Page 39 of A Tower of Half-Truths
“Hello, Wren,” he said flatly.
“You look well.”
“As do you.”
Wren looked from Alain to Mavery, then shifted her arms to keep her stack of papers from slipping. “Well…I’d best not keep Nezima waiting.”
As Wren left the common room, Mavery pondered the odd exchange. Yet another mystery. Whether she could benefit from this one remained to be seen.
“Well!” Declan said, clasping his hands together. “Now that we’ve each gotten a pep talk, I suppose now’s as good a time as any to get some work done!”
He crossed the room to his office, which now had a queue of students waiting outside.
The interruptions had forced Mavery and Alain to place a pin in their argument. She wasn’t eager to revisit it. Judging by his silence, Alain shared that sentiment. He gave her a sidelong glance.
“Shall we get out of here?”
“Gods, yes,” she sighed. “Thought you’d never ask.”
They arrived at a café around the block from campus. On the walk over, Alain had told her how this had been his favorite spot from his university days, until his sabbatical. Its owner was Dauphinian, and it was one of the few places in Leyport where you could find authentic Dauphinian pastries. But what really set it apart from the other cafés were its alchemical teas.
“Alchemical teas?” Mavery asked as they approached the front door. The café was a quaint cottage nestled between towering brick buildings. “You mean potions?”
“In a sense. Think of it as tea, but with a touch of magic.”
“I think what I need right now islessmagic.”
“Just trust me,” he said, opening the door.
Her doubts persisted as he led her to a small round table beside the fireplace. He pulled out her chair and offered to take her robe, but she declined. While she attempted to warm herself by the fire, Alain went to the counter and ordered for both of them. That was fine by her, as she couldn’t begin to make sense of the menu. Half of it was in Dauphinian, and the offerings were so vast, Alain’s tea collection seemed primitive by comparison. A few minutes later, a server returned with a plate of buttery scones, an assortment of jams, and a pair of cups large enough to be soup bowls.
At first glance, Mavery’s cup seemed to be filled with ordinary black tea. But the iridescent sheen on its surface indicated it had been enhanced with…something. She held back her hair as she leaned forward and sniffed. It smelled like cinnamon.
Alain’s tea was a scarlet liquid that smelled like grass but looked disturbingly like blood. Instead of drinking from his own cup, he was watching Mavery with anticipation.
“This better not make me sprout feathers or burst into song.”
He laughed. “No, but now I’m hoping it does.”
She was so desperate for relief, she decided to not argue with him further. She lifted the cup with both hands, brought it to her lips, and took a careful sip. Warmth flooded her body the second the liquid reached her stomach. All at once, it was like soaking in a hot bath, bundling up in a thick blanket, and napping in a sunny meadow. Alain’s smile broadened as she relaxed in her chair.
“Finally, I feelwarm,” she sighed, then took a large gulp. After that, she shrugged off her robe.
“I suspected all you needed was the right mix of alchemical ingredients.”
He raised his cup, then paused as a distant look crossed his face. It was one she’d grown familiar with over these past weeks. So, she wasn’t the least bit shocked when he lowered the cup, took out his notebook, and began writing.
“What does your tea do?” she asked. It was a futile attempt to reel him back in. Once he started recording his thoughts, he wasunlikely to stop until every last one had been committed to paper.
“Try it for yourself if you’d like,” he said without looking up. He nudged his cup toward her with his right hand while his left continued to scrawl feverishly.
She had to close her eyes as she drank because, gods, the liquid reallydidlook like blood. But it tasted just as it smelled: like grass. And then a sense of calm trickled over her from head to toe. It was not the typical sensation from a normal cup of tea. It was as if her thoughts had become muted, pushed into the background. They were still present, but if she tried to focus on any details, they became fuzzy, detached. What instead became more pronounced—more important—were her breathing, her heartbeat, the liquid slipping down her throat, the warmth of the cup against her hands. For a moment, she had no concerns, no worries.
All too soon, the sensation passed and her thoughts returned to normal.
“I think you need this more than I do.” She nudged Alain’s cup back toward him. But he continued to write as if he’d forgotten she was there.
She studied his pen gliding across the page. In one swift movement, she leaned forward and snatched it from his hand. At last, he paused and looked up. He blinked at her, seeming more surprised than irritated.
