bosom. “Well, did she at least say what she used to conceive so quickly?”

Alise allowed herself a moment to assimilate the shift, and what that portended. “There isn’t anything. You know the Betrothal Trials rules forbid any kind of fertility enchantment, if any exist, which they don’t. A Refoel healer will unlock your fertility, but then it’s up to nature and compatibility.”

“Oh, come on,” Brinda scoffed, leaning in closer, dropping her voice to a confidential whisper, despite the silencing shield. “Everybody knows there are certain spells we can use to ensure the wizard we want is the one to succeed. The proof is right there—why would the Convocation forbid something unless it was possible?”

As Alise had had that exact thought, she could hardly argue. “I have no idea. I just know that I’ve never heard of such a spell and neither has Nic.” She waved the missive in demonstration. “That Gabriel Phel was the one was pure luck, and compatibility, which is what the trials test for to begin with.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true,” Brinda practically hissed. “If Nic didn’t use something—and who could blame her as no one would deliberately choose to be ‘lady’ of that half-drowned manse in a backwater swamp of nowhere—then Lord Phel did. Everyone knows he’s a rebel, not even academy trained, disrespectful of his betters, and desperate to be admitted to polite society. Of course he’d be exactly the sort to employ an interdicted potion of some sort, to hedge his bets, to cheat. I want to know what it was. If you don’t give me what I want, what House Chur wants, then I will expose the truth.”

Appalled, Alise didn’t know what to say, words of response dry and useless in her mouth. Gone was the silly, bouncy familiar, replaced by a malevolent, cunning enemy. “There’s no truth to expose,” Alise managed to say, proud of the evenness of her tone. “If you had proof of this nonsense, then you’d already have this fictious spell you’re seeking.”

Brinda narrowed her pretty hazel eyes, now glittering with malice. “We don’t need proof.”

“One house can’t set Convocation policy,” Alise replied tightly. “Not without legal process.”

Scoffing, Brinda waved that away. “Words have power and if something is said often enough, people will believe it, with or without legalities. The reputation of House Chur is ancient and impeccable, whereas everyone knows that House Fell is populated by the Convocation’s rejects. The family is a disgraced and decrepit line that should never have been resurrected. The proper houses of the Convocation only allowed the temporary and probationary status of Phel out of pity and so that they would quickly learn they had no place in our world. That they’ve held on, like some sort of vermin-ridden parasite, is unthinkable, an insult to polite society. One negative word from House Chur and they’ll have that charter revoked faster than this!”

Brinda snapped her fingers, her smile vicious. “And then where will your precious sister be? Passed around and sold to the highest bidder.”

Completely aghast, Alise couldn’t summon a response, which satisfied Brinda, thinking she’d won this round. Assuming her pleasing personality again, Brinda dimpled at her. “Get me that spell and all will be fine.”

“I—I’ll try.” Alise added the stammer deliberately, swallowing hard and trying to look pitiful. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t exist.”

“Oh, it does. Everyone says so.”

Alise was heartily tired of Brinda’s calling upon the supreme “everyone knows” to express her opinions, but she contained herself.

“You’d better hope it exists,” Brinda added in a falsely sweet voice, “or face the consequences.”

Alise simply nodded.

“That’s better. We do have a deal, after all.” Brinda adjusted the ruffles on her colorful skirt in satisfaction. “Everyone is talking about you and Archivist Cillian Harahel,” she confided brightly. “A nice bit of arm candy for you, though obviously it can’t go anywhere. He’s pretty enough, but a word to the wise, he’s a social climber. Enjoy him, but don’t fall for him. You don’t always demonstrate the best judgement, after all.”

Stung into defending Cillian, Alise still chose her words carefully, figuring whatever she said would be all over Convocation Academy in another hour. Or less. “Wizards have the luxury of being able to enjoy each other without making it into a lifelong partnership,” she replied airily, not at above needling Brinda on the sore subject.

Indeed, Brinda flushed in anger. “Well, you know the levels he stooped to for Szarina.”

That name again. Unfortunately, Alise was too startled to cover her reaction.

“Oh! You don’t know,” Brinda cooed. “I had it all from my older sisters. The academy tried to keep it quiet, but of course people talk, especially when the story is so, well, distressing.” She waited, almost coyly, for Alise’s questions, making a moue of disappointment when Alise didn’t say or do anything.

Alise was, in truth, torn. Really, she should ask Cillian for the story, but he’d balked at telling her, so Brinda’s gossip might give her at least a few answers, as long as she took the information relayed with a generous helping of salt.

“Szarina Sammael,” Brinda said in a musing tone, dangling the bait with glee. “I hear she was astonishingly beautiful. Rivers of white-blonde hair. She defied convention when she manifested as a wizard, refusing to cut it, and no one blamed her. It’s not as if anyone would have mistaken her for a familiar.” Brinda seemed oblivious in that moment to her own lowly status as a familiar, lost in a reverie of admiration. “I never saw her, myself, of course, but my older sisters say she was ethereal, the most beautiful woman they ever saw. And a Sammael, too, which confers natural elegance and poise. Breeding will tell.”

Alise nearly lost the battle not to roll her eyes.

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