Scholar of Magic Page 2

  Stephanie found her tongue then. “You won’t be after I report your assault.” She rubbed conspicuously at her wrist as she stared down at him.

  Will caught sight of the red skin which was probably the first sign of a bruise. In his panic he had probably gripped her arm far too firmly, but then again, if she hadn’t been trying to abandon them, he wouldn’t have had to do so. Ordinarily he would have felt bad about having hurt her, but instead his fatigue and the look of spite on Stephanie’s face combined within him to produce a different reaction.

  He began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” she demanded, staring at him suspiciously.

  “You,” said Will, still chuckling.

  “You won’t find it a laughing matter once everyone knows about your awful behavior,” she snapped. “Once I explain to them what you tried to do to me!” Her visage had taken on a look of almost gleeful malice.

  Still lying on the ground, he looked up, meeting her eyes evenly. “Really? Is that what you think? Are you sure you’ve thought this through properly?”

  Stephanie had never shown herself to be particularly bright in class, or anywhere else that he had seen, but as he watched her face, he could almost see the moment that her mind finished the social calculus, and she realized her error. A hint of uncertainty showed in her eyes. “They’ll believe me when I show them this,” she insisted, lifting her injured arm.

  He sat up, shaking his head sadly. “I used to live in fear of people like you. You twist the truth to suit your whims, and regular people, people like me, are forced to simply accept the results. But that isn’t the case anymore, is it Stephanie? Maybe you should rethink your plan for revenge against me for saving your life. There’s two ways this can play out after we return.

  “One, you can stick to the truth, and we’ll both leave out the part about your shameful cowardice. Or two, you can spread lies and we’ll see who winds up with more shit stuck to them in the end. You remember who my wife is now, don’t you?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Assuming she doesn’t cast you aside after she hears what—”

  Will rose, dusting himself off. “Go ahead,” he said, interrupting. “Selene trusts me, and not for any reason you’d understand. We’ve been through fire and blood together. Unlike you, she doesn’t judge people according to their wealth or social standing. She’ll see through your lies before I even tell her my side of the story.”

  He turned his back and began walking away. “So say whatever you wish when you get back. I would personally recommend the version in which you heroically assisted me in keeping this dam from failing, because the story you were thinking about telling ends with you bringing shame to your family.”

  Chapter 2

  Will spent hours more at the dam assisting Duncan in making sure his makeshift repairs were stable before eventually being told to get some rest. He was only too glad to accept that order. The ride back to Wurthaven took nearly two hours, and he had to share the carriage with Stephanie. She made a point of pretending he didn’t exist, and he returned the courtesy. Still, it made for an awkward period.

  Back at the college, he disembarked and began walking toward his new home, one of the larger buildings among the private residences set aside for the senior masters of the college. In fact, it had once been the chancellor’s manse until just a decade ago, when funds had been set aside to build the chancellor a newer dwelling more in keeping with the modern trends in architecture. The vice-chancellor had been considering a move when Selene’s influence took the choice out of his hands. Will still marveled at the speed with which she had moved.

  She only had one day after we were married, and yet she managed to set me up as though I were a nobleman, he thought wryly.

  He mentally reviewed the last year in his mind as he walked. Thanks to his grandmother he didn’t feel much like a married man, for he hadn’t seen his royal bride since their first day of marriage, nearly twelve months past. He’d finished his first year at Wurthaven alone, and now he was right in the middle of his second year.

  Several students waved at him as he walked. Will nodded and smiled politely but didn’t stop to talk to any of them. They weren’t friends. People had begun to treat him differently once it became known who he had married. Everyone was polite now, no one dared ignore him, and when he spoke, people listened. Having just passed his nineteenth birthday (alone—again), it felt strange to receive such deference, especially when he knew quite well that many of them despised him. Marrying the princess hadn’t made him any friends, merely enemies who didn’t dare do anything else but pretend at friendship.

  Finally reaching the short walk through his private yard, he took a moment to study the place he had been told was his home. It was a three-story building with an elegant portico framing the front entrance. Marble columns on either side supported a second-floor balcony overlooking the small but well-kept garden that served as the front yard. Will advanced to the door and opened it without knocking, for it wasn’t locked. He threw the bolt home once he was inside, though.

  “I’m back!” he said loudly, but there was no answer. Will glanced around anxiously, studying the open door to the cloak room and then gazing down the entry hall. There was no one in sight. “I swear to the Holy Mother if you’re planning on ambushing me, I’ll tie you up and strap you until you’re black and blue. Do you hear me? I’m not joking! It’s been a long day.”

  There was no answer, and Will felt his blood pressure rising. Moving carefully, he took the right-hand doorway into the front sitting room. No one jumped out at him, but he didn’t relax. He called out once more, “Blake, where are you?” Blake was the servant that Selene had forced on him before she had left, though the term servant didn’t quite fit. Blake had made the arrangements for the house, along with everything else in Will’s life. His nominal title was butler, but Blake Word was a gentleman’s gentleman and it was his job not only to take care of Will, but to train him to be the sort of man worthy of being married to the king’s daughter.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” came Blake’s answer.

  “Where’s Selene?” responded Will, yelling back.

  “Not sure. I’m sure she’ll find you soon enough.”

  “Shit,” swore Will. She could be anywhere. He scanned the sitting room once more, studying the corners of the room. The turyn in the room seemed to be moving normally, but that didn’t mean much; his opponent was skilled in masking her presence. Will shifted his vision to enable him to see heart-light, and the room shifted into shades of gray. In one corner he could see a vaguely feminine outline.

  As soon as his eyes focused on the figure, she launched herself at him, not as a woman would, but in the manner of a hunting cat. Selene leaped into the air, crossing the distance between them in an instant. She was stopped abruptly when her face met the point-defense shield that Will erected to halt her advance.

  Selene’s head snapped back painfully as she met the force shield and she fell over backward. Will stepped forward and put his boot on her neck, forcing her down against the rug. The saber he had summoned from his limnthal was pointed at her chest. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for this,” he ground out, his voice cold and angry.

  Selene smiled up at him, her tongue darting out to lick away the blood from her split lip in a manner that somehow betrayed her non-human nature. “Survival isn’t about being in the mood.” Then she focused on the tip of his sword. “But the iron is rude. I’m only trying to help you.”

  “If Blake sees you do something like that, he’s going to know you aren’t the real Selene,” Will warned quietly. The woman under his boot was Tailtiu, one of the fae, and technically his aunt.

  “Don’t be a fool. He already knows. He’s playing along because his mistress ordered him to. May I get up?” asked Tailtiu, indicating the foot he still had on her neck. Her lip had already healed.

  “I suppose.” Will sent the sword back to its place inside the limnthal, then removed his foot. As soon
as he lifted it, Tailtiu’s hand came up, grabbing his heel and shoving his foot up and back, forcing him off balance. Will fell back, and the fae woman was on top of him in the span of half a second, her fist driving down at his face. Will smiled maliciously at her as he heard the bones snap when Tailtiu’s fist met his newest point-defense shield just before it could reach his head. His grin vanished when a sharp pain lanced through his skull. “Ow!”

  His aunt shook her hand but gave no other sign that it hurt. “I’m the one with the wounded hand, or did I somehow hit you without knowing it?” She was still straddling his waist and she looked down. “Or did I hurt something else?”

  “No, it was the spell I think,” said Will, gritting his teeth as his head began to pound. “I think I overdid it today.”

  “You should have told me,” said Tailtiu reproachfully. “What if you hurt yourself?” Her hips were moving slowly. “Does this help?”

  “Stop that!” snapped Will. “Get off me.” After she had complied, he added with a glare, “I did tell you, or I tried to.”

  “The part about beating me black and blue? I thought that was just a tease.”

  Will sat up, massaging his temples, but the ache refused to subside. “The dam we were repairing almost collapsed today. I used magic to brace it for ten minutes or more.”

  “You’ve been learning earth magics then? You didn’t mention that,” she remarked.

  He shook his head. “No. The only thing I could think to use was a force-effect spell that wasn’t really meant for that kind of thing. The turyn drain was almost impossible for me to keep up with.”

  His aunt sighed. “Only a human would use something like that when it would be simpler to reshape the stone.”

  “Can wild magic do that?” asked Will. He had seen her reshape her body in many different ways, her current disguise being one of the mildest examples, but he had never observed her using magic outside of her own physical being.

  She nodded. “Some of my people can manage such things, usually those who are older, or if they have a special affinity with earth magic. None of us use the force magics that you seem to prefer. They’re unnatural.”

  “What about Grandmother?”

  Tailtiu waved a hand dismissively. “Mother was a wizard before becoming fae: it goes without saying that she can use your magics.”

  Will’s head continued to ache, which only served to accentuate his sour mood. The long ride back from the worksite had done nothing to ease his anger at Stephanie Beresford’s attitude. Being attacked as soon as he entered the house certainly didn’t help either. His ears picked up the soft sound of Blake’s footsteps just moments before the other door into the sitting room opened.

  Blake looked askance at him. “Should I brew something for a headache, sir?” He barely glanced at Tailtiu, even though she visually appeared to be his mistress, Selene.

  Tailtiu’s probably right, thought Will. He’d show more deference to her if he really believed she was the princess. “That might be nice, though I don’t know if it will help,” answered Will with a look of gratitude.

  Blake nodded, already turning back toward the kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  A short while later Will sat in relative comfort, sipping a cup of willow bark tea. It tasted awful, acrid and bitter, but he knew from experience how well it worked for aches and pains. It had been one of the first things his mother had taught him. He was seated in a wide, cushioned chair, a luxury he had come to take for granted more quickly than he would have previously believed. When he thought about it, it bothered him. His new life was changing him, making him soft in certain ways. Of course, at the same time it was making him tougher in others. His eyes landed on Tailtiu as that thought crossed his mind and he pursed his lips. She met his gaze and lifted one brow in an unspoken question. As usual, she’s probably wondering if I’m looking at her physical attributes, he noted mentally. He glanced away, telegraphing his lack of interest—he hoped.

  His aunt’s random acts of violence served to keep him alert. At one point in the past he had attempted to call her bluff by refusing to react to one of her faux assassination attempts. His operating theory had been that she wouldn’t dare to actually harm him, so if he refused to play the game she would have to give up. That lesson had cost him one of his three remaining regeneration potions to mend a broken arm and replace a lost tooth, not to mention the bruises that accompanied those injuries.

  As Arrogan had originally shown him, pain was an excellent teacher.

  His headache put a damper on his desire to cook. Blake was excellent in almost every regard, but the man was mediocre in the kitchen. It had been Blake’s original suggestion to hire a cook, but Will had refused, preferring to handle those chores himself. Today he regretted it. “I don’t feel like cooking,” he pronounced.

  “Shall I, then?” asked his manservant.

  Will grimaced. “Cured ham and bread will be enough. Don’t trouble yourself.”

  Taitiu smiled, showing teeth that would probably have been pointed if Blake hadn’t been in the room. “I’ll never understand your desire for cold meat. It’s much better warm.”

  Will knew what she really meant. Tailtiu’s idea of cooking meant making sure her food’s heartbeat stopped before she finished eating it. Preferably somewhere in the middle of the process. He repressed a shudder at the thought.

  Blake stood and went to a small side table in the front entry hall. He returned a moment later with a small wooden bowl, which he offered to Will. Inside were several calling cards.

  “How many were there today?” asked Will.

  “Just three.”

  Will nodded, waving the bowl away. “I’m not seeing any of them.”

  “One of them was from Laina Nerrow,” Blake informed him before glancing in Tailtiu’s direction. Laina was the older daughter of the baron Mark Nerrow, and unbeknownst to most, including herself, she was Will’s half-sister. More importantly, she was Selene’s closest friend, and over the recent months she had been growing increasingly impatient with her inability to meet with Selene face-to-face.

  Tailtiu rose from her seat and gave Blake her best look of indifference. “Tell her I’m indisposed. I haven’t been feeling well recently.” She patted one cheek as though to comfort herself. “I think I’ll retire early.” She gave Will a smoldering look. “I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom.”

  Will gave Blake a helpless look and shrugged. “I’ll be in my study. Bring the meat and bread up when you have them ready.”

  “You can’t ignore her forever,” suggested Blake.

  “You might be surprised,” Will responded, getting to his feet and heading for the private office where he did most of his studying. He had never imagined having something so pretentious as an office of his own, much less the grand house it was located within, but he was learning to adapt to the circumstances.

  He found his place in the cushioned chair and put his feet up on the desk. Then he summoned the limnthal and addressed the ring he wore on his right hand. “I think I hurt myself today.”

  Arrogan’s sour voice replied from the air in front of him, “And so you felt the need to wake me up to cry about it? Don’t be such a titty baby.”

  It had been a considerable length of time since he had last spoken to the spirit of his former master, so the language caught him off guard. “What?” he sputtered.

  “You heard me.”

  Will’s eyes narrowed, though the expression was pointless since the ring had no eyes to see his face. “It’s been well over a month since we last talked.”

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” said Arrogan. “I told you before. I have no sense of time when I’m inactive. For all intents and purposes, I cease to exist, so every time you speak to me it feels as though our last conversation was just seconds ago.”

  “I guess that makes it easy to remember what we were talking about then.”

  “It’s damned annoying,” the ring shot back. “My ent
ire existence is one endless conversation—with you. Think about that from my perspective for a moment.”

  “I see,” said Will without sympathy.

  “The hell you do, otherwise you’d be screaming as the existential horror seeped into that lard-filled bag you use for a brain.”

  Will found himself snickering. He’d missed the old man’s biting conversations. “I’ll try to meditate on your misery later. In the meantime, I really do think I hurt myself.”

  The ring sighed. “And that’s the extent of the sympathy I can expect. I suppose I should be happy with that much. I’m just a piece of jewelry after all. Fine, let’s talk about your problem. I’m sure it’s serious.”

  “And you called me a ‘titty baby’ just a minute ago.”

  A long pause followed before Arrogan finally responded, “Point taken. All right, tell me what’s wrong with you this time.”

  Will did his best to describe what he had experienced at the dam when he had been struggling to draw enough turyn to maintain his spell, but he had difficulty finding words to express what he had done. “I sort of pulled all my turyn into a tightly concentrated knot, but I kept the outer shell I was using to draw turyn in with large, even though it was mostly empty.”

  “You maximized the concentration differential and the active surface area at the same time, is that what you mean?”

  “Yes!” He felt a surge of excitement as the ring’s description perfectly captured what he was trying to say. The terms Arrogan used were commonly used in alchemy, which was something entirely different, but they matched what had happened.

  “Perfectly normal,” pronounced his mentor. “Most second- and third-order wizards stumble across the technique eventually.”

  Will frowned. “You’ve mentioned orders in reference to wizards in the past, but you didn’t have a ranking system for spells like we do these days. That doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “People use classifications to make sense of the things that are important to them. That should give you a clue as to the fundamental difference between the wizardry of my day and the wizards of yours.”