Page 134 of A Tower of Half-Truths
“You what?”
He ripped a blank page from his notebook. A chill passed between them as he spoke a rather complex incantation. Mavery knew it was twenty-eight syllables without needing to count; she’d picked up on the rhythm of speech he always used for incantations of that length. The paper glowed white for a second, then dulled again. Though it still looked like an ordinary sheet of paper, it had become as firm as hardtack.
“Transmutated grain,” Alain said, his voice slightly less tense. “It’s perfectly safe to eat.”
Mavery laughed. “It reminds me of that old folktale—the one about the demons who learned to talk to humans by eating their books.”
“I suppose every folktale has some basis in truth, but this is only a Transmutation spell. Nothing demonic here, I promise.”
Mavery took a small bite from the corner and nearly choked on it. The grain was flavorless, but its texture was unbearably gritty. She wished she had something—anything—to wash away the sensation of sand coating her tongue.
“It’s more appealing as a slurry,” Alain said. “Add a bit of water, and it becomes something like porridge.”
She wrinkled her nose. Anything that could be described as a “slurry” sounded evenlessappealing. With a hard swallow, she choked down the grain.
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” she said.
Alain’s shoulders sagged. “When you arrived in Leyport, I’d gone nearly a month without leaving my apartment at all. When my real food ran out, I sacrificed a few notebooks and survived off this.”
“For almost amonth?”
He nodded. “It will ward off starvation, but it’s not intended to be eaten over extended periods.”
“Gods, that sounds awful.” Mavery’s heart sank. Upon seeing him for the first time, she’d assumed he had been ill. She’d been correct, in a sense.
“At the time, I considered it a fitting addition to my self-inflicted punishment.”
She touched her hand to his cheek. “I hope you never have to think that way again.”
With a weak smile, he placed his hand over hers.
The door to the presentation chamber opened. They both flinched, and Mavery jerked her hand away as her heart raced for multiple reasons.
“The High Council has completed its deliberations,” Darvis said. Nothing in his voice indicated he’d noticed their impropriety.
Alain looked to Mavery, then took a deep breath. As he turned to follow Darvis, she tossed the rest of the transmutated grain into the fire.
Thirty-Nine
Halfway across the presentation chamber, Alain froze.
The spell tome lay atop the podium.
The previous three times Alain had presented a spell, the High Council had taken the tome, created copies for peer review, and stored the original in its archives. They’d never returned the original to him. Perhaps they’d changed their process at some point in the past two years.
Or, perhaps Alain hadfailed.
He approached the podium cautiously, like an animal trying to avoid ensnaring itself in a trap, as a tempest of dread churned within his stomach.
Seringoth’s voice resounded through the room.
“Aventus the Third, after much deliberation, the High Council has decided that your spell lacks the scientific rigor necessary to proceed to the peer review phase. Your spell requires significant revisions, based on these recommendations.
“Firstly, you must remove any and all references to Enodus the Second’s ‘Sensing Spell,’ as this tome is no longer in circulation. That includes the entirety of the translation of his treatise. Second—”
“Ex-excuse me, Archmage,” Alain said, avoiding Seringoth’s eyes. He knew speaking out of turn could worsen this already volatile situation, but surely he’d misunderstood. “How is that possible? I viewed it myself at the University of North Fenutia less than a month ago.”
“Arcanist Dolokir recently deemed it unfit for scholarly research, on the grounds of it being an unfinished spell. Now—”
