Page 6 of Strange Familiar

Órlaith smiled thinly. “House Harahel may not be one of the movers and shakers of the Convocation, not like—let’s say, House Elal—but neither are we doddering backwoods fools. I use the weapons available to me. Also, your mental shielding is appallingly bad.”

Alise knew for a fact that wasn’t true. She’d recently learned to barricade her mind following Gordon Hanneil’s attempt to mentally control her. Professor Seraphiel had declared her more than adequate. Nevertheless, Alise took a moment to strengthen that shielding, which she’d admittedly let sag a bit, thinking herself amongst harmless librarians, not politically savvy mind-readers.

“Better,” Órlaith said with a nod, sipping her own tea. “I’m unusual in Harahel, to answer your unspoken question, in that my late mother was a Hanneil. Everyone seriously questioned my esteemed father’s choice in taking her as his familiar.”

For once, the elderly wizard did not comment.

“The skill comes in handy,” Órlaith mused, seemingly unbothered by the silent implication that the old wizard was one of those who’d questioned the choice. “Also, there’s no reason I can’t enjoy hobbies like baking, gardening, and quilting and still run a high house. It’s remarkable how little time it really takes to do so when one isn’t constantly jockeying to add to already immense wealth or scheming to take over the Convocation.”

Alise lifted her cup in silent toast to the obvious jab at House Elal. She could hardly retort, even if she felt any inclination, as her father arguably did spend all of his time on those activities. Taking up her cinnamon roll, she briefly pondered how to eat it, recalling Cillian’s detailed observations on how each person’s method revealed essential character. From the way Órlaith continued to study her, Alise was willing to bet Cillian had learned that personality litmus test at his grandmother’s knee, as he clearly had so much else. Deciding to throw off the predator currently cornering her, Alise deliberately ate differently, defiantly plucking out the soft center and eating that first.

Órlaith threw back her head and laughed. “Well played, wizardling. You are more intimate with my grandson than you’d like us to know. He’s baked for you. Fascinating. The question is, will you be another Szarina?”

“No,” Alise answered firmly, perfectly willing to both firmly close off that avenue of speculation and reveal that she knew about that tawdry incident. “Though I must say that I’m surprised that you, Lady Harahel, allowed a Sammael scion to so badly use one of yours. You won’t convince me you didn’t know.”

Órlaith lifted her cup in the same silent toast as Alise had given. “Foolish young people don’t grow into older and wiser ones if they’re protected from everything that might give them pain,” she observed. “Especially regarding one’s scions, as you like to remind me, a parent and head of a high house prefers them to be toughened by the non-lethal lessons life offers.”

“Non-lethal life lessons?” Alise echoed incredulously, abandoning her manners in her indignation. “Szarina badly hurt Cillian, wounded him as only a sensitive, caring person like him can be.”

“And are you aiming to pick up the pieces of his broken heart, young Elal?” Lady Harahel returned sharply. “As I might point out that you share a great deal more with Szarina Sammael than you don’t. You and I both know you’ll be wanting to acquire a familiar to fuel your wizardry at the level of power you’ll need and—let’s be frank—will crave, just like your father. There is no place in your future for a sweet and sensitive lover like Cillian.”

Alise was aware of this assumption about her—and not only because Cillian had said almost the exact same thing to her. She was growing exceedingly tired of literally everyone else telling her what she wanted from her life. However, she had no intention of confirming or denying Órlaith’s probing insinuations. She and Cillian should have discussed how to represent their relationship, but they hadn’t and that was water under the bridge; she was on her own.

“Szarina manipulated Cillian into helping her cheat,” she said pointedly, “smearing his reputation at Convocation Academy and causing him to question his own integrity.”

“As well he should,” Órlaith fired back, all stern high house lady as she hadn’t fully demonstrated before that moment. “Manipulated him, indeed.” She snorted in contempt. “My boy got his head turned, thinking with his little one, bamboozled by a pretty face and a sob story. Cillian has always seen himself as the savior of damsels in distress. It’s an unfortunate character flaw.”

Alise gaped at her. “Cillian’s caring nature is hardly a character flaw.”

“Isn’t it?” Órlaith’s expression was as hard as glass. “There’s no place among Convocation wizards for tender hearts, squirreled away in the archives or not. The Convocation high houses are constantly at war, overtly or covertly, which you know Daughter of Elal. You judged me and found me wanting, assuming I have no security and no sense. Just a granny puttering in her garden, but I am the head of House Harahel, one of the first houses in the Convocation, and we have not survived by accident.”

To steady herself, Alise sipped her tea, then set it down, cursing herself for simply eating and drinking with blind trust.

“No, I didn’t poison or drug your food,” Órlaith said in exasperation. “I just finished telling you I’m not a fool. I don’t want Piers Elal bringing down the fury of the entire spirit world upon my house. Nor do I have any wish to incite the vengeance of Lord Gabriel Phel, especially fueled by your powerful sister. Of course I know about that rogue upstart with his unusual—and obviously unconstrained—powers, and I can assess the likely fate of House Phel. Harahel survived where Phel did not, which I’d think would give you pause before casting your judgements.”

“I apologize,” Alise said, wishing viciously that she’d minded her thoughts—and checking her mental shielding again.

“No, I didn’t read your mind that time, child. Your thoughts were all too apparent in your actions. You are, however, competent at controlling your facial expressions. You’re quite like your father, you know.”

Alise was glad she’d set down her tea, as she would have choked on it, or bobbled her cup. “I am not like my father.” The words came out too harsh, too emotional, and Lady Harahel knew it, smiling thinly.

“I knew Piers Elal, at Convocation Academy,” she said in a conversational tone that didn’t fool Alise. Not anymore, anyway. “Same class, in fact. I had my children early; he had you all later. I wanted my child-bearing done with while my body was young and my powers still new. After all, a woman can continue to increase and enhance her wizardry all her life, but the ravages of pregnancy… best left to the vigor of youth. Something for you to keep in mind, perhaps.” Her gaze slid down Alise’s slim body in speculation and she resisted putting a hand on the belly she knew was flat.

Alise hadn’t had a Refoel healer unlock her fertility—for very good reasons—and in fact didn’t know if she ever would. She returned Lady Harahel’s inquiring gaze evenly, saying nothing, betraying nothing of her thoughts. Finally.

“Piers was very like you at this age,” Órlaith continued as if the silent battle hadn’t occurred. “He was never a big man, short and slight, like you are. You know how short men can be, always overcompensating, and Piers was no exception. Worse, he craved power, determined to be the best at everything, to control everything.”

Alise couldn’t argue with this assessment of her father—it was all too true—but she took exception to the rest of Órlaith’s implications. “That’s not who I am.”

“So you claim and so it remains to be seen. Forgive me if I’m not feeling generous enough to simply take you at your word, Alise Elal.” She smiled broadly, her wizard-black eyes ice cold. “I’m not actually interested in what your relationship has been with my grandson.”

“I’ve already tried to explain,” Alise replied stiffly, more than aggravated to be continually called out on this, like she was some kind of predatory female like… Well, like Szarina Sammael, looking to use and twist up Cillian. After all, Cillian had pursued her. Relentlessly, in his adorably velvet-clad hammer fashion. She’d been minding her own business, focused on her project, when Cillian had inserted himself into her life. And her body. Her first lover and he’d always be special for that reason. She cut off that thought before she blushed and gave herself away.

“Then by all means,” Lady Harahel said, smiling into her tea, “please do explain.”

“Cillian is my mentor. We sought the Phel archives and he found them, because he is a brilliant, clever wizard of library magic. They’d been deliberately concealed and we have very good reason to believe House Hanneil culpable. Cillian removed the Phel archives, lest they be lost again, or even destroyed. He believes there is critically important information in there, and that they were tampered with. He was determined to bring those archives here, to the house of his birth, to you, in order to run a side-by-side comparison with the House Harahel mirrored archives for House Phel. Provost Uriel is aware of this mission and endorses it.”

Alise left out the part where Provost Uriel had also fired Cillian. That should be his news to share, if at all. Besides, the way the provost had saved them at the last moment and destroyed Gordon Hanneil made Alise think she might relent. Cillian loved working in the Convocation archives; he belonged there. Surely Provost Uriel would know that.

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