Page 132 of A Tower of Half-Truths
“Language,” Yuriva chided, then studied Mavery for a moment. “I was simply observing your memory, though few are able to detect me so quickly. Have you ever received Mysticism training?”
“No.”
“Curious. Let’s try something else. Focus your attention on my right hand.”
Yuriva raised it and produced a protective ward. Mavery smelled copper, now interlaced with that floral scent again. As she watched the ephemeral blue aura, her head throbbed. She touched the back of her head, though that did nothing to ease the discomfort. It felt as though an invisible hand were massaging the deepest folds of her mind, in a place she could neither see nor touch. Impulsively, she squeezed her eyes shut, tried to force out the intrusion.
“This will all be over much sooner if you cooperate,” Yuriva said.
“What are you doing to me?”
“Seeing through your eyes.”
Mavery acquiesced with a sigh. She opened her eyes again, then winced at the sudden intensity of Yuriva’s protective ward. She grit her teeth as she tried to ride out the probing sensation.
It was clear when the spell ended: the floral scent faded, the throbbing in her head subsided. She rubbed her scalp again,though she knew the Mystic hadn’t physically touched her.
“There,” Mavery said flatly. “Are you satisfied?”
“Such impatience,” Yuriva said in that serene voice that Mavery now found irritating. “I detected an air of distress just now. Is that something you often experience?”
Mavery scoffed;distresswas a bit dramatic. “Only with very powerful or prolonged magic. To help with that, Al—Aventus—made a potion that dulls my Senses.”
Yuriva’s eyebrows raised slightly, betraying her otherwise stoic demeanor. “Describe this potion.”
“How is that relevant?” Mavery asked.
“Answer the question, please.”
She automatically recalled her most recent memory of the potion: about an hour ago, after stepping through the portal.
“Are you certain you don’t want the anti-Sensing potion?”
“A bit late for that, isn’t it?”
“I mean for the trip back.”
The scent of flowers made her stomach lurch. Yuriva was watching on, and Mavery couldn’t let the Mystic witness how that conversation had played out. She willed her memory of Alain to freeze in place, pinching the vial between his fingers. That bought her a few seconds to card through her memories for one that was less incriminating.
She thought back to the morning he’d revealed the potion to her. The teacup filled with the viscous, black liquid. The taste as it slid down her throat—bitter, with that hint of bergamot. Alain standing before her, waiting.
“Do you feel anything?”
“No.”
“Try looking at the door.”
The past version of herself gasped. Then, she was across the room, examining the rippling effect where colorful auras had been only a moment ago.
The floral aroma persisted. Yuriva was still here…somewhere. Mavery turned around and searched the room. As this memory was more distant than the previous one, her surroundings were a blur of mismatched furniture, stacks of books, piles of loose papers. Her gaze roved over it all, seeking a detail that didn’t belong.
“Where did you go?” she asked, both in her mind and out loud.
Yuriva snapped her fingers, and the memory faded. The Mystic’s lips formed a thin line—not quite a frown, but far from a smile.
“Why did you change to a different memory?” she demanded.
Mavery shrugged. “You asked me to describe the potion. I thought you’d prefer to see a time when I actually drank it.”
