Chapter 20
~20~
T he gingerbread was, of course, exquisitely good—and the brandy sauce launched it into the realm of paradisial. Alise devoured it all, despite her already full stomach. While she ate, she mused over the full rotation in her relationship with Cillian and how she wanted to handle that.
Cillian was quiet, too, either similarly occupied with eating or giving her room to think. Probably the latter, knowing him. It seemed that, regardless of her best intentions, he had been drawn into her particular vortex of doom and would not be dissuaded from hanging on. So be it. She couldn’t fight everyone and everything, particularly not the gently tenacious Cillian.
“So,” she began, scraping up the last bits of the dessert and focusing on that, not Cillian, but fully aware she had his instant attention, “in the morning you’ll escort me to Professor Seraphiel and go to see the provost about Gordon Hanneil. Once I’m done with Professor Seraphiel, I’ll see Professor Cixin about the spirit bottle.” And still not go to her other classes or make inroads on her passively increasing workload. She suppressed a sigh for that.
“Sounds like a good plan,” he replied evenly, not pointing out that they’d already covered this. Saying nothing more, he waited her out.
She sighed mentally for his obdurate nature. “Fine. And then we can see about a trip to House Harahel and finishing what we started.”
“Good,” he replied instantly. “I’ll arrange it with the provost.”
“If you can .”
“Oh, I’ll make a persuasive argument, no fear. The provost assigned you this independent study for a reason, and appointed me to assist for the same reason. House Uriel can’t openly move against House Hanneil, but I have no doubt that they closely monitor Hanneil’s activities. They have to suspect Hanneil in the actions against House Phel; Provost Uriel’s tacit support of your investigation is proof of it. In addition, Uriel has traditionally seen themselves as the bulwark between Hanneil and their ongoing attempts to conquer the Convocation. Once the provost learns about Gordon Hanneil’s attempts to quell you, she’ll want the evidence of their perfidy even more, and that corroborating evidence can only be obtained in the House Harahel archives.”
“I don’t think it’s entirely accurate to say the information can be obtained only in the House Harahel archives,” Alise replied, looking up at him, her plate scraped as clean as it could be, and finding him preparing to argue. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I said I’d go, didn’t I? And I am agreeing to go because I think we will find valuable information there. My point is that I don’t think Gordon Hanneil would be slithering through these hallways, issuing vile threats, and risking Convocation censure if there wasn’t something to be found in the archives right here.”
“I had the same thought,” Cillian agreed, relaxing again. “I’ve been contemplating the problem and I think I’m close to a solution. Library magic might not be as potent as yours, but it has its uses. I’ve got some ideas for a few things I can try.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said, continuing when he raised an inquiring brow. “You denigrate your magic, calling your wizardry low level and comparing it to mine unfavorably.”
He regarded her a moment, looking taken aback. “I just want you to know that I don’t have delusions about us. I am a low-level wizard, practicing a kind of magic with limited, very niche applications. And I’m at peace with that. I’m happy with my life.”
“Are you though?” she persisted.
“Yes.” But he sounded defensive, looking away to finish his own dessert.
“Because you don’t talk like someone who’s perfectly happy with their life.”
He met her gaze again, black eyes no longer soft but glittering with irritation. “And you know how many people who are perfectly happy with their lives, to know how they speak about it?”
“Fine.” She rose, picking up her plate. “Don’t confide in me then.” She whirled around on the few short steps to the kitchen. “But it’s not fair, you going on about me asking for help and telling you my secrets when you don’t trust me with yours.”
“Have you told me everything then?” he returned.
“I don’t have to tell you everything . We’re not talking about me.”
“Indeed you don’t have to tell me anything at all, but you also don’t get to rail at me for not laying my bleeding heart on the table for you to dissect with your sharp tongue.”
Arrested, hurt, she gaped at him a moment, then took her plate into the kitchen. Tempted to hurl it into the cleaning bin, she instead set it carefully aside, extracted the clean plates from lunch, and found their proper place in the cupboard.
“I apologize,” Cillian said, picking up the plate she’d set aside and handing it to her along with his own to put in the cleaning box.
“No need,” she replied lightly, telling herself she wasn’t hurt, restraining the urge to wail that she’d thought he liked her. “I do have a sharp tongue. Nic has a sharp tongue. Our papa’s is like a double-headed axe. You’re not saying anything I don’t know about myself.”
“Don’t clean up,” he said as she began adding the dirty pots to the bin. “I can do that.”
“You cooked; I can do the dishes. A much easier task.” Unable to resist, she silently enhanced the boxed earth elementals that came with the cleaning bin.
He sighed, boosted himself up to sit on the counter, and watched her work. “I am happy with my life—or I was until I met you.”
Oh, ouch. Several bitter reproaches rushed to her tongue, including pointing out that he had pursued her, not the other way around. But, for once, she decided to say nothing rather than run the risk of speaking sharply. You’re welcome, she thought wryly.
“I can’t—” Cillian started to say, then broke off. “I’m having a hard time shaking the feeling that I’m not good enough for you. That we don’t really have a future. Lady Elal and the poor scholar.”
“I keep telling you. I’m not likely to ever be Lady Elal.”
“But you’ll still be you: brilliant, powerful, at the heart of everything happening. You’re at the center of this brewing storm.”
How odd that he used those exact words. The echo penetrated her cloud of sadness and hurt. “Why do you say that, put exactly that way?”
“No reason in particular. Just an observation. Why?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him to find him watching her with that keen intelligence. Might as well tell him everything, whether or not he disliked her sharp tongue. Or maybe because he did dislike that about her. What did she have to lose if hearing this annoyed him further? Wiping her hands, she leaned on the opposite counter. “House Hanneil wasn’t the only one to send a messenger, and a warning.”
His tension sharpened in the air between them, the slice of his inquisitive magic palpable. Not invasive—he wouldn’t do that to her—but the sense of him wanting, needing to know was clear. “Tell me,” he said shortly.
This part would take careful dancing, as she still had no intention of telling him about her ability to sever the wizard–familiar bond, nor about murdering her own mother. She would never speak to anyone about that. The fewer people who knew the better. Besides, she didn’t think she could bear the look in Cillian’s eyes if she told him the monstrous truth about herself.
“A House Ariel wizard visited me and warned me that they had information that they had received word of… tampering with the wizard–familiar bond.”
Cillian waited, clearly restraining a dozen questions—and probably a tart criticism for her withholding that information until then. He raised his brows when she didn’t say more. “Did this messenger have anything else to impart?”
“Nothing of import. She didn’t say why she’d come to me , except to issue vague threats related to Iliana being at House Phel and strongly implying that someone there knew about the bond-severing.”
“Is it true—have there been wizard–familiar bonds severed?” Cillian asked, catching and holding her gaze.
“Yes.” She sighed, not seeing a way around this. “Two: between Maman and Papa, and between Healer Asa and his familiar Laryn.”
He whistled, long and low, considering. “ Does someone there know about it?”
Alise shrugged, turning away. “I can’t imagine who. She seemed to think that, because the bond was severed between Maman and Papa, I would know something about it. But obviously, I don’t.”
“Is that obvious?” he asked quietly.
“What would I know?” She did her best to sound innocently perplexed. “I haven’t graduated yet, so I don’t have the information on how the bonding enchantment is created in the first place. Wait, do you know?”
Cillian cocked his head and raised his brows, indicating that he did, but that he couldn’t speak of it due to the geas that accompanied the information. “What do you know about how the bond was severed between your parents?” he asked. “And between Asa and Laryn for that matter. It can’t be coincidence that both unprecedented severings occurred at House Phel.”
She should have known the inquisitive, observant librarian wouldn’t have missed that pattern. They’d been careless. And she should never have taken him to House Phel in the first place. If she’d left him by the side of the road to House Harahel, so many complications would have been avoided. She also wouldn’t be there at that moment, her body lax and sore from his lovemaking. So difficult to balance the positives and negatives.
“I really don’t know anything. Who could perform such a trick? I didn’t even know it was possible.”
“You’re deflecting. I can see it in your face and smell it in your magic. You can trust me, Alise. You have to know I wouldn’t harm anyone you love, which includes all of House Phel.”
With palpable relief, she realized he didn’t suspect her. “You think it was Gabriel?”
He shrugged thoughtfully. “The evidence certainly adds up.” He ticked the points off on his fingers. “Gabriel Phel never attended Convocation Academy, which gives him a rather enviable intellectual freedom when considering what can and can’t be done with wizardry. He therefore never graduated, which means he has a flexible concept of the wizard–familiar bond.”
In lieu of speaking words he could not, Cillian raised his brows significantly. “Lord Phel is also an idealist, an iconoclast who openly struggles with the entire system of wizard–familiar bonding and the second-class citizenship the practice confers upon familiars. Not that I disagree. He’s significantly invested in Nic’s happiness and would love to kill your father. He’d have been motivated to please his wife and to injure Elal. Finally, his combination of moon and water magic hasn’t been seen in the Convocation since the previous iteration of House Phel collapsed, metaphorically and literally, so we don’t know what kind of capability it confers.”
He frowned, looking perplexed, speaking more slowly as he thought it through. “The flaw in this logic is there’s no reason to believe the wizard–familiar bond is created by Gabriel Phel’s brand of magic and every reason to assume it’s a subset of psychic wizardry.” Cillian considered her, his agile mind perceiving far too much. “Which would explain House Ariel’s concern, given that historical records hint that their techniques in psychically binding animals to their purposes may have contributed to the early experiments that resulted in the implementation of wizard–familiar bonding. It would also explain Hanneil and Uriel’s interest in you .”
“In me?” she nearly squeaked. “I don’t follow.”
“I think you do. I think you follow far too well.” He hopped off the counter in a surprisingly quick and sinuous move, caging her against the counter she’d unwisely trapped herself against. “Look at me, Alise,” he commanded softly, steel beneath the velvet, waiting until she reluctantly complied. He framed her face in his hands. “No lies. No evasions. Tell me what happened. You owe me the truth.”
“I owe you nothing,” she hissed, trying to wrench her face from his hands.
He held on, strength in his determination. Alise could have repelled him easily, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. As awful as him discovering the monstrous truth would be, some part of her wept in relief at not having to carry it alone any longer.
“Allow me to rephrase,” he said. “This is a secret so potent it could destroy you and I’m not going to stand by and allow that to happen. This , I think, is at the heart of what’s been eating at you. I’ve watched you work your wizardry, felt the ebb and flow of your magic as you manipulated those spirit bonds in the archives. You figured out how to sever the wizard–familiar bond, didn’t you? You are the one who did it.”
Abruptly she burst into tears, the sobs wrenching out of her in agonizing convulsions of grief. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”
Her head spun. The room darkened, and she found herself being carried into Cillian’s bedroom. Cradled against him, she lay in the bed that smelled of him and resonated with their intertwined magics, grating out the apologies that would never be enough while he soothed her and spoke words she couldn’t hear in a chanting rhythm of surcease.