Chapter 11
~11~
A lise made it through her classes somehow, the bottle of restless spirits bumping against her thigh, draining her magic like a slow leak as they continued to fight her hold on them. The day passed in a blur of fatigue, worry, and occasional frissons of panic. Fortunately, the crushing pressure of catching up with her already freakishly difficult courseload provided sufficient distraction every time her thoughts began to spiral into a loop of wondering how to solve any of her current problems, including how she could speak to Cillian without jeopardizing him.
He was so obdurate, so determined to solve the riddle she’d presented him with, even nobly inspired by some ideal of saving House Phel, that nothing she could think of seemed likely to dissuade him. Certainly she’d failed to put him off with cutting and cruel behavior. That had rolled right off him and he’d been as kind and solicitous toward her as ever. The man was a study in forging his own, quiet path, implacably strolling along to the strains of a distant music only he could hear. She doubted anything she could say or do would change his mind, now that he’d made it up, even if she could bring herself to be sufficiently unkind.
And she just didn’t have it in her. Apparently she wasn’t Elal enough for that.
Letting out a soundless bark of laughter at the profound irony of that, Alise trudged back through the main halls, hoping for an hour in the quiet privacy of her room to sit and think before the dinner bells rang. She couldn’t skip dinner. Even she could recognize that missing so many meals—there had been no time for lunch—was taking a toll on her. “You should have taken the kolaches,” she muttered to herself.
“Wizard Alise?” A dark-skinned girl Alise vaguely recognized hopped off the deep windowsill where she’d been sitting and waved awkwardly. “Brinda Chur,” she added, her brown eyes full of earnest appeal as she chewed her bottom lip.
“Ah, hi.” It had been so long since another student had approached her that Alise almost didn’t know what to do with herself.
“I know this is untoward at best and rude at worst,” Brinda hurried on to say, waving her hands to encompass a wide circle before clasping them again, “a familiar addressing a wizard without permission and all.”
“There’s no rule against it,” Alise pointed out, still taken aback and a bit wary. Was House Chur sending a warning now, too? If so, at least they’d chosen an innocuous messenger and a nicely public venue, streams of students parting around them in the busy hallway.
“Yes, well.” Brinda blew out a demonstrative breath and smiled weakly. “House Chur is big on formality and etiquette. If my mother knew, I’d be sat down for a long lecture on how high-house scions ought and ought not to behave. You know how the old high houses are and House Chur is one of the oldest,” she added, as if that explained anything, which maybe it did. “Almost as old as House Elal, which I’m sure you know. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m really nervous and I’m babbling.”
“How can I help you, Familiar Brinda?” Alise asked, not unkindly and trying to be patient. Brinda looked to be about the same age as her, but Alise felt infinitely older than this sweet-eyed daughter of a high house.
Alise did understand—for the most part—what Brinda was attempting to explain about etiquette and the house of her birth. House Chur, indeed one of the founding high houses of the Convocation, governed the powerful magics of sun and fire, rather the polar opposite of House Phel’s moon and water magic, come to think of it. Their trademarks had survived centuries of challenges by upstart houses and, while they brought few direct products to market, their monopoly on the powerful magics that fueled so many other manufacturing processes provided a solid income to bolster their already massive, old-money coffers.
Brinda slid her eyes from side to side, as if anyone paid them any attention, which none of them did, and twisted her long, slender fingers together. “Could we—that is, would you condescend to, ah, speak with me, um, privately?”
Condescend. Alise nearly demanded to know who Brinda thought she was, some sort of wizard-princess too good to converse with commoners? But she bit back the harsh reply. The word reflected House Chur archaic manners and Brinda’s clear sincerity about imposing on Alise’s time and goodwill. It’s not her fault you’re in a horrible mood, she reminded herself firmly.
At the same time—call her paranoid, but—she was leery of all these high-house driven requests for “private meetings.” Not that a familiar could hope to harm her, but Alise was taking no chances. “Can you tell me what it’s regarding?”
Brinda flushed, looking down at her twisting fingers. Seeming to notice that she’d been busily picking at one of her undecorated nails and had it half torn off, she clenched her hands together. “It’s…ah, personal,” she whispered.
How curious. Alise gestured to the window alcove where Brinda had been sitting—and clearly waiting for her. “Let’s sit there and I’ll put up a silencing shield.”
Brinda’s crestfallen expression brightened with relief and gratitude. “Perfect! I always forget that you wizards can do things like that.” She hopped onto the cushioned sill and crossed her legs, hands folded neatly in her lap, beaming at Alise expectantly.
Alise followed her, hoisting herself up, the bottle of spirits banging against her leg and clanking against the wooden ledge. Brinda glanced that way, startled, but politely averted her gaze. The window overlooked the same courtyard that Cillian’s did, from the opposite side. From where she sat, Alise could easily see the faculty wing that housed his rooms, but stopped herself from counting over to figure which were his. He could be there even now, reading, or perhaps gazing out the window, and… And what in the dark arts was wrong with her?
She focused on Brinda who waited quietly. “What’s going on?” Alise asked. “The shield is up,” she added when Brinda looked around. Alise had forgotten to make it clear she’d done so.
“Oh!” Brinda smiled and tapped the side of her head. “Silly me.” She sobered. “So, I wanted to ask you something and I know it’s asking a lot, but you’re the only person I can think of who might be able to help me. Well, not the only one able to, but the only one willing to, maybe.”
Alise began to get a bad feeling about this. “Help with what?” she prompted anyway, feeling the longed for hour of quiet in her room ticking away like sand through her fingers.
“I graduate soon. We’re in the same class. I don’t expect you to remember that, or care or anything,” she hastened to assure Alise, who was chagrined to acknowledge, if only to herself, that she hadn’t remembered that. “I manifested early, but some of the coursework took a while,” she confided. “Especially Convocation History. I just can’t seem to remember all those dates and names and—” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “And I’m wasting your time! My apologies, Wizard Alise. Maman always says I’d talk the dead to sleep.”
“It’s all right,” Alise said, trying to be patient and holding on by her mental fingernails. “But I will have to head to the dining hall soon or risk missing my dinner.”
“Yes! Yes, me too. All of us.” Brinda laughed nervously, twisting her fingers in her pretty flowered skirt. At least she was leaving her poor nails alone. “See, the thing is, when I graduate, I’ll return home, to House Chur,” she clarified unnecessarily. “And then I’ll start the Betrothal Trials.” Brinda flushed and stared out the window.
Ah. Alise understood now. The Betrothal Trials were exactly the sort of archaic tradition House Chur would insist upon, just like House Elal. Nic had endured several months of the Betrothal Trials—Alise had to admit to herself that she wasn’t sure how long it had been, she was that awful of a sister—before meeting Gabriel Phel. Some called the practice barbaric, and surely it was, and inflicted only on female familiars. Effectively locked away from all male contact, the women received wizard “suitors” once a month, a different one each month, until they turned up pregnant. With their fertile compatibility confirmed, the wizard bonded the familiar and they became a permanent pair.
The oldest houses swore by the tradition, saying the practice ensured the vitality of their bloodlines. Male familiars sometimes endured similar testing, but—due to the happy difference in biology—didn’t have to be sequestered. Their female wizard partners kept track of ensuring parentage. The Betrothal Trials didn’t offer familiars much of a choice in their wizard partner, but familiars rarely had the autonomy to make that choice anyway. At least the Betrothal Trials rules allowed the familiar to veto any suitors she didn’t care for. Alise imagined some houses made the choices for their daughters, but she knew that their maman had coached Nic and they’d gone through the applicants exhaustively. The process had given Nic a small bit of control over her fate, allowing her to choose the houses where she’d be likely to become the lady of the house, if only via her wizard. It was far better than many of the alternatives.
But it worried Alise that Brinda was asking her , in particular, given this looming future. There could be only one reason why. “I can’t help you escape,” Alise said, lowering her voice furtively even though no one could overhear. “I understand why you’re asking, but I’m on probation here and if I step out of line, even the smallest amount, I’ll be expelled and never graduate.”
Brinda’s increasingly puzzled frown cleared. “Oh! You think because of Han and Iliana? That I want to run away, too?” She laughed with bizarre heartiness, given the topic.
Alise’s head spun and she resisted putting fingers on her throbbing temples. “You don’t?” she asked. It was obviously a rhetorical question at this point, but she needed Brinda to get to the point.
“Why in the name of House Chur would I want that ?” Brinda asked with earnest scorn. “Han and Iliana… They were bad familiars. Disobedient. Thinking they’d fallen in love with each other, defying their families. Breaking the law .” She shook her head, the picture of disappointment. “And now they’ll miss out on real love, a true, deeply bonded partnership with a wizard. It’s sad, really. Someday, they will come to their senses, but no wizard will have them then. They’ll live out their lives alone and miserable, begging for someone, anyone to bleed off their magic.” She nodded at Alise, inviting her to agree.
Dumbly, Alise nodded, figuring that would be the most likely path to her escape from this excruciating conversation. Jadren El-Adrel loved to make withering remarks about the group insanity at House Phel, the wrong-headed idealism that communicated itself like a disease, infecting everyone it touched. He’d even cheerfully agree that he’d caught it, too, with no hope of cure.
In that moment, Alise realized that she’d been so thoroughly inoculated with Phel thinking that she’d forgotten how completely most Convocation citizens believed in the current system. Brinda displayed all the glowing fervor of the faithful—and of someone who had no idea what the reality would be like. Given that, however, Alise didn’t at all understand why Brinda wasn’t heaping some of that scorn on her, as well, the person without whom Han and Iliana could never have escaped. There was no way she wanted to hear that answer though.
“I can’t wait to meet my wizard master,” Brinda went on, losing her nervousness in her enthusiastic gushing and saving Alise from having to think up a response. “My parents have selected twelve suitors for me, all from the best families and houses. I have excellent MP scores and my physical health is perfect, along with my fertility .” She confided that last in a whisper.
“I still don’t understand what you want from me,” Alise said, some of her revulsion leaking into her tone, dimming a bit of Brinda’s glow. “Forgive me,” she added. “I’m tired and hungry.”
“No, no, Wizard Alise,” Brinda rushed to say. “I should apologize! Here I am taking up your precious time with my stupid nonsense.” She laughed self-consciously, flushing, and Alise abruptly itched to slap the family that had taught their daughter to think so little of herself.
“It’s fine,” Alise said gently, trying to be encouraging. “ You’re fine. How can I help you?”
Brinda brightened again. “Your sister, Nic. She conceived in just the fourth month of her Betrothal Trials. How did she do it?”
Alise found herself blinking as she attempted to assimilate the question. Surely Brinda knew the mechanics involved. The academy strongly discouraged romances and sex among students. Iliana and Han’s love affair perfectly illustrated why such student liaisons disrupted everyone and everything. Even though wizards had considerably more latitude in choosing their fates, very few academy graduates ended up in love matches. The Convocation perpetuated itself by breeding magic to magic and partnering the most powerful with each other. Sentimentality didn’t enter into the picture. But none of them were ignorant of the realities of life.
“Ah,” Alise stammered, stalling. “I’m not sure what you mean. The usual way?”
Brinda giggled, high-pitched, full of nerves again. “I know that ! I mean, would you ask her for me? I don’t want to spend a year or more waiting to click with the right wizard. The Betrothal Trials chamber at House Chur is underground and ugh .” She wrinkled her nose prettily. “I’ve heard talk that Nic tipped the balance to land Lord Phel, if you know what I mean.” She laid her finger alongside her nose and winked.
“How could she have done that?” Alise asked, fully bewildered.
“There are ways,” Brinda said, nodding earnestly. “I’ve heard there are.”
“I don’t know what.” Alise truly didn’t. Also, Nic had run from Gabriel when she found out that he would be the one. She hadn’t wanted him to begin with.
“The Fascination,” Brinda breathed. “I’ve heard Nic felt it right away with Lord Phel. Is it true?”
Reluctantly, Alise nodded. Nic openly talked about how the Fascination had hit her hard and fast as soon as Gabriel walked into her tower chamber. Though the academy professors were divided on the topic—and Nic herself hadn’t believed in it—the Fascination persisted as a subject of great interest among students. The familiar Lyndella supposedly felt the Fascination for the wizard Sylus, making her ultimately unable to resist his allure, much as she and her family fought the match. Familiars supposedly Fascinated by their wizards gave themselves to the bonding with utter surrender. Come to think of it, Alise had heard speculation that Fascination and fertility were intertwined. Which sounded like more romantic nonsense to her.
At Alise’s confirming nod, Brinda squealed and clapped her hands together. “How did she do it?”
“I don’t think she did?” Alise answered, her confusion tipping it into a question.
“Would you ask? I’ve heard the Fascination can be induced.”
Brinda seemed to have “heard” a great deal. “Where could you have heard that? It doesn’t sound likely at all.”
“People talk.” Brinda shrugged. “I’m prepared to siphon my magic to you. As much as you want, until graduation, if you’ll just ask her for me.”
Alise dearly wanted to suggest that Brinda ask Nic herself, but of course the young woman would feel she couldn’t do that. She’d been terrified to approach Alise, a fellow student. No way would she write to the lady of a high house—however probationary the status of House Phel—to ask such impertinent and potentially dangerous questions.
“I’ll ask,” Alise conceded, mostly because she figured agreeing would end the conversation sooner. Brinda rewarded her with a squeal of joy, lurching as if she wanted to hug Alise, but fortunately remembering herself. “But I don’t need your magic.”
Brinda frowned. “With all due respect, Wizard Alise, you’re very low on magic. And something is draining you. Instead of regenerating your native magic, you’ve lost more just as we’ve sat here.”
Alise felt her jaw slacken in surprise, though she managed to keep her mouth from falling open.
“I’m very good at my job,” Brinda assured her, with rare confidence. “I’ve paid very close attention in my Care and Feeding of Wizards classes, plus my professors say I have a natural talent for assessing magic reserves. I plan to be the very best Familiar I can be for my wizard master, so giving you magic will be excellent practice for me. And you must know, Wizard Alise, that fire and sun magic is the universal donor. You can use it for anything!”
“All the same, that’s not necessary. I’m simply heavily involved in a few intensive projects. And I need to eat,” Alise said meaningfully. Then, given Brinda’s reference to her classes in the Care and Feeding of Wizards, which were not their official names any more than Bossing the Bodiless was, she added, “at the dining hall.”
“I don’t presume to know the arcane business of wizards,” Brinda replied, almost primly, “but I’m certain your projects are vitally important. You need magic for that. And at House Chur we are not ingrates. I cannot accept your help without giving in return. Please allow me to siphon my magic to you. And then you can eat a hearty meal and rest.”
Feeling neatly cornered into doing two things she didn’t want to do, Alise surrendered to the inevitable. Besides, her magic reserves had fallen low enough that a headache threatened to split her skull and she felt lightheaded. If she ran into Cillian—and he’d no doubt look for her at dinner—he’d cart her off to the infirmary and she wouldn’t be able to fight him on it.
“Fine,” she said on a sigh, then realized how ungracious she sounded. “That is, thank you, Familiar Brinda. I would be grateful.”
Brinda gave her a funny look, because apparently wizards didn’t thank Familiars like that, but proffered a hand, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. “I’m concentrating on opening a channel to you, Wizard,” she said in a quiet voice, “but do let me know if it needs adjusting. I’m committed to excellence in my practice.”
Alise wrapped her fingers around Brinda’s narrow wrist, feeling awkward and somewhat soiled, no matter how many times she’d done exactly this in class with a Familiar who wasn’t friend or family. As promised, Brinda’s magic positively gushed into her, bright as sunlight and scorching hot, filling the achingly empty spaces within Alise. She immediately felt so much better that she nearly gasped aloud in relief, her headache vanishing and the sense of wellbeing so profound she nearly laughed with the pure joy of it.
Replete in next to no time, she opened her eyes to find Brinda beaming at her. “You look much better,” Brinda proclaimed. “I mean, you’re always so beautiful, but now even more so. Did you get enough?”
“More than enough,” Alise answered, letting go of Brinda’s wrist. “You’re absolutely right. I feel ten-thousand times better and your magic is wonderfully pure.”
“Thank you, Wizard Alise.” Brinda visibly preened at the praise. “It’s the one thing I do well. That’s why I know my wizard master will cherish me and care for me always.”
The hallway suddenly teemed with students, a sure sign that the bell for students to eat had rung. Brinda hopped off the window ledge and said something more, which Alise couldn’t hear since Brinda had stepped outside of the silencing shield. By the time Alise had banished the spell, Brinda had disappeared into the mass stampede of students heading for the dining hall.