Page 136 of A Tower of Half-Truths
Alain opened his mouth, readying an apology, but no sound escaped his lips. His lungs had shriveled, his vocal cords had turned to dust.
Seringoth leaned closer. His face contained no relief in seeing his assistant returned from the dead. His eyes were as cold as a midwinter sky.
“By every right, you should have died today as a result of your imprudence,” he said in a low voice. “Instead, I chose to give you a second chance, as I know there is great potential within you. But understand that, by bringing you here, I have violated the Covenants.This is a matter I do not take lightly, and one that I will never repeat. I have paid the Resurrectionist handsomely for his silence, and you will speak of this to no one. Do you understand?”
Alain nodded, and Seringoth rose from his chair.
“Good. Do not make me regret this decision.”
“Alain?”
He turned his gaze from the window—it was a cloudless, sunny day, as though the weather itself were making a mockery of his failure—and toward Mavery. Though the carriage he’d hired had a spacious bench, she sat close to him, resting her hand against his cheek.
“Alain, where we you just now?”
The first time I died.
“What was that?” she asked.
He blinked, not realizing he’d spoken aloud. He cleared his throat. “Er, nothing. I was only…lost in thought.”
“Obviously. Do you want to share any of those thoughts, or are you going to continue keeping me in the dark about why you abandoned the plan?”
He sighed. “Now is not a good time to hand in my resignation. Think of how it would look, further abandoning my duties immediately after delivering the High Council a mediocre spell—”
“Mediocre?” Mavery scoffed. “You took a spell no one had touched in two hundred years and completed it intwo weeks. You’re a brilliant scholar, despite everything those assholes said back there.”
He gaped at her. “They’re the greatest wizards of our time!”
“And who decided that? The Elder Wizards themselves?” Mavery frowned. “Don’t tell me you believe that bullshit excusefor removing the spell tome.”
“I don’t,” Alain said without hesitation, much to his own surprise. It was the truth, though he could only admit it to Mavery. He’d never be so brazen as to speak those words before the High Council. “There are scores of incomplete spell tomes in the University of Leyport’s archives. I know every arcanist weeds their collection based on their own criteria, but—”
“Thearcanists’criteria, orthe High Council’s? I’ll bet you anything this has something to do with that magic Enodus mentioned.”
She ground her knuckles into her forehead, and Alain knew this discomfort had nothing to do with her Senses. Not directly, at any rate. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. At least the two people sitting in this carriage knew that Enodus’s spell tome had once existed. They still had Alain’s transcription and Mavery’s translation.
But what good were those now? Even if they discovered what “ktonic magic” was, what could they possibly do with that knowledge? Throughout history, there’d been scholars who’d gone rogue and attempted to publish their research without the High Council’s blessing. Their names had been remembered—but only to serve as a warning that there were far worse punishments than losing one’s wizard rank.
“All this time, I was hoping I could spare you one of the pitfalls of being a scholar,” Alain said softly.
Mavery replied with a frustrated groan.
“And now,” he said, “just when I thought our work was complete, we have this field experiment to address. In the past, a theoretical analysis had been sufficient. Granted, I last presented a spell over two years ago. No wonder Kazamin encouraged all that peer review.”
“Which you never finished.”
“Between the potion and the spell, I didn’t have the time.” He shook his head. “That’s too often how it goes.”
Mavery loosened herself from his embrace. As she drummed her fingers against her chin, Alain could almost see the gears within her brilliant mind turning, formulating a new plan.
“At least the field experiment should be simple enough,” she said. “We could stop by the provincial courthouse, test the spell there. I know for a fact that place is overflowing with wards.” Alain arched his eyebrows, and she shrugged. “It’s a popular place for thieves.”
“I assumedcompetentthieves would know how to avoid ending up in court.”
She smirked. “No, competent thieves know how to avoid ending up inprison. I can assure you, this former thief never spent much time there.”
He laughed, but it flattened as he recalled Seringoth’s words from nearly an hour ago—and over a decade ago.
