Page 36 of Strange Familiar

Harahel might eschew familiars on the grounds that library work rarely required massive or immediate amounts of magic, but the family also took pride in not relying on a familiar for wizardry. A wizard should be able to function independently, particularly performing magical duties that had become routine. Cillian allowed himself a bit of disdain for the dour Tyrna who’d tried to look down on him and who couldn’t perform this simple task without her familiar.

Tyrna made a complicated gesture with her free hand—another indicator of lazy wizardry, as she shouldn’t need physical movement to express her magic—and an opening in the curtain formed.

Cillian, without moving a muscle, directed the air elemental in the carriage to proceed across. “Thank you, Tyrna,” he said, then smiled at her familiar. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

The young man looked startled to be noticed, much less addressed, and smiled back shyly. “I’m Feny, Wizard Harahel.”

“Good to meet you both.” He tossed off a salute, enjoying Tyrna’s scowl as she slammed the barrier shut behind him and swallowed Feny and herself in the fog again. Cillian would bet that parlor trick consumed more magic than opening the barrier had. He took a few moments to trigger the mechanism to convert the runners to wheels—the carriage might be antique, but El-Adrel mechanisms worked like a charm for a long, long time—and then rode on into Elal.

In only a few hours, he would see Alise. Or, at least, he’d be in the same building with her. He could only hope he’d get to see her. And convince her.

Cillian had, of course, seen multiple illustrations of House Elal itself. He wouldn’t be him if he hadn’t done his research. Seeing the manse in real life, however, eclipsed all of his preconceptions.

In the first place, you could easily fit five of House Harahel inside the house at Elal. That became slowly more and more apparent as his carriage drew near. Situated as the manse was in the river valley, its size was initially deceptive, seen from above, but as he descended, the edifice seemed to grow, until it towered overhead. It wasn’t graceful and lovely like House Phel, or gothically old-fashioned like House Harahel, but it sprawled, wing upon wing and tower after tower, in a glamorous avalanche of architecture that transcended mere aesthetics.

The carriage trundled across the drawbridge spanning the moat. The fact that it was down and the portcullis—an actual portcullis, like out of fairy tales—up, seemed to be encouraging signs. At least he wasn’t physically locked out of House Elal. He patted his shirt pocket, reassuring himself that the favor from Alise remained accessible. He had a feeling he’d need it before this had played out.

As anticipated, more liveried servants silently escorted him not to see Alise, but into what was clearly an office belonging to Lord Elal, the sort where guests would be formally received, particularly of the unwelcome variety. The servants waited for him to choose a seat—he picked a chair where he could study the room—then set a tray of refreshments before him. Shutting the door, they left him alone.

Cillian poured himself tea, eschewing the wine, though it was no doubt an excellent Elal vintage, and nibbled on the cookies provided. They were too dry and a bit on the stale side. No wonder Alise rhapsodized over his baking if she’d been raised on this sort of thing. He did pause, giving thought to whether he should eat or drink, but Lady Harahel had endorsed his visit and Cillian doubted even mighty House Elal wanted to get into a feud with Harahel by poisoning their scion, even a humble one.

Lord Elal kept him waiting over an hour. By then Cillian had formed more of an opinion of Alise’s father from how he chose to furnish and decorate this receiving room. Most notably, there were no books. Cillian knew he was odd that way, as was House Harahel, in that he expected all unused wall space to be lined with bookshelves and stuffed with books. Not only that, however, and even more telling, none of the chairs had reading lights situated nearby. Arguably, a room like this wouldn’t be used for reading or study, but he found the lack unsettling. In fact, the room contained no reading material at all, or even any interesting art, almost as if it had been designed to torture visitors into boredom.

Fortunately, Cillian was never without. He dug through his book satchel, putting back the texts on the Knifeblade Mountains and Elal countryside, along with the booklet on the ballgowns of Lady Phel long past, which he’d brought to show Alise, after having it copied by an expensive House Xerograf gremlin. At least his conservative grandmother had relented enough on her technological isolation to have one of those creatures on hand. He settled in with a history of House Elal, partly because he hadn’t finished it, but also to tweak Piers Elal’s nose.

Sure enough, when Lord Elal strode into the room, his one wizard-black eye went immediately to the book Cillian set aside as he politely stood, the man’s lip curling in distaste before he studied Cillian, making no pretense of doing otherwise. “So you’re the archivist who thought to woo my daughter,” he declared without preamble, going to sit behind his desk and indicating the chair in front of it.

Cillian had no intention of sitting there to be interviewed like some supplicant. Instead, he remained standing, folding his hands nonchalantly behind his back as he returned the perusal with interest. Cillian had never had occasion to meet Lord Elal, but he’d been very interested to discover if the wizard’s magic would feel like Alise’s and Nic’s. It did and didn’t, the florid rose notes not nearly so predominant, the scent of wine much stronger. Nic and Alise both got their coloring from their mother, so Lord Elal’s blond good looks were nothing like his daughters’, but something in the haughty lift of the man’s chin, the strong cheekbones, reminded him very much of Alise.

“I served as Alise’s mentor and independent study project supervisor at Convocation Academy,” he said agreeably, as if that had been the question asked. “I understand Wizard Alise is in residence.” Or so he hoped. He didn’t know what he’d do if that turned out to be incorrect. “Lady Harahel messaged ahead, requesting an audience for me with Wizard Alise.” Much as she hadn’t wanted to. Another victory for him, convincing her that she had to give him the freedom to prove he’d changed.

“How is Órlaith, that old battle axe?” Elal inquired. The metal patch over his missing eye seemed to be swirling. Some sort of wizardry, no doubt having to do with spirit magic.

“Lady Harahel is in excellent health,” Cillian answered politely. “Thank you for asking.”

That lip curl again. “Órlaith always did have more balls than any man.”

No doubt that was true, but Cillian simply stood, attentively waiting.

Lord Elal huffed out an annoyed breath and stabbed a finger at the chair before his desk. “Sit, sit already.”

“I’m comfortable standing,” Cillian replied. “Is Wizard Alise on her way?”

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

Cillian absorbed the stab of pain, acknowledging that it could be true but that Elal had more reasons to lie than not. “I’d rather hear that directly from her.”

“Oh, would you rather?” Elal questioned, mimicking Cillian’s Harahel accent, exaggerating the roll of the R. “Well, I would r-r-rather you ceased wasting my time. If you don’t wish to sit and converse like civilized wizards then you can crawl back into whatever dusty tome you crept out of. My heir is a busy wizard and has no time to waste on the likes of you.”

Rather than being daunted, Cillian breathed in relief. Alise was here. “Naturally, I await her convenience. I don’t wish to impose on her no doubt demanding schedule. When would be a better time for me to meet with her?”

“In the dark arts of never!” Lord Elal practically roared. “I know your designs on my daughter, how you attempted to seduce her. You’ve displayed a surprising amount of ambition for a Harahel bookworm, but it will do you no good. Alise will be taking a familiar and training to become Lady Elal after me. She doesn’t wish to see you, ever again, and I support her in that decision.”

“I’d prefer to hear that from her own lips.”

“I don’t care what you prefer, boy. Perhaps you should have thought of that before you had your grandmother send my daughter packing rather than offer her the simplest hospitality at House Harahel. Turning her out without even a meal or a night’s sleep, simply because she doesn’t trust an Elal.” He barked out a bitter laugh. “Well, if Órlaith thinks I’ll treat her scion better than she did mine, then she’s gone batty over the years. An Elal isn’t welcome at House Harahel? Fine then. No Harahel is welcome here. Begone.”

Feeling sick, the truth of what had happened while he was unconscious hit him, along with pure fury at his conniving grandmother. The pieces of the puzzle fell perfectly into place, fitting into a seamless whole. Alise hadn’t left him, not of her own will. That’s why it had never made any sense. His grandmother, Lady Harahel, had given Alise the imperious boot and Cillian hadn’t been awake to interfere. No wonder Alise hadn’t written him. No wonder she didn’t want to see him.

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