reassuring.”
She nodded, understanding as well as I that only the most potent of arcane artifacts radiated no magic. She said, “What is it that you feel when reading the spells?”
“Naturally, I understand the theory. That much is universal across all schools of—”
“That’s not what I asked. What do you feel ?”
When I revealed my sorcerous bloodline to Illyria, I had braced myself for scorn, or at least her usual badinage. Instead, she had reacted with acceptance, curiosity, and even concern. Yet even to so sympathetic an ear, I hesitated to admit the truth. “I feel a certain affinity for these spells, detestable as they are.”
“Don’t forget what the professor would say,” she said. “Few spells are truly evil. They’re tools. How we use them is what matters.”
“I remember Ygresta’s arguments.”
“But did you truly hear them? He may not have been the most brilliant wizard at the Acadamae, but he had a big heart.”
“Perhaps because it was full of these delicious tarts.” I eyed another. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all, but be careful. You’ll have a big heart soon, too.”
Illyria jested, but she did not know my secret. Since Radovan informed me that the lady enjoyed romantic novels, I knew my tale of escaping death through the healing power of a celestial dragon’s heart would impress her. I was tempted to tell it.
Yet one does not wish to seem vainglorious.
“I have been wondering why a burglar would loot Ygresta’s laboratory yet leave the library untouched.”
“I thought you decided it was because your name was on it, and no thief dares cross the celebrated Count Varian Jeggare.”
“Would you recognize Professor Ygresta’s handwriting?”
“It has been a few years since he last marked one of my essays. But yes, probably.”
From the settee I fetched the card I found atop the box containing the codex. “Is this his hand?”
Illyria inspected the card. She appeared ready to nod, but then she seemed to change her mind. “It could be.”
“My reaction exactly. It appears to be his handwriting, but it is not quite right. Here, compare it with this.” I showed her a copy of Cevil Charms’s Eidolon , which Ygresta had annotated in pencil. His elegant script appeared exactly as I remembered from our correspondence.
Illyria studied the two samples. “Someone forged the card.”
We raised another pair of cream tarts in celebration of our conclusions.
“The question is…” I began.
Illyria licked a cream mustache from her lip. I quite forgot what I was saying. She finished my thought: “‘Why?’”
“Exactly. It would appear that someone wished me to believe that Ygresta left the codex for me.”
“But again, why?”
“That depends on whether the culprit knew the book’s secret. If so, then it was to draw my attention to the codex. If not, then it might have been a gambit to draw my attention away from the secret laboratory.”
“It has to be the first one.”
“Why?”
“Because it would be too great a coincidence for a schemer to mistake the codex for a blank book and then use it as a distraction.”
Our eyes locked for a moment. In unison we said, “And there are no coincidences.”
“So it follows that Ygresta’s death was not coincidental to my arrival.”
“But the seers said he wasn’t murdered.”
“Then we cannot trust their report. They may have intentionally deceived you, knowing you would share their report with me.”
“So perhaps the professor was murdered—well, not for the codex, which they didn’t take—but maybe for whatever was stolen from the lab?”
“That seems more likely.”
“Do you suspect someone from the Acadamae murdered him?”
Keenly aware that Lady Illyria could be reporting to her uncle as much as to me, I kept my response vague. “Most murderers are known to the victim.”
Illyria frowned. “But if the thief was adept enough to break into his laboratory, why kill the professor? And why
She nodded, understanding as well as I that only the most potent of arcane artifacts radiated no magic. She said, “What is it that you feel when reading the spells?”
“Naturally, I understand the theory. That much is universal across all schools of—”
“That’s not what I asked. What do you feel ?”
When I revealed my sorcerous bloodline to Illyria, I had braced myself for scorn, or at least her usual badinage. Instead, she had reacted with acceptance, curiosity, and even concern. Yet even to so sympathetic an ear, I hesitated to admit the truth. “I feel a certain affinity for these spells, detestable as they are.”
“Don’t forget what the professor would say,” she said. “Few spells are truly evil. They’re tools. How we use them is what matters.”
“I remember Ygresta’s arguments.”
“But did you truly hear them? He may not have been the most brilliant wizard at the Acadamae, but he had a big heart.”
“Perhaps because it was full of these delicious tarts.” I eyed another. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all, but be careful. You’ll have a big heart soon, too.”
Illyria jested, but she did not know my secret. Since Radovan informed me that the lady enjoyed romantic novels, I knew my tale of escaping death through the healing power of a celestial dragon’s heart would impress her. I was tempted to tell it.
Yet one does not wish to seem vainglorious.
“I have been wondering why a burglar would loot Ygresta’s laboratory yet leave the library untouched.”
“I thought you decided it was because your name was on it, and no thief dares cross the celebrated Count Varian Jeggare.”
“Would you recognize Professor Ygresta’s handwriting?”
“It has been a few years since he last marked one of my essays. But yes, probably.”
From the settee I fetched the card I found atop the box containing the codex. “Is this his hand?”
Illyria inspected the card. She appeared ready to nod, but then she seemed to change her mind. “It could be.”
“My reaction exactly. It appears to be his handwriting, but it is not quite right. Here, compare it with this.” I showed her a copy of Cevil Charms’s Eidolon , which Ygresta had annotated in pencil. His elegant script appeared exactly as I remembered from our correspondence.
Illyria studied the two samples. “Someone forged the card.”
We raised another pair of cream tarts in celebration of our conclusions.
“The question is…” I began.
Illyria licked a cream mustache from her lip. I quite forgot what I was saying. She finished my thought: “‘Why?’”
“Exactly. It would appear that someone wished me to believe that Ygresta left the codex for me.”
“But again, why?”
“That depends on whether the culprit knew the book’s secret. If so, then it was to draw my attention to the codex. If not, then it might have been a gambit to draw my attention away from the secret laboratory.”
“It has to be the first one.”
“Why?”
“Because it would be too great a coincidence for a schemer to mistake the codex for a blank book and then use it as a distraction.”
Our eyes locked for a moment. In unison we said, “And there are no coincidences.”
“So it follows that Ygresta’s death was not coincidental to my arrival.”
“But the seers said he wasn’t murdered.”
“Then we cannot trust their report. They may have intentionally deceived you, knowing you would share their report with me.”
“So perhaps the professor was murdered—well, not for the codex, which they didn’t take—but maybe for whatever was stolen from the lab?”
“That seems more likely.”
“Do you suspect someone from the Acadamae murdered him?”
Keenly aware that Lady Illyria could be reporting to her uncle as much as to me, I kept my response vague. “Most murderers are known to the victim.”
Illyria frowned. “But if the thief was adept enough to break into his laboratory, why kill the professor? And why
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