Page 94 of A Tower of Half-Truths
“Some would argue it does. But no, the magical protections wreak havoc on compasses and shroud the area in perpetual fog. You can’t calculate the temple’s coordinates, even by mathematical means, so it’s impossible to place its exact location on a map.”
“Huh…”
Perhaps Mavery’s Senses hadn’t been the only thing preventing her from reaching the temple all those years ago. Wren and Neldren were the only people she knew who had actually seen the temple in person. In Wren’s case, it had been a result of sheer luck—or misfortune.
“I’ve never had any desire to go there myself, so that’s the extent of what I know,” Selemin said. “Going back to the cottage, the Church of the Dyad had it burned to the ground right after the Order was rounded up. Could be the members also used the temple—orstructure, I should say—for their official business.” They shrugged. “But until someone finds a way into that old ruin, we’ll never know. And even then, it’s hard to know whether those findings would ever see the light of day.”
“What do you mean?” Mavery asked.
“We scholars can research anything we desire. But when it comes tosharingour findings, the High Council has final say on what’s allowed in bookshops and libraries.”
“I thought the arcanists controlled that.”
They gave Mavery a pointed look. “And who controls the arcanists?”
At that moment, the bartender approached them.
“What can I get you ladies this time?” he asked.
“That’s lady andChronicler.” Selemin fingered the hourglass pendant hanging from their neck.
“Beg your pardon.” The bartender bowed his head. “Didn’t realize you were clergy.”
“Only a humble scholar, but close enough.” Selemin pushed their empty tankard across the bar. “Another pint and a bottle of that Maroban something-or-other for Nezima’s tab, if you would be so kind.” They looked to Mavery. “You don’t happen to remember what year she asked for?”
She smirked. “I thoughtyouwere the historian here.”
They snorted, then waved a hand. “Oh, just grab something old and expensive. Wine is wine, as far as I’m concerned.”
The bartender blanched at that sentiment. Shaking his head, he turned to the rows of bottles behind him.
“What about you?” Selemin asked Mavery. “Your next drink is on me.”
She leaned over the bar. But instead of spotting a rare vintage, something in the mirror caught her eye.
Red hair and a familiar face.
Mavery blinked, and both had vanished. She took a deep breath, nearly choking on the lingering cigar smoke as she focused her Senses. Paranoia had not gotten the better of her after all; the scent of ash was not coming from any cigarette.
She slowly turned her head as she observed the room. In the corner by the front window, the shadows shifted unnaturally. The shrouded figure, knowing they had been spotted, was moving toward the door.
“Shit,” Mavery muttered.
“Having trouble deciding?” Selemin asked. “See, this is why I stick with ale. Makes drinking so much more straightforward.”
“Sorry, Selemin,” Mavery said, mustering an air of cheerfulness, “but I’m afraid that drink will have to wait a little longer. I just spotted an old friend I haven’t seen in ages.”
“Oh? Why not invite them to join us?”
“I can assure you she’s not the scholarly type.”
“Ha! Fair enough,” they said as the bartender passed them a fresh tankard. “Well, enjoy catching up with your friend. I’ll get you that drink another time.”
Mavery nodded. “Yes, another time.”
She turned away from the bar and focused on the area by the entryway. The Sense of arcana-tinged ash was as strong as it had been a moment ago. Her target hadn’t made it far, thanks to a line of professors who were stumbling out of the pub. The faltering shroud slipped behind the final inebriated scholar, and out into the street. Mavery followed closely behind.
Twenty-Eight
