Chapter 24
~24~
A lise ended up seeing Professor Cixin at the end of the day, as he didn’t have office hours until then. Thus, she was able to attend her afternoon classes and make some inroads on the backlog of work. The nape of her neck prickled with awareness, her senses alert for the appearance of Gordon Hanneil—ready to practice her new defensive skills—but she never so much as glimpsed the proctor.
Gradually, she relaxed enough to concentrate on her work. Maybe the efficient Provost Uriel had already had Gordon arrested. A comforting thought.
Later, she left Professor Cixin’s office hours unburdened of both the bottle of spirits and residual guilt over missing the make-up lab work she’d recklessly promised days before. Oh, the venerated Professor of Noncorporeal Entities had not been at all pleased with her effort to secure the gaggle of spirits in the bottle, calling her work amateurish, sloppy, and heedless of the potential consequences.
But he’d also used the words “bold” and “innovative,” so Alise felt reasonably good about her wizardry. Plus she’d learned some interesting techniques for putting a bonded spirit into stasis using a one-time enchantment that would not continue to drain her magic. True to form, Professor Cixin had required that Alise perform the actual magic working, under his close supervision, with the upside that he declared the lesson sufficient to compensate for the one she’d bungled. Alise received the definite impression that Cixin was doing her a favor, but she wasn’t too proud to take it. And the reprieve allowed her to procrastinate ever so slightly on working on bond-severing. She’d get there, she really would. But she’d done a lot that day and weariness had set in, a vague headache forming behind her eyes.
That was the downside of all she’d learned. Between the intensive tutelage from Professor Cixin and Professor Seraphiel, she needed her magic reservoirs refilled, which meant finding Brinda. She didn’t care to play the supplicant, but Alise also knew that she’d suffer far more from the people in her life—namely, Cillian—if she let her magic run low again. That meant seeking out Brinda. Fortunately, she had something to offer the Chur familiar. Alise had received a missive from Nic.
The Ratsiel courier had been waiting for her outside of Professor Cixin’s office, lightly landing on her shoulder as she emerged, and digging in imperious talons indicating the urgency of the message. House Phel had paid top coin to send an expensive, enchanted for privacy, private missive from the outside to a student. Those lengths seemed over the top for Nic to share her “secrets” of having a short Betrothal Trials period, so Alise hoped for some news from home.
Home. Funny how House Phel had become that in such a short time.
She couldn’t yet go back to her own room, not until she was certain Gordon Hanneil had been contained and hopefully eliminated. She also wasn’t truly comfortable going to Cillian’s apartments. He probably wasn’t there anyway and it would take time to recode the Iblis lock to admit her also. He’d mentioned it in passing, but she had kind of dodged replying since it felt like a big step. Bigger than taking him as your first lover, knowing he’s in love with you? a snide internal voice whispered, but she ignored it. Still, all of that meant she needed to find somewhere else to read her letter from home.
Settling herself into one of the deep window seats of the long arcade that led to the dining hall, Alise put her back to the corner and coaxed the little courier off her shoulder. Using a bit of wizardry, she verified her identity, unlocked the missive, and let the courier perch on her upraised knee. It had been tasked to receive her reply, which hopefully she’d have time to write.
Eagerly, she began reading Nic’s elegant script.
Dearest Alise,
How good to hear from you—although with questions regarding my betrothal trials??
Not at all what I expected. I hope that you are not contemplating such a step, at your tender age, though it would be entirely your business if you do. And I know you’ll likely want a bonded familiar at some point. I certainly understand you wanting that bond along with the intimacy of a sexual relationship. And children, of course. I just…
Well, I am restraining myself from telling you all of my thoughts on the matter, a heroic effort I very much hope you appreciate.
Alise laughed softly, imagining Nic’s impatient head toss as she wrote that. Also, oops. In her efforts to inquire discreetly, Alise had inadvertently given Nic the wrong impression. She’d have to correct that. Funny that Nic would think Alise had any interest in locating a male familiar to test fertility with when the only person she wanted was… Not a familiar. Firmly setting thoughts of Cillian aside as not relevant to the moment, Alise continued reading.
To answer your questions, there is no way to shortcut the Betrothal Trials. Ignore any rumors you might hear regarding fertility enchantments and so forth. Not only are they impossible in the first place, they’re terribly illegal and strictly forbidden by the Convocation, to the point of voiding even an established bonding.
There was that logical question: why would the Convocation bother to strictly forbid something that wouldn’t work anyway? Nic might be trying to tell her something there. Hmm.
Beyond that, the only advice I can give a familiar for surviving the Betrothal Trials is: endure . The experience is in no way romantic. It’s not easy. I’m going to say I wouldn’t advise it? Yes, it turned out well for me, but only through happenstance—and the fortunate appearance of a certain obdurate wizard. That was a lucky lightning strike that no one should or can rely upon.
Before Gabriel arrived… well, it was awful. I kept that to myself, to spare Maman, though I think she knew more than I realized at the time. The thing is, you think that you’re complying because you agree to the trials. I asked for it! To please Papa, which was misguided in retrospect, obviously, but also because I viewed the trials as my sole avenue to have some influence over who my wizard would be. The ability to use my right of summary dismissal to eliminate suitors I didn’t want gave me the illusion of control, but I relinquished a far more critical level of choice in doing so. I didn’t think it would matter to me so much, letting those men have me, attempt to impregnate me, but… it did. It hurt me inside in ways I can’t describe.
Alise choked back a little dry sob at Nic’s confession, especially poignant from someone who so rarely spoke of her feelings. Or acknowledged them, really. Alise supposed they’d both been relentlessly trained by their father to pretend they didn’t have emotions. The intimacy of this reveal was the reason Nic had sent the message so securely. Alise marveled that the so very proud Nic had written this down at all.
My point is, please tell your “friend”—assuming there truly is one—that the Betrothal Trials are more damaging than liberating. Like so many of the rules and traditions surrounding familiars, the trials pretend to give us choice while operating to further destroy our free will. Had I been sequestered in that tower much longer, had Gabriel not come along to change my entire world, I’d have succumbed to both despair and the overwhelming need to escape that monthly and harrowing night with my suitors. I would have agreed to anything, to anyone, to any level of treatment to escape the extended torture of boredom punctuated by rape.
Because that’s what it is, no matter how they dress it up as informed consent.
But now I fear I’ve written too much. I didn’t intend to become so impassioned on the topic. Now I’ll need some arcanium time with Gabriel to purge the emotions this stirred up. Hopefully that doesn’t shock you.
Alise hadn’t been shocked until Nic added that line—and she still wasn’t because she didn’t really understand. Like the arcaniums of all wizards, the House Phel arcanium stored magic that Gabriel and Nic generated together, serving as a dedicated reservoir for Gabriel to employ for more complex feats of wizardry requiring greater amounts of magic, like fending off an assault by their enemies. She didn’t know what Nic meant, exactly, but it was clearly sexual and perhaps more than that in some way? Regardless, she didn’t need to know.
The long and short of it (more long than short!) is that the Betrothal Trials are not something I’d recommend to anyone. Tell your “friend” to use that as a last resort. It’s no way to begin a life together. Tell them to take any other available path. That’s my very best advice.
Enough on that. I hope you’re doing well. Your missive was chary on details or any real information. If you’re concealing troubles, well… Know that you don’t have to stay there. I realized I pushed you into returning to the academy, so you could graduate and to cauterize certain conversations, and there were good reasons for that, but not at the expense of your health and happiness, not at the expense of you . Gabriel will set the courier to await your reply, which will also be sealed and private.
If you say for us to come get you, we will. No questions asked. Our mutually loathed progenitor has been making noises I don’t like. I have a bad feeling, so please tell me if there is anything to be concerned about there with you. Gabriel says that the pregnancy is affecting me emotionally, possibly because I nearly stabbed him with a fork when he wondered out loud if I shouldn’t have gone into labor already, even though Asa says everything is fine and we have a visiting wizard from House Gaia here now to take over as a maternity specialist, who also says everything is fine. I am heartily sick of lugging around a belly ten times the size of my own head. Another strike against the Betrothal Trials! Even if you “succeed,” you’re having a baby at the same time you’re trying to sort your own life and…
And I just made this about me and it’s not. I’m fine. The baby is fine. Gabriel will be fine if he figures out how to keep his stupid mouth shut. *sigh* Anyway, what’s the point of being Lady Phel if I can’t throw around my (now quite considerable) weight?
Just tell me true: should we come get you?
All my love, reply right away or I’ll explode (maybe literally)
Your sister
Alise read the letter over again, savoring every word, especially Nic’s offer to come and get her. If this note had come only two days before, she’d have been beyond tempted to send back a scream for help, for rescue, despite her resolve to see it through to graduation.
Now… She didn’t want to go. She actually wanted to meet Professor Seraphiel for another exhausting lesson in the morning. She’d promised Professor Cixin that she’d practice some new exercises and, instead of feeling crushed by the tasks looming over her, she found she’d been looking forward to the challenge.
Maybe, just maybe, she could figure out more about the bond severing and why it had gone wrong. That prospect gave her a surprising sense of relief and freedom, like clear water washing away the mud of regret and dread. Maman would never have wanted her to be feeling this way. Her mother suddenly came alive again in Alise’s mind, not as she’d been during the course, and at the end, of that horrible, long, agonizing decline, but as she’d been before. Full of elegance and pride, no matter what she faced. Maman would never have approved of Alise wallowing in grief and guilt.
If you think you accidentally killed me working your wizardry, Maman’s voice rang crisp and clear in Alise’s mind, then it’s incumbent on you to learn to do better. Guilt never got anyone anywhere but depressed and ineffective. I expect more of my brilliant daughter.
Alise smiled, albeit sadly, Nic’s words on the page blurring together with Maman’s voice in her head, a deep, abiding affection for them both filling her. She wasn’t alone and never had been.
“What do you have there, Wizard Alise?” Brinda Chur bounced onto the window cushion, peering at the Ratsiel courier tenaciously clinging to Alise’s knee, and perhaps trying to get a glimpse of the letter Alise immediately folded out of sight as she quickly invoked a silencing shield around them. The familiar grinned cheekily. “A letter from House Phel? I knew you’d be able to help me. What did Lady Phel say?” Brinda rubbed her hands together in anticipatory glee. “I’m so ready for her sage advice.”
Alise gazed back at Brinda in some dismay, unwilling to tarnish this bright enthusiasm with Nic’s dark cautions. Except that the experience of the Betrothal Trials would do far worse to the earnest, sweet-natured girl. Fortunately, Brinda mistook Alise’s hesitation, flushing and clapping a hand over her mouth.
“What am I doing? I apologize for my atrocious manners. Here.” She held out a hand. “Take as much magic as you like. With yesterday being Rest Day, I have a lot. I saved it for you,” she added, almost shyly. “Because I appreciate you helping me, so much.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Alise protested, not firmly at all.
“Nonsense. This is our bargain and I can see you’re low again. Drink up!”
Not particularly loving the vampiric analogy for taking a familiar’s magic, Alise reminded herself not to be unrealistic about this nature of their transaction. Brinda Chur certainly wasn’t. Alise transferred enough to refill her reserves and then some, which thankfully left Brinda not at all drained.
“Thank you,” she said, offering a warm smile. “Your magic is truly as bright as you promised.”
“House Chur is the best!” Brinda crowed, happily. She pointed at the missive, the House Phel crest of a moon over water evident. “Now gimme.” Brinda mitigated the impertinent demand with a wriggle and flutter of lashes.
Internally, Alise groaned. “I asked my sister…”
“Yes, and? And?”
Nothing for it but to be honest. “I didn’t say who’d asked me, but she told me to tell my friend not to do the Betrothal Trials if she, that is, you could possibly avoid it.”
Brinda’s anticipatory expression faded, her brow furrowing in what looked more like petulance than puzzlement. “She did not.”
“She did,” Alise insisted. “She said it was a terrible experience for her and that even the most dismal-sounding option is better than putting yourself through it.”
“But she won,” Brinda said, as if explaining it to Alise.
Alise shook her head, fingering the heavy stationery of Nic’s letter. “The Betrothal Trials isn’t something you ‘win.’ She calls it something you endure.”
Brinda’s face set in mutinous lines. “I’m going to win! I’m going to snag the best possible wizard to be my master and have a brilliant life. Your sister is just jealous because she ended up with a black sheep of a Phel.”
Well, that took a turn fast, Alise thought to herself, but then, she’d known Brinda wouldn’t take this news well. And she was young, not experienced at moderating her reactions. “My sister is very happy with her life at House Phel, and with Gabriel Phel,” Alise told her with gentle insistence. “This advice does not come from a place of jealousy—again, I didn’t say who was asking—but from a place of genuine sympathy and concern.”
Brinda sulked a moment longer, arms crossed over her bosom. “Well, did she at least say what she used to conceive so quickly?”
Alise allowed herself a moment to assimilate the shift, and what that portended. “There isn’t anything. You know the Betrothal Trials rules forbid any kind of fertility enchantment, if any exist, which they don’t. A Refoel healer will unlock your fertility, but then it’s up to nature and compatibility.”
“Oh, come on,” Brinda scoffed, leaning in closer, dropping her voice to a confidential whisper, despite the silencing shield. “Everybody knows there are certain spells we can use to ensure the wizard we want is the one to succeed. The proof is right there—why would the Convocation forbid something unless it was possible?”
As Alise had had that exact thought, she could hardly argue. “I have no idea. I just know that I’ve never heard of such a spell and neither has Nic.” She waved the missive in demonstration. “That Gabriel Phel was the one was pure luck, and compatibility, which is what the trials test for to begin with.”
“Everyone knows that’s not true,” Brinda practically hissed. “If Nic didn’t use something—and who could blame her as no one would deliberately choose to be ‘lady’ of that half-drowned manse in a backwater swamp of nowhere—then Lord Phel did. Everyone knows he’s a rebel, not even academy trained, disrespectful of his betters, and desperate to be admitted to polite society. Of course he’d be exactly the sort to employ an interdicted potion of some sort, to hedge his bets, to cheat. I want to know what it was. If you don’t give me what I want, what House Chur wants, then I will expose the truth.”
Appalled, Alise didn’t know what to say, words of response dry and useless in her mouth. Gone was the silly, bouncy familiar, replaced by a malevolent, cunning enemy. “There’s no truth to expose,” Alise managed to say, proud of the evenness of her tone. “If you had proof of this nonsense, then you’d already have this fictious spell you’re seeking.”
Brinda narrowed her pretty hazel eyes, now glittering with malice. “We don’t need proof.”
“One house can’t set Convocation policy,” Alise replied tightly. “Not without legal process.”
Scoffing, Brinda waved that away. “Words have power and if something is said often enough, people will believe it, with or without legalities. The reputation of House Chur is ancient and impeccable, whereas everyone knows that House Fell is populated by the Convocation’s rejects. The family is a disgraced and decrepit line that should never have been resurrected. The proper houses of the Convocation only allowed the temporary and probationary status of Phel out of pity and so that they would quickly learn they had no place in our world. That they’ve held on, like some sort of vermin-ridden parasite, is unthinkable, an insult to polite society. One negative word from House Chur and they’ll have that charter revoked faster than this!”
Brinda snapped her fingers, her smile vicious. “And then where will your precious sister be? Passed around and sold to the highest bidder.”
Completely aghast, Alise couldn’t summon a response, which satisfied Brinda, thinking she’d won this round. Assuming her pleasing personality again, Brinda dimpled at her. “Get me that spell and all will be fine.”
“I—I’ll try.” Alise added the stammer deliberately, swallowing hard and trying to look pitiful. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t exist.”
“Oh, it does. Everyone says so.”
Alise was heartily tired of Brinda’s calling upon the supreme “everyone knows” to express her opinions, but she contained herself.
“You’d better hope it exists,” Brinda added in a falsely sweet voice, “or face the consequences.”
Alise simply nodded.
“That’s better. We do have a deal, after all.” Brinda adjusted the ruffles on her colorful skirt in satisfaction. “Everyone is talking about you and Archivist Cillian Harahel,” she confided brightly. “A nice bit of arm candy for you, though obviously it can’t go anywhere. He’s pretty enough, but a word to the wise, he’s a social climber. Enjoy him, but don’t fall for him. You don’t always demonstrate the best judgement, after all.”
Stung into defending Cillian, Alise still chose her words carefully, figuring whatever she said would be all over Convocation Academy in another hour. Or less. “Wizards have the luxury of being able to enjoy each other without making it into a lifelong partnership,” she replied airily, not at above needling Brinda on the sore subject.
Indeed, Brinda flushed in anger. “Well, you know the levels he stooped to for Szarina.”
That name again. Unfortunately, Alise was too startled to cover her reaction.
“Oh! You don’t know,” Brinda cooed. “I had it all from my older sisters. The academy tried to keep it quiet, but of course people talk, especially when the story is so, well, distressing .” She waited, almost coyly, for Alise’s questions, making a moue of disappointment when Alise didn’t say or do anything.
Alise was, in truth, torn. Really, she should ask Cillian for the story, but he’d balked at telling her, so Brinda’s gossip might give her at least a few answers, as long as she took the information relayed with a generous helping of salt.
“Szarina Sammael,” Brinda said in a musing tone, dangling the bait with glee. “I hear she was astonishingly beautiful. Rivers of white-blonde hair. She defied convention when she manifested as a wizard, refusing to cut it, and no one blamed her. It’s not as if anyone would have mistaken her for a familiar.” Brinda seemed oblivious in that moment to her own lowly status as a familiar, lost in a reverie of admiration. “I never saw her, myself, of course, but my older sisters say she was ethereal, the most beautiful woman they ever saw. And a Sammael, too, which confers natural elegance and poise. Breeding will tell.”
Alise nearly lost the battle not to roll her eyes.
“For whatever reason,” Brinda continued with obvious relish, “Szarina decided to dally with Cillian Harahel. No one knew why, except that he was always pretty. Well, and easily led, poor bookish boy. He’d already manifested as a wizard, so everyone knew Szarina couldn’t be thinking to train him up as her familiar, but she wrapped him around her little finger. From what I understand, he became essentially her lap dog, following her everywhere, fetching and carrying for her, baking for her.” Brinda tittered knowingly behind her hand. “No one knows if he imagined that she’d elevate him to House Sammael, but they even attended the Winter’s Ball together. She bought him a suit for it and everything.”
Alise had glimpsed an Ophiel suit in Cillian’s closet, carefully sealed in the distinctive garment bag, out of place amidst the inexpensive, low-key clothing he normally preferred. She hadn’t wanted to snoop, so she hadn’t looked closely, but she wondered now. Was it a remembrance of the lost Szarina? The beautiful wizard so astonishing in every way that Cillian hesitated to allow even the least mention of her name into their bed, lest… what? Alise struggled with a wave of insecurity, wondering if perhaps Cillian had worried that evoking the glorious Szarina—even her name was fabulous—would make Alise pale by comparison. Alise undoubtedly came up short in any point by point comparison, but that Cillian likely also thought so hurt more than it should.
“What happened?” Alise asked through numb lips. She didn’t really want to know, but she seemed to be unable to resist finding out.
“What you’d expect,” Brinda answered with glee, fully in her element. “It turned out that Cillian had been helping Szarina cheat .” She whispered the word with fabricated horror, as if saying it full voice would be too distasteful. “Not only with her out-of-class work, but using his wizardry to obtain the answers to exams for her. It was only when her work in practicums came up so far short of her stellar exam grades and other work that the faculty put two and two together. Provost Uriel expelled Szarina and sent her home to House Sammael in disgrace. So horrible.” Brinda actually wriggled in delight.
“But Cillian wasn’t expelled?” Obviously not, as he’d not only graduated from Convocation Academy, but was hired to a staff position there, albeit a lowly one. Was the night shift a punishment?
“No!” Brenda answered, sounding impossibly shocked. “No one knows how he escaped equivalent justice, but everyone knows that’s why House Harahel and Sammael have been feuding. I suppose him being relegated to Convocation Archives for the rest of his unimpressive career is punishment enough.”
“Hmm.” Except Alise knew Cillian loved his job. “What happened to Szarina?”
Brinda shrugged with negligent ease. “Who knows? House Sammael is hardly going to trot out a disgraced scion for social functions. Well, I must get ready for dinner.” She patted Alise’s hand. “I’m so glad we’ve become friends. Let me know when you have that information for me.” With a jaunty wink, Brinda exited the bubble of silence, leaving Alise alone inside it.
Quickly, Alise penned a reply to Nic. Short, but to the point.
Thank you for your wonderful letter and for sharing with me. I love and admire you so much. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine and Cillian Harahel is watching out for me. I’ll write more soon. All my love, your sister.
Before she could change her mind, she gave the missive to the tenacious little courier and sent it on its way back to Nic. Alise would figure out how to appease Brinda’s insistent questions without bothering her very pregnant sister, who had much more important things to worry about.
Alise sat there a moment longer, savoring the rare moment of peace and quiet, then dispelled the silencing field, allowing in the tumult of people traveling through the hallways. For once, the noise gave her comfort.