Page 50 of A Tower of Half-Truths
He grinned. “This isbrilliant!”
She released a held breath before returning his smile.
“Finding a single book used to take me the better part of an hour,assuming I didn’t grow so frustrated, I gave up altogether. Where did you come up with this idea?”
“Previous employment. Let’s just leave it at that.”
Her shorthand had been adapted from the Brass Dragons’ code for marking buildings—the same one she’d used to confirm the Crackled Pestle’s affiliation with the guild. A handful of letters and symbols could denote a wealth of information: whose protection the building was under, the type of loot inside, the locations of weak points to exploit during break-ins. Of course, she couldn’t tell Alain any of that.
“In any case, this is excellent work.” He handed back the catalog. “It’s a bit different than what the University’s library uses, but every arcanist devises their own system.”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “If I’m an arcanist, then you’re a master painter.”
Arcanists were a step above librarians. Apart from cataloging books and spells, they would occasionally pen translations or delve into ruins to recover ancient tomes. Most importantly, they controlled what knowledge was housed within their libraries—and who was granted access to them.
“Fair enough,” Alain said. “Had you ever considered becoming one?”
Mavery nodded. “It was why I enrolled at Atterdell in the first place.”
Becoming an arcanist was more straightforward than becoming a wizard—it required only four years of university, then sitting a certification exam—but it was by no means easier. Some wizards hired arcanists to manage their private libraries, but becoming a university’s arcanist was far more prestigious. Not to mention, farmore lucrative. While the University of Leyport’s library boasted three arcanists, that was the exception to the rule; most wizarding schools had only one. Such positions were so rare, becoming a wizard had once been Mavery’sbackupplan, as ridiculous as that seemed in hindsight.
“You attendedAtterdellfor arcanist studies? No wonder you—”
He blanched as the two of them locked eyes. The unspoken truth hung heavily in the air between them. It had been nearly three weeks since Mavery had come across the letter from Atterdell. And yet, Alain still hadn’t mentioned it.
Since then, she’d felt as though she were balancing on the edge of a blade, and every revelation about her past nudged her a bit further from the center. He’d kept her around despite her lack of credentials, her vague ties to the Brass Dragons, her invasion of his private room. She wanted to knowwhy, even if it meant revealing that she’d violated his privacy—again. Even if it delivered the final push that tipped her over the edge.
“Go on,” she said, clutching the catalog to her chest. “Say it.”
“Er…say what?”
She sighed. “I’m a dropout. There’s no use hiding it; you’ve known for weeks now. I found your letters. Not just the one from Atterdell, but the one from the High—”
“Good.”
She blinked at him. “Wait, what?”
“It never occurred to you that Iwantedyou to find those letters?”
Ithadstruck her as odd that he’d left them in an unlocked drawer after he’d so carefully hidden everything else. Her breath hitched as she realized he’d intentionally led the ley line to his desk, to make the letters easier to spot.
“Why?” she asked.
Alain lowered his head. “I wanted to tell you that you were working for a wizard who had tarnished his reputation so tremendously, he was on the verge of losing his rank. But when I couldn’t find the words, I decided to let those letters speak for me. You’d already proven the inquisitive sort. I knew if I left you to your owndevices, you would discover them.”
“But that doesn’t explain the Atterdell letter. Why have you kept me around, knowing full well I don’t have an education?”
“Because you’re a Senser, of course! I would be a fool to turn you away. And, Senser or not, you’ve already proven your worth.” He pointed at the catalog, then smiled wryly. “Besides, that letter only confirmed what I’d already suspected from your first day of work: that you had, at most, a first-year education. Believe me, no university graduateeverforgets Venetum’s First Principle.
“Furthermore, I doubted your family name was actually Reynard. It seems you’re unfamiliar with the Dauphinian folktale,Reynard the Three-Tailed Trickster, else you would’ve chosen a less obvious alias.”
“If you knew all along, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I assumed you would eventually come forward on your own.” Alain shrugged. “And, well, here we are.”
Mavery gazed at her feet. “Here we are.”
For a moment, she’d feared that this would be the end of everything: steady wages for work that she’d grown proud of, afternoon teas that had become far more enjoyable, and—above all else—
