Page 82 of A Tower of Half-Truths
By the time Tristan returned, the only thing she’d learned was that the wizarding community had little use for people like her. On a positive note, she was all the more motivated to help Alain finish his Sensing spell—and prove several generations of bastards wrong.
“All of Enodus the Second’s books are housed at the University of North Fenutia, as none of them were ever translated into Osperlandish,” Tristan said. “As for Deventhal the Fifth, the entirety of his oeuvre is on alchemy.”
Mavery frowned. Alain had failed to mention that Deventhal had been an alchemist.
“He never wrote a single book about Sensing?” she asked.
“No, but I did find his autobiography. Perhaps you’ll find something useful in here.”
Tristan handed her a book that was surprisingly thin, as Mavery had expected a wizard to be exceptionally verbose when it came to writing about himself. She skimmed the first chapter, in which Deventhal recounted his early childhood. Her breath hitched upon finding a reference to Sensing on the second page, but her hopes were quickly dashed.
In the spring of my fourth year, I developed a condition known as arcane hypersensitivity. My lifelong curse inflicted upon me great discomfort when casting even the simplest of spells. Thus became my primary motivation for dedicating my life to the study of alchemy, as opposed to spellcraft.
“Shall I take this down to the circulation desk for you?” Tristan asked.
“No, thanks.” With a sigh, she handed back the book. “I doubt Deventhal will be much help.”
“Then can I assist you with anything else?”
“Actually, yes, there’s one more thing.”
Mavery retrieved a scrap of paper from her pocket. Upon it, she’d written the strange phrase she’d seen in Enodus’s spell tome:ktonic magic. Tristan took it from her and stiffened.
“Do you have any books on this?” she asked.
“No,” he said curtly.
“Because they’re already lent out?”
“Because that word is nonsense.”
“Are you sure? You didn’t even look—”
“Miss, I have served as the University’s Head Arcanist for twenty-seven years. If such a thing existed, I would know of it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you doubting my expertise?”
Mavery blinked at him. “No, of course not. I was only thinking, I found this word in one of Enodus’s spell tomes—a transcription of it, anyway—so maybe it’s Old Fenutianor—”
“It is not. It is a transcription error, nothing more.” He straightened his posture, adjusted his robe. “Now, if you have no further questions, I have other patrons to attend to.”
Tristan turned on his heel and disappeared around the end of the row, leaving Mavery alone with the shelf of useless books. It wasn’t until his footsteps had faded completely, when she realized he’d taken the scrap of paper with him.
An hour later, after skimming through the remaining Sensing books, she exited the library empty-handed and with more questions than answers. Between the lack of information about her condition and Tristan’s suddenly cold demeanor, she wasn’t sure which was more concerning. As she crossed the quad, someone called out to her.
“Mavery! Wait a moment!”
She turned around, coming face-to-face with Nezima’s curly-haired assistant.
“You’re…Wren, was it?” Mavery asked.
“I sure am!” Wren gave her an enthusiastic two-handed handshake. “I was hoping to talk to you after Nezima’s class the other day, but you left early. Is now a good time?”
Wren beamed a wide, toothy smile. There was no trace of her nervousness from the other day. No doubt a result of being away from Nezima—and Nezima’s paperwork. A gust of wind sent Wren’s robe billowing behind her, revealing an ample bust and curvaceous hips that brought to mind a certain barmaid from half a lifetime ago…
Mavery blinked. Alain was one thing, but now this woman? She needed to get a hold of herself before she lost all her non-magical senses.
“Er, sure,” she said. “What did you want to talk about?”
“It’s about Aventus. You see, I was his assistant for about three years, up until last Fervidor.”
