Chapter 18
Gabriel went with the garrulous Bertie to where Lady órlaith Harahel was interviewing the various Harahel wizards employed by Convocation Academy.
She was a few days into the process—several steps ahead of them—and ensconced in the empty office Provost Uriel had provided.
A number of scholarly looking wizards from school age to ancient cooled their heels in the waiting area, every one with a book in their hands.
All of them glanced up and did a double-take upon seeing Bertie.
“Lord Harahel Emeritus,” one young woman blurted in astonishment, jumping to her feet, trying to bow, and nearly dropping her book, instead stepping on the hem of her too-long skirt and having to straighten awkwardly, lest she fall over.
“Why are you—I mean, it’s a surprise to see you—That is, is everything all right at House Harahel? ”
Bertie cackled and actually patted her on the head. “No need to worry, little Louisa Harahel. Look how you’re growing up.”
She both flushed and beamed. “I’m a wizard now,” she offered. “Just barely.” Indeed, her eyes which must have been a light cornflower blue had just begun to darken to wizard-black.
“Of course you are. Well done.” Bertie beamed back at her. “Are you all here to see órlaith?”
“Yes, Lord Emeritus,” another scholar replied, a middle-aged man. “We’ve all been summoned to report for an appointment time, but—ah.” He coughed politely. “Lady Harahel must be running behind schedule.”
Gabriel suppressed a smile, remaining gravely standing just behind and to the side of Bertie, aware that he towered over everyone in the room and that they cast him surreptitious, curious glances.
He wore a brooch with the House Phel crest—a silver moon over still water—but unlike most citizens of the Convocation, these scholars all seemed to recognize it.
House Phel was too newly resurrected and, he had to be honest with himself, too irrelevant to the political and social scene for anyone to have memorized either the crest or what the current head of the house looked like.
People were far more likely to recognize Nic, something that didn’t bother him in the least.
“Is that so?” Bertie gave the room a smile, not bothering to introduce Gabriel, which was also fine with him. “I’ll speak to órlaith about that. We can’t have our valuable wizards sitting around waiting on her to get organized.”
“Oh, no, Lord Emeritus, I didn’t mean…” the wizard stammered, but Bertie had already cheerfully charged toward the closed door and flung it open. “órlaith,” he bellowed.
órlaith Harahel looked up from the massive desk she sat behind, interviewing the slumped scholar who had their back to them.
An older woman with the taut skin of a wizard steeped in magic and the baby-soft complexion of a person who rarely ventured outdoors, her wizard-black eyes widened in what Gabriel felt sure was very rare surprise.
“Uncle,” she said, almost making it a question.
“What in the dark arts are you doing out of House Harahel and here, of all places?”
“Tut, órlaith. I’m no doddering invalid who can’t travel the world on his own. And I came here to see you, of course. Well, and for other reasons.”
Her snapping dark gaze slid up and behind Bertie to the taller Gabriel, fixing on him with annoyance and reluctant interest. “Lord Phel, I presume,” she said in tone so dry it crackled.
The scholar in the chair before her desk skewed around to get a good look at him—something Gabriel had become accustomed to since he’d appeared more or less fully grown amidst the Convocation citizens, a full-blown wizard from a house so long gone it was practically a myth.
Gabriel sketched a bow of acknowledgment to both of them, careful not to make it too deep.
Nic had tried to break him of the habit altogether, just as she’d done her best to school him in the ways of being an arrogant high-house lord and ruthless wizard, but his mother’s training had come first and the farm boy in him wouldn’t let him be less than polite.
“Indeed. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Harahel.”
She didn’t look at all pleased. But she flicked her fingers at the Harahel wizard she’d been interviewing, dismissing them.
“Go out to the antechamber and tell everyone there will be a further delay. But,” she added crisply as the wizard hastened to flee, “you’re up first and I want a much better explanation of how you’re handling your free time than you’ve provided thus far. ”
Bertie watched the scholar scurry out the door, and making certain it closed, then turned back to Lady Harahel with his partially toothed smile. He took the recently vacated chair and set his big book on órlaith’s desk.
She ignored him, gaze still fastened on Gabriel who simply stood, as there wasn’t another chair available in the cramped space. Not that he minded. He’d been sitting plenty on the journey. Far more so than in his usual daily life.
“I suppose I have you to thank, Lord Phel,” she continued, ignoring Bertie and his big book, “for removing my elderly and infirm uncle from House Harahel and bringing him to Convocation Center. I assume this is retaliation for your ward, Alise Elal. Fine then. Lay your cards on the table. What is this political maneuver? Shall I consider myself extorted?” Before Gabriel could form a reply to this extraordinary accusation, she continued.
“But let me warn you, Phel, you might look down on lowly library magic, but Harahel has been a high house long before your ragtag ancestors thought to play with moon and water magic and we’ve managed to retain our high house status, which is more than Phel can claim. ”
Gabriel considered how to respond to this assortment of bad faith assumptions and frankly insulting insinuations. Before he could speak, again, Bertie slid into the opening.
“Now, órlaith, don’t be so unkind to the boy. I made them bring me along after they visited House Harahel because I—”
“You—you were at my house?” órlaith spat in indignant surprise that propelled her to stand. “Without invitation or permission? Sending that Elal girl was bad enough, but for a high-house lord to commit such a transgression is tantamount to an act of war.”
Nic had absolutely pounded this sort of tactic into his head—and had fortunately counseled him on this meeting and Lady Harahel’s potential reaction.
That’s why Nic wasn’t with him, to remove any implication that he planned to act aggressively using his familiar’s magic.
Of course, he didn’t need to touch Nic to access her magic, but that was a secret, if not terribly closely guarded.
“órlaith,” he said with a smile that Nic had coached him on.
Warm, surface friendly, just shy of condescending—as was his use of her given name.
“Let’s dispense with this posturing, hmm?
You were wrong to send Alise away from House Harahel, especially when you lied to Cillian and Alise about the reasons for her hasty departure. You wanted to separate them and—”
“It’s my responsibility as head of my house to protect my people,” she interrupted.
“And to protect your grandson?” Gabriel asked mildly. Bertie chortled. “We are well aware you’d like for Cillian to be your heir and succeed you as head of the house. And that any relationship with Alise will result in him following her on her path, not the reverse.”
“This isn’t a concern because there is no relationship,” she retorted. “Older and wiser heads should prevail and have done so. You’re welcome.”
“Am I?” He stuck to that because órlaith’s antagonism was beginning to grate and Nic’s excellent advice for such circumstances was for him to be brief and enigmatic.
She frowned at him, on her back foot for the first time in the conversation.
“Welcome, that is,” he clarified. “Because I’m not grateful for your interference. ”
“Alise Elal is a—”
“Is my sister-in-law and as important to me as my own sister,” he filled in with a pleasant smile, that he then dropped.
“And she is a Phel as long as she wishes to claim affiliation with my house. Also,” he continued loudly when she tried to interrupt him, “Alise and Cillian are adults and capable of choosing for themselves. I will not interfere with their freedom of choice, nor will I stand aside if someone else tries to do so. Finally,” he said, extra firmly, as she seemed poised to argue yet again, “I may not have been raised in Convocation etiquette, but neither am I stupid. I understand very well the protocols involved in one house head visiting another and I observed all of them. I fail to see why it would be my problem that you chose to be not at home without having made an announcement to that effect.”
Bertie cackled. “He has you there, órlaith.”
She glared at her ancient uncle, a sour twist to her mouth. “Well, Lord Phel, I cannot agree but neither will I argue further. Are we done? I have interviews to conduct.”
“Looking for the Harahel librarian currently being employed by House Hanneil to add any records pertaining to Phel to the folded archive?”
She drew herself up. “I was willing to discuss shared matters of our relatives and house visits. But I will not compromise the integrity of my House and business by answering impertinent questions. Toddle back to your fruit trees Lord Phel and leave Convocation business to the actual high houses.”
Gabriel leaned on the desk, planting his big hands solidly and allowing a smidge of moonsilver magic to bristle in the air.
Not to attack, but to remind órlaith Harahel he was no country bumpkin.
Not any longer, anyway. “Our houses and our business,” he reminded her with pleasant intent.
“And my house archives. I want to know who’s been taking information relevant to my house and hiding it from me and mine.
She managed to look unintimidated, but Gabriel sensed the frightened rustle of her magic. “If and when I find the culprit, if they are indeed of my house,” she replied, not revealing her feelings in voice or posture, “I will inform you, as I see fit.”
Gabriel chuckled, shaking his head. “You must have a very poor opinion of my intelligence, órlaith,” he said, deliberately dropping her title.
“As you still have a rather large group awaiting your attention and you don’t seem to be a wizard who wastes time on redundancy, I’m assuming you have yet to find the culprit.
I’m going to sit in on the remainder of your interviews. ”
“I’ll stay, too,” Bertie put in, ancient face wreathed in smiles at órlaith’s barely contained fury. “It will be fun!”
“Fine. But I want it on record that I’m agreeing under duress,” Lady Harahel said sourly, glaring at her uncle, a glare she transferred to Gabriel. “And only so House Phel will have no grounds to claim House Harahel concealed information from you on the culprit.
“Fair enough,” Gabriel replied with a polite nod. But he wondered what it was that she was so concerned they’d discover.