Chapter 5
Iliana overslept—and missed breakfast—but she felt hugely better, rested and restored as the Refoel healer had promised.
And as Han had helped with, illicit as that had been.
It felt good, though, to have her magic filling her again, the shimmering vitality of it streaming through her body.
As she hurried through the decorated halls, it seemed the glittering lights and silver-frosted roses sifted into her magic, making her feel brighter than ever.
Everything would work out fine. She’d just been tired the night before.
Physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted—all combining to make her lose her usual poise and behave badly.
Hopefully Han would forgive her. The kiss had been a fluke, born of him trying to help her, and he’d gotten carried away in his concern for her. That was all it had been.
The hallway to her first class of the morning, Familiar Senior Praxis, was nearly empty, she was that late.
Ironic after she’d chided Han about getting to his first class on time.
Hopefully he had, as… But no. Her steps slowed as she spotted the devil himself, slouched against the wall just down from the door to her class.
She had to take a deep breath and let it out again, not because she was breathless from being late, but because her heart thumped so hard at the sight of him.
Why did he have to be so beautiful? Hearing her steps, he lifted his head.
He’d left his hair unbound this morning and a wave of it shifted to fall half over his face, his full mouth brooding and eyes a startlingly bright blue.
“You should be in class,” she hissed at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I was worried about you.” He studied her intently. “You didn’t come to breakfast.”
“I overslept,” she admitted. “But I feel much better.”
“You look much better.” He held up a hand before she could say something tart. “You look beautiful, Iliana. But it’s really good to feel your magic back up to snuff.”
“For me, too.” It didn’t surprise her that Han could sense her magic. His always felt dark and delicious to her, like melted chocolate.
“I also wanted to make sure you weren’t mad at me,” he said quietly, with sober intensity. “I behaved like an ass.”
“No!” she burst out, then lowered her voice. “You didn’t and of course I’m not mad at you. I should apologize. I was out of sorts and having Sabrina poking at us didn’t help.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he replied fervently, taking her hand. “But, Iliana, I want you to think about what I said.”
Oh, no. She blushed hard, longing warring with rationality. “Han, please…”
He let her tug her hand away, but leaned against the wall between her and the classroom, not budging. “Just think about it,” he insisted. “That’s all I ask.”
“Fine.” She dodged around him and he caught her arm, his grip gentle, but relentless.
“I’m in love with you, Iliana,” he said, his gaze fulminous. He was much too close, those gorgeous lips within kissing distance, the taste of cinnamon and dark chocolate caressing her tongue. “I said it badly last night, but I’m going to convince you of the truth of that.”
“Even if you are—”
“I am.”
“If you are,” she repeated, “it doesn’t make any difference.”
“It makes all the difference,” he insisted, “unless you don’t feel the same.”
“Han, I have to go.” But she couldn’t quite pull away, fighting her own urge to move into him, to snuggle under that strong arm and at last discover how it felt to touch him.
As if reading her mind, he tugged her just a bit closer.
“Iliana,” he breathed. “Just give me a chance.” His lips lowered toward hers.
He was going to kiss her. She froze, knowing she should stop him, unable to resist the temptation he posed, especially now that she knew how it would be. Just one more kiss…
The classroom door popped open and Professor Tracy leveled a stern glare on both of them as they sprang apart. “Familiar Iliana, you are exceptionally tardy, and M. Haniel, you are an unclassified student and not allowed in this wing. I believe you are aware of those rules?”
“Yes, professor,” Han replied, looking cheeky and not at all chastened. “Tonight, Iliana. The sleighing party.”
“Yes,” she promised, ducking her head so her teacher wouldn’t see her blush. “Good luck at the testing tower today.”
A shadow passed over his face and she was sorry she’d reminded him.
Professor Tracy pointed. “Go, M. Haniel. Don’t make me write you up.
” As Iliana passed her professor into the classroom, he stopped her.
“Tread carefully,” he said in a voice too low for anyone to overhear.
“I thought you understood my warning yesterday. You have very few rights in a situation like this.”
“Han is my friend,” she replied just as quietly, keeping her expression and tone as neutral as possible. “I’m just trying to be supportive.”
“Mm hmm. Take your seat.”
As Iliana did, exchanging quick smiles with a few friends, Professor Tracy took his place at the front of the room. “I think today we should review the Rights of Familiars as enumerated by Convocation law,” he declared.
“That won’t take long,” someone quipped, and they all laughed, except Iliana.
Professor Tracy’s gaze rested meaningfully on her.
“It’s no laughing matter,” he said, dipping his chin at Iliana.
“The rights of familiars are indeed few, so it’s important that you all know what they are.
” He held up a hand at the general eyerolling.
“Yes, I know you all have the admittedly short list memorized, but how many of you have had a meaningful discussion about their boundaries and implications?”
He scanned the room and nodded to himself.
“I thought as much. All of you are about to graduate, or you wouldn’t be in Familiar Senior Praxis.
The intent of this course is to bridge the gap between theory and the reality of practical application.
You’ve spent the last however many years learning how to be a familiar and you stand on the brink of actually living your lives as one.
This may be your last opportunity to ask questions of other familiars, without wizards interfering. ”
He lapsed meaningfully. The implications were clear, as they all knew wizards tended to be self-absorbed, at best, and primarily concerned with furthering their own goals.
The laws that protected familiars constrained how wizards could use—and abuse—their familiars, which was a restraint they observed, but grudgingly.
And not many familiars were granted the freedom to consort with other familiars, especially unsupervised.
“That’s right,” he said, as if someone had commented. “You must be aware of your rights and how they work in the real world, as you may be the only one advocating for yourself. First, you have the right not to be killed or injured so substantially that you cannot perform your work.”
“Lucky us,” someone muttered, and Professor Tracy pinned them with a look full of empathy, not reproving at all, despite the interruption.
“Let’s speak frankly,” he agreed. “We all know that this right, your first and most basic right, only goes so far. A wizard is not allowed to kill, maim, or neglect you so badly that you cannot perform as a familiar. Please note that no one else is allowed to harm you, either. You are a valuable resource, and therein lies your greatest safety. If anyone besides your bonded wizard—or agency if you end up working in that capacity—threatens you in any way, appeal to your wizard or agency. They will be strongly invested in protecting you.”
“And if it’s your own wizard threatening you?” someone asked drily.
Professor Tracy nodded in acknowledgment.
“It’s a problem. I won’t sugar coat things here.
You all live in the Convocation and you’ve heard the stories.
It’s against the law for your wizard to kill or injure you beyond repair, but wizards are also not accustomed to being told they can’t do something.
Particularly in the rush of a major incantation, or a pitched fight, they can forget themselves.
I understand in Professor Angela’s practicum yesterday, you all practiced with being drained nearly dry. How was that experience?”
Nauseating. Exhausting. Horrifyingly awful. But Iliana didn’t say any of that aloud.
“It sucked,” someone in the back bit out, and they all laughed, though more with nerves than humor.
“Succinct and accurate,” Professor Tracy agreed with a rueful grimace.
“Now imagine being magic-drained to the point of death. A familiar’s magic arises from their inherent life force.
Your personal vitality is intrinsically tied to your magic.
If you are drained too far, your body can’t recover, and you will die.
” He waited, letting them consider the implications.
“The wizard would be held accountable by the Convocation—”
“As much as they ever are,” someone muttered bitterly.
“As much as they ever are,” Professor Tracy agreed, “though I advise you not to express those sentiments outside of this room. The point being, if that happens, the familiar is still dead. They can note in your obituary that you were wrongfully killed, your family might receive compensation, but you won’t be around to enjoy the vindication. ”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Iliana burst out before she thought better of it. “We can’t tell a wizard no.”
“You can,” Professor Tracy replied with emphasis. “And you should. That’s what you all need to remember. Invoke your rights. Remind them. The law exists for a reason and you are all citizens of the Convocation—”
“Second-class citizens,” another student inserted.
Professor Tracy ignored that one, plowing on. “And as citizens of the Convocation, you are protected by the law. Stand up to your wizard where the law stands behind you.”