CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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Iris Everton
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Decepter, 926 PC
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University da Mi’lier was built like a cross, the three shorter wings were dedicated to alchemy, arithmetic, and healing. The longest was home to the Hall of Histories. An expansive collection of records, books, and tomes that seemed to tell the story of the world. A dozen towering windows stood along the eastern wall, presenting the beautifully lit campus below. Between each pair of windows were long banners of various colors that draped from the ceiling, nearly touching the bookshelves that stood beneath them. In the middle of each banner was a crest representing a wide variety of things ranging from the five houses that ruled Thandlecor to the subjects taught at the university. Nearly every inch of the other three walls featured bookshelves and the books they held. Rolling ladders were attached to the highest shelves though they were seldom used. Of course, the information worth reading was upstairs. In the Rare Works section. That’s where Iris had found tonight’s entertainment. Her legs were tucked in tightly beneath one of the long mahogany tables that filled the massive room. Her elbows were rubbed raw from leaning them on the wood for hours as she read.
A tome twice as large as most books lay open in front of her. Cut right down the middle. The way she had to turn the brittle pages reminded her of how an elderly person may roll over in bed, slowly and carefully, so as not to crumble under the stress of exertion. If she wasn’t mistaken, there were over two dozen books about Arren Walendar and his tower here in the Hall of Histories, but this was the only one she cared to read because it had been written by the infamous Purist himself. His only recorded work. The man’s handwriting made her wonder if he was as intelligent as people claimed as it was atrocious, barely legible at times. Reading the book was a chore but her curiosity had been piqued months before and when that happened, she became a relentless learner. Not to mention she’d had an unfamiliar amount of freedom lately since Master Rellin forced her to take some time away from the laboratory.
This was her third time through the ugly pages of Walendar’s tome. The first two reads had been standard, nothing more than the simple process of reading and processing. This time was more of an investigation as she searched between the lines for hidden clues and connections, sometimes separated by hundreds of pages. If there was anything at all in this book about how he’d made his tower indestructible, she’d find it. “There has to be something within these pages,” she whispered.
A voice behind her startled her.
“Walendar’s Tower again, I see.” Master Rellin. His powerful fingers curled over her shoulder. She felt different around him now. Appreciative, of course, but nervous and uncomfortable as well. On one hand, he knew all her secrets. On the other hand, he’d talked to her for hours the night she’d broken down. She’d told him about everything. Ceralline. Brunson. Jameson. The Apple Core. All of it. And he hadn’t judged her one bit. Instead, he’d done everything he could to convince her to stay in Locke, to remain on the path she’d beaten for herself years before. As well as the new path they were to trek together – harnessing the power of magic. She still hadn’t given him a straight answer but had agreed to stay at least a bit longer.
“Yes. I am still down this rabbit hole,” she said.
He sat down beside her. His movements were dignified and sophisticated. “Any luck?” He spoke like a friend, not someone who others considered the top mind of his field.
“Never. I can tell there’s something hidden within these pages, but decrypting his code is remarkably difficult.”
“Aye. Arren did enjoy speaking in riddles. Drove me up a wall at times.” He reached into his scholar's robes and pulled out his pipe. She’d never seen him actually smoke anything but he often clamped the thing between his teeth when he fell into deep thought in the lab. “I must admit, I wasn’t sharp enough to look for clues in his words then. In fact, I often just rolled my eyes and let him ramble on as I thought about my own projects.” The pipe bobbed up and down as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.
A tinge of annoyance filled her. A bit of help from someone who had worked side by side with the Purist for years would help her efforts tremendously. “A shame.”
“Indeed. But, if there’s anyone who can solve his greatest riddle, it’s you.”
Iris closed the large tome, having had her share of it for the night. “I’d like to believe that but I’m growing wary.”
“Might I ask why you want to know what keeps the tower upright?”
Oh, I don’t know, maybe because every time I look at it horrifying images flash through my mind… She’d tear it down right now if she could. She intended to someday. “It’s a challenge, that’s all. To stimulate my mind until you let me back in the lab.”
Master Rellin leaned forward into the moonlight. “About that… Why don’t you come to my study? I’d like to speak with you in private.” She looked around the empty library. He smiled. “Come on, it’d be good to stretch your legs.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
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She knew Master Rellin’s distinguished work space on the third floor quite well. How could she not after hours of looking at everything it had to offer during the weeks she’d slept here? Four tall windows much like those in the Hall of Histories lined the wall opposite the heavy oak doors. The university’s green banner hung between the middle two. Several arched beams stretched the width of the room. Nine to be exact. They crossed below the heftier one that ran down the middle of the ceiling. Two identical burgundy rugs covered the majority of the floor, leaving only a foot of space between them. The same strip of hardwood lined the perimeter of the room. In the center of one rug was an elegant dining table. The other featured a sturdier, oddly shaped table carved straight out of a behemoth of a tree. Small figurines stood all around the map that covered it like she’d seen in sketches of great war rooms. A curious thing for Master Rellin to have in her opinion but it fit the ambiance of the room nicely. A fireplace sat at one end of the room, demanding respect and getting it. Master Rellin’s desk sat directly in front of it. A smaller desk, empty and covered in dust, sat near the doors. A large mural of the entire empire hung on the wall behind it. She knew nearly every town and city in Thandlecor because of that mural.
Iris' hands were placed neatly on her knees, her back perfectly straight in one of the chairs near the grandiose fireplace, exactly where Master Rellin had told her to go. The fire burned low and danced gently. A platter of fruit sat on the stand between her plush chair and the one beside it. A bottle of wine too. She eyed the fruit longingly. Having not eaten in hours her stomach begged her to take at least a single grape. She glanced at Master Rellin standing at his desk, judging whether she had time to swipe a snack. He was preoccupied with opening pieces of parchment sealed with wax. Unfortunately, she was still chewing her grapes when he turned to walk toward her.
“Iris,” he said, holding a particularly beautiful piece of parchment in his hands. She covered her mouth and tried to swallow her food without looking too uncivilized as he sat down. “I need to talk to you about something important.”
She managed to get the grapes down with an uncomfortable gulp. “Is something wrong?”
“Of course not. Quite the opposite, actually.” There was a mixture of pride and shame on his face. “I’d be a fool to think you’re not aware that you’re far exceeding expectations for a first year student. In fact, most fifth year students don’t have the comprehension of alchemy you possess. And none have as much potential. Facts the other professors and I haven’t missed. Nor do we take them lightly. It means little, I’m sure, but we thank you for pushing yourself rather than losing interest.”
“You can thank my father for that. He’d have me drawn and quartered if he ever saw me give anything but my best.”
Master Rellin took a slice of apple from the platter. “You’re special, Iris.” His front teeth crunched down on the crisp fruit. “There’s no doubting that.”
“No one should be treated special,” she said, thinking about how that exact notion is why she was sitting there beside Master Rellin in the first place.
“On the contrary. That’s exactly how you should be treated.” He handed her the piece of parchment. “Says so right there.”
She read the elegantly written letter out loud.
“Master Rellin.
The Council of Elders is delighted to inform you that after reviewing your proposal we have no objections to one, Iris Everton, bypassing standard procedures and taking her place beside you as your apprentice.
Sincerely with grace, Master Mulaney.”
As she read she could feel her dreams coming true. She placed the letter on her lap slowly and looked at it. “You work for your good luck,” she whispered.
“I hope that is enough incentive to stay in Locke for quite some time.”
All she could think about was her father's words. She’d done it. As Master Rellin’s apprentice she’d have no shortage of opportunities to show the world what she was capable of. The people she’d meet, the places she’d go. People would know her name soon enough. Commoners would have someone to look up to. “Sir. I don’t know what to say.”
“Of course you do. This isn’t one of Walendar’s riddles. Just an incredible opportunity. For both of us.” He looked as excited as she felt. “All you have to do is accept my offer to work side by side for years to come.”
She frowned as a tear fell onto the letter. She wiped at it, hoping to restore perfection. Candice was all she could think of now. She wanted so badly for her sister to reach these new heights with her. That had been the plan. But it wasn’t now. Now, Iris had to go about it alone. For Candice. Not with her. “Yes, of course I’ll do it.”
“Splendid,” he said and clapped his hands. “Then there’s only one other thing to take care of.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“I need you to promise me you’ll never speak to Jameson Wicket again.” She must have made a telling face. “He’s beneath you, Iris. You know that. It is hard enough to rise above the rest of the empire as it is without tying an anchor to your foot.”
It had started raining at some point but only now did she hear it hitting the windows as they sat in silence. She’d told herself those same words time and time again. Yet, she couldn’t erase Jameson from her heart. She still loved him. Missed him. Wanted to feel his touch. Make love. She tried to convince herself that her emotions were useless, that her logic must win out. Jameson cares not for greatness or hard work, only ale and sex. And crime. Perhaps he’d accomplish the simplest of tasks on a good day, but never more. He is a lazy murderer. An anchor. She looked at the letter again. This is what it takes to change the world. The words had meaning again. Strength. “You’re right. I won’t see him again,” she said, hoping it was true.