Page 29 of A Tower of Half-Truths
But returning to the University next week?
Returning to teachingnext term?
He should have explained to Kazamin how his sabbatical had given him a newfound perspective, and that he wasn’t ready to return now—or ever again.
But he’d run into his supervisor outside the barber’s this morning, completely by happenstance. He’d been too blindsided to decline Kazamin’s invitation to lunch, and when Kazamin had asked whether he would return to the University, “yes” had been the only word in Alain’s vocabulary.
Perhaps Kazamin was right: once he returned to his old routine, he would feel like himself again. Perhaps being alone with his thoughts over these past months had—
“May I get you anything else, sir?”
Alain flinched. Amid all his pondering, he hadn’t noticed the waiter approach his table.
“Er, yes, I’ll take some wine,” Alain said. He fully expected the waiter to balk at his request, but the man only nodded.
“Of course. Shall I bring you the wine list?”
“No need. A glass of your house red will do.” As the waiter began to walk away, Alain raised a finger. “Actually, make that a carafe.”
He’d held back around Kazamin, who undoubtedly would have protested at drinking before midday. The dean was as devoted to decorum as he was to his faith. The Covenantsmight well be holy scripture.
The waiter returned with a filled carafe and an empty glass. Alain didn’t bother giving the wine any fanfare. He prepared a generous pour, then gulped from his glass like a parched man ata wellspring. The wine was cheap: thin-bodied, slightly sour, and it burned all the way from mouth to stomach. It did nothing to dampen the noise of the surrounding crowd, nor did it distract Alain from thinking about what awaited him next week.
At least he could count on Kazamin to not ask too many questions about his new assistant. The dean didn’t care where his subordinates’ assistants came from, so long as they didn’t make a mess of the common room.
Alain could understand why Mavery hadn’t come forward about being a university dropout. He knew that his colleagues—with the exception of Declan, perhaps—would have dismissed her the moment they learned about her lack of a formal education. That was assuming she would have gotten past the initial interview. Had she arrived at any oftheirdoorsteps instead of his, she would have been better off stumbling blindly into a den of starving wolves.
What he couldn’t understand was what “personal reasons” had forced her to leave university in the first place. She was attentive, organized, clever. Her only fault was a curiosity that bordered on nosiness. Every day, she found some way to postulate a question about the contents of the storage room. Every day, he brushed her off.
But he had to admire her persistence. In fact, he’d left her a small “gift” that she was sure to discover by the time he returned home. More than likely, she’d already found it.
He knew there was no need for scheming. The obvious thing to do would be to ask her why she left university. But if he asked her about her private matters, she would likely do the same to him, and he knew what her first question would be. Given the choice between providing the answer and returning to teaching, he couldn’t say which was more daunting.
Perhaps one day she would come forward of her own volition.
Perhaps one day he would be ready to do the same.
For now, Mavery would remain a puzzle he’d made little progress toward solving. When he found no solutions at the bottom of his wineglass, he poured himself another.
Ten
Mavery gasped when the front door opened. For the first time in weeks, a jolt of panic ran up her spine. Once she realized the intrusion was only Alain, returning from his errands, she chided herself for sitting with her back to the door—a habit the Brass Dragons had drilled out of her years ago. She could only assume she’d become so accustomed to playing the role of a wizard’s assistant, her old instincts were starting to slip.
Alain entered the room and shrugged off his coat.
“Back from running errands?” Mavery asked, mustering a cheerful tone.
“Errands? Oh, right. Fine. They were fine.” He tossed his coat in the direction of his desk chair. It missed by at least a foot, but Alain didn’t seem to notice. “I’m going to put the kettle on.”
He lumbered across the room and into the kitchen while Mavery continued working. She straightened a stack of library books and pushed them aside. She was reaching for the next stack when she heard a crash, followed by a yelp.
“Everything all right in there?” she called.
When Alain failed to reply, she hoisted herself from her chair and headed toward the kitchen. She opened the door to find him on hands and knees, gathering the pieces of a shattered teacup.
“Here, let me help you,” she said.
With a circular gesture, she performed a basic mending spell. The shards of porcelain scattered across the floor and clustered together, reforming a teacup on Alain’s palm, though the cracks rendered it useless. Only an innate mender could flawlessly repair a broken object, but at least Alain no longer needed to continue searching for the pieces by hand. He tossed the cup in the garbage bin.
