Chapter 16
~16~
A lise drifted up through lazy billows of sleep, a sense of renewal and wellbeing suffusing her. Such a perfect, delicious way to wake up, feeling rested, restored, and ready to take on the new day. She opened her eyes and studied the unfamiliar ceiling, the old plaster threaded with cracks in a blue-gray light. She’d been in a lot of different places lately, so she’d become accustomed to taking a moment to equilibrate upon waking, to remember if she was at House Phel or Convocation Academy, and then which room she’d most recently occupied.
Wherever it was, the bed was hard as a rock. No, not a bed—a couch. Cillian’s couch.
“Ah, she’s awake,” Cillian said brightly, his Harahel accent lyrical as birdsong. Not that there was any birdsong, as it appeared to be late afternoon, the winter sky solidly overcast and threatening snow. “I made you soup.”
She sat up, aware suddenly of the stiffness in her body, the down-soft quilt she’d noticed the night before spilling into her lap. She’d fallen asleep while talking. On top of Cillian. At some point he’d extracted himself from under her—remarkably without waking her up—then covered her with the quilt. She didn’t know how to feel about that, but the emotions swirled gently, warm and sweet.
“Go ahead and use the bathing chamber while I dish this up,” Cillian called. “I imagine you’d like to.”
“I would—thanks.”
When she returned, a steaming bowl of soup awaited her on the low table before the couch, which she realized had been entirely cleared of all but her spirit bottle. Bending over the bowl, she sniffed. Tomato soup with herbs. “When did you make soup?”
“I woke up a few hours ago and didn’t want to leave you alone, so I made myself useful,” Cillian answered from the kitchen. “Would you like a grilled cheese sandwich, too?”
Alise swallowed her reflexive refusal. A grilled cheese sandwich sounded amazing and she rationalized to herself that Cillian would just persist, so she might as well give in. “Yes, please.” She swallowed a spoonful of soup, creamy, rich, and tasting of a summer garden. Perfect for a winter afternoon.
“ How did you make soup?” it occurred to her to ask.
“Really you can make anything with a couple of fire elementals and some ingenuity,” he answered, a smile in his voice. “I know Convocation Academy feeds us as well as they can, but cooking for a thousand people poses certain restrictions. I like my own cooking better. And working with my hands gives me time and peace to think.” His voice broke just a little at the end and Alise knew instantly what he’d been mulling over.
Working with his hands —like whoever had made the quilt over her lap. “Who made this quilt?” she asked.
“My grandmother Harahel,” he answered unperturbed by the apparent change of subject. He appeared before her, holding out a tray with a golden-crisp sandwich oozing pale cheese on plate. Not a plate that matched the one he’d broken. In truth, none of his dishes matched, a bit of randomness she found endearing. With a deft maneuver, Cillian palmed her half-full bowl of soup, slipped it onto the tray next to the sandwich, and handed her the whole thing. “Feel free to dip,” he said with a cheery smile that belied his earlier tone. “That’s the best way.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Already did.” He’d gone back to the kitchen, puttering around.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep on you,” she said, wanting to address that particular elephant in the room, anyway.
“I fell asleep, too. As my aching back can attest, you are correct that my couch is no good for sleeping.”
“I’m sorry.” Stricken, she stared at the sandwich, the soup, the quilt he’d covered her with. He was a lovely, caring person and she was… utterly selfish.
“That’s twice you apologized for something you didn’t have to be sorry for even once. Don’t you like your sandwich? You haven’t even tried it. With or without dunking.”
He sounded so disappointed she nearly laughed. Biting into the sandwich, she groaned at the buttery richness, the savory cheese in creamy contrast to the perfectly crisped bread. Deciding to take his advice, she dunked the next bite, finding the tart-sweetness of the tomato soup the perfect complement. “Dark arts this is delicious,” she said when she could.
“I’m glad.” Cillian set a mug of tea on the table before her, then settled into his reading chair, cradling a mug of his own.
She sniffed the steam from her tea, suspicious. “More sleepy tea?”
“Regular herbal tea,” he corrected.
“I prefer coffee.”
“I’m aware. I’m also aware that it’s already afternoon and you don’t need to be drinking coffee at this time of day.”
“Yes, Maman,” she quipped, but he only sipped his tea, unbothered.
“You would like my grandmother Harahel,” he said, returning to the earlier conversational topic without a beat, ignoring the remaining elephants still milling invisibly about the room. “She can tell you the author and title of any book ever written, from even a muddied or flat incorrect plot summary and a vague description of the cover, and she can cook a five-course meal for a dozen people on a moment’s notice.”
“And she quilts,” Alise noted.
“Yes. All kinds of needlework, plus she gardens. She grew the herbs you taste in the soup. She dries and sends to me, out of concern that I won’t eat well in the wasteland of Convocation Center.”
“Funny—I’ve never heard of anyone regarding Convocation Center as a wasteland. Rather the reverse.” Everyone wanted to be in Convocation Center, with all its delights and entertainments. It was called the center for a reason.
Cillian gave her a droll look. “It depends on one’s perspective, yes? Where you place your priorities, what your values are. My family understands my need to be here, to work in the Convocation archives, but they also think I’m a bit daft. After all, House Harahel has an extensive library—in some aspects, more complete than here—plus beautiful countryside, excellent food, stimulating company, and a refreshing dearth of corrupt politics.”
Put that way, she could see the point. “I would never describe House Elal that way. Any of those ways.”
“No? I’ve heard Elal is a dramatic landscape, though I’ve never been, and the house itself an architectural marvel.”
She supposed both things were true. “Dramatic is probably a good word for it, with the Knifeblade Mountains visible from anywhere in Elal—you always know where west is—and then there’s the long, rocky coastline. The house itself, however, is in a fairly flat valley, in the bend of a river and ‘architectural marvel’ gives it too much credit. It’s a monstrosity of styles, created by generations of arrogant Elals more determined to put their stamp on it than behave in a rational manner.”
Cillian laughed, surprising her, since she hadn’t intended that to be funny. “You have an affection for it though. I can hear it in your voice.”
She considered that, finishing her sandwich and using the crusts to sop up the dregs of soup from the bowl. “Maybe,” she allowed. “My maman had exquisite taste and she loved us. She made our lives good and—” She broke off, unable to continue, coughing on some of the crumbs.
“Grieving is hard,” Cillian said with sympathy. “That alone would be enough for you to handle on top of finishing coursework for graduation. Now you have everything else to deal with, too.”
Summoned by Cillian’s words, one of the elephants, called Overdue Projects, bounced up to loom invisibly over her shoulder. She made the elephant named Matricide stay hidden in the corner, where it glared at her balefully. “Speaking of which,” she said decisively, “I need to go get some work done.”
“Today is a rest day.”
“No rest for the wicked—or the terminally late on fifty-seven assignments.”
“Your professors have been notified of the extenuating circumstances by Healer Jonathan, who explicitly told you not to work today. You meet with Morghana Seraphiel first thing in the morning. I have a meeting with Provost Uriel, which I’ll go to after I escort you to Morghana. In the meanwhile, you’re staying here where it’s safe. To rest .”
“Am I a captive then?” She’d meant the question to come out with sharp derision, but didn’t quite get it there. Instead, she sounded… wistful? Surely not.
“Like Sylus holding Lyndella prisoner until she admitted she wanted him as much as he craved her,” Cillian said teasingly, tapping the book beside him.
A new tension settled between them, sexual and fraught. Cillian was no Sylus, but then neither was Alise anything like sweet and yielding Lyndella. Unwillingly, she remembered yesterday’s kiss, how hot and hungry it had been. From the heat in Cillian’s black gaze, he was thinking of it, too.
“Cillian…” She trailed off, not certain what to say.
He cleared his throat and looked away. “I apologize. That was an inappropriate remark.”
“I think we’ve moved past inappropriate,” she commented drily. Might as well summon the elephant called Our Relationship to the fore. Out the windows, it had begun to snow thickly, the afternoon sky darkening with early dusk, and the fire elemental flickering brightly in the tiny fireplace made the room warm and cozy. Alise realized she didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay. With Cillian. “I think we should talk about what this is between us.”
“Oh. Ah. I see,” he stammered, actually blushing. “Would you like another sandwich first? There’s more soup.”
Deflecting with busying himself. Turning things around so he was feeding her instead of talking about what he wanted. Craved. The word resonated in her mind. “No, thank you. I’m good for now. Stop avoiding this conversation.”
“You’re one to talk,” he replied, “as you’re avoiding discussing any number of things.”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “How about this? I agree to stay here until tomorrow morning, without further protest, and I’ll allow you to escort me to see Professor Seraphiel. I’ll discuss anything you wish, but only after we talk about our relationship.”
“I see. That’s reasonable.” Instead of putting his tea on the side table, he leaned down to set it on the floor, where it would pose no danger to his books. He crossed his legs, folding his hands over his knee almost primly. His elevated foot bobbed, revealing his nerves. “I think we should agree that we are friends and colleagues only, that we shall put my inappropriate feelings and advances aside. I’m fully aware that there can be nothing of a, er, romantic nature between us and I will ensure that you never again feel pressure from me, from, ah, that direction. As it were.”
Suppressing a smile at how formal Cillian had become in his discomfort, Alise nodded gravely, pretending to consider. “I understand what you’re saying, but I have a different solution. I think we should have a love affair.”
Cillian’s mouth fell open and he goggled at her in a decidedly disconcerted fashion. “I—You—But, I and you, we can’t .”
“Why not? I want to. And you want to—unless you’ve changed your mind?”
“I, no. That is. The provost said…”
“Provost Uriel is an admirable woman and an excellent administrator of Convocation Academy, but as she reminded me recently, just as the high houses do not command her, she does not command the high houses. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I am still the daughter and heir-apparent to the lord of High House Elal and sister to the lady of House Phel. I call as my friends the lord and lady of High House El-Adrel. You are a well-regarded scion of High House Harahel. What we do is our own business.”
“Alise…” Cillian raked a hand through his curls, setting them into more disarray than usual. He retrieved his tea and gulped it like another man might take a bracing draught of brandy. “I care about you, obviously, and it’s too late for me to pretend that I don’t, um, desire you.” He blushed more deeply, avoiding her gaze. “But you are so very beautiful and powerful. There can be no future for us.”
“We can’t have a future because you… like me too much?”
“No, no, that is. Ach, I’m doing this badly. I know full well that you are not meant for me. You have a brilliant future ahead of you and I’m a Harahel librarian. I can’t be part of your life.”
What life, what brilliant future? Alise nearly snorted aloud at that, but decided that was an argument that would go nowhere. “Even if that’s so, and I don’t agree, why can’t we have now?”
“Because it would be better to spare ourselves the pain that parting would inevitably bring.”
“Would it be inevitable though?”
“You argue like a politician,” he retorted wryly.
“Probably too true. I may not have been my father’s favorite, but one can’t grow up in House Elal and not absorb political thinking. Still, my point is that we’ve started as friends. Why do you assume we wouldn’t stay friends?”
“Let me amend my previous statement,” he said quietly. “I think I need to spare myself that pain, which will be inevitable, no matter how amicably we part.”
She still wanted to argue the inevitability of their parting, but Alise had an admittedly difficult time picturing any future for herself. “Isn’t the thought of never pursuing this—” she waved a hand back and forth between them “—painful also?”
He briefly closed his eyes. “Of course it is. But we know this will end.” He imitated her gesture with more vigor, then dashed his hand to the side, slopping the remnants of the tea. She evoked a water elemental to soak it up and he pointed. “See? You do that so easily.”
“So because I have magic to clean up messes, you think our relationship is automatically doomed?” Now she was getting annoyed.
“I didn’t say any such thing,” he retorted with heat. “We are both wizards. Wizards don’t have relationships with each other.”
“Why not? There’s no rule that says that.”
“It’s commonly understood! Especially for wizards of your echelon. You’ll need a familiar.”
“You don’t have one.”
“Because there’s no such thing as a library emergency. We don’t need extra power. You will.”
“Maybe I don’t want a familiar. In fact, I know I don’t.”
“You’ll change your mind,” he said grimly.
She stared at him for a second, deeply offended. “I’ll accept a certain amount of badgering from you,” she said coolly, “because I know it comes from a place of you wanting to take care of me and protect me. But do not presume to tell me my own mind.”
“And there she is. Lady Elal in the making.”
Whoa. That hurt far more than she’d expected Cillian could wound her. She almost couldn’t catch her breath following that unexpected blow. “Pardon me,” she said, standing and deliberately folding the quilt. “I understand what you mean now about us only causing each other pain. I’ll go now.”
“You agreed you would stay.”
“I think that agreement is moot now. Consider it a decision from on high.” She lifted her nose and waved a hand in haughty dismissal, then snatched up the bottle of spirits from the table and pocketed it. “One can’t trust an Elal to keep their word, after all.” She headed for the door.
“I didn’t mean it that way. Curse it, Alise. Don’t you walk out that door.”
She walked faster.
He caught up easily, seizing her arm.
“Let me go,” she said, not looking at him.
“Be mad at me. I deserve it. But it’s not safe for you to be out there alone. Don’t put yourself at risk because I’m a fucking idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” she corrected, softening. “But that was dramatically unfair of you to say.”
“It was. I apologize. I was… upset. And I have issues. Please don’t go.”
She stared stonily at the wall. “On two conditions.”
“Done.”
Nearly laughing at his immediate capitulation, she dared a glance at him—and found his face very close to hers. Her amusement flamed into desire. Swallowing against her suddenly dry mouth, she said, “I like gingerbread. Can you make that?”
“I make excellent gingerbread,” he answered with a relieved smile. “I can do that. What’s the other condition?”
“Kiss me.”