“Ma’am?” the janitor spoke up again, and she turned back in surprise, having almost forgotten he was there. “If you want, I can show you.”
Sciona let out a breath of relief. “Please.”
Straightening up, the man slung the cleaning rag over the side of his bucket and took the lead down the hall. If he was impatient with her for having interrupted his task, he didn’t show it. Then again, Kwen were notoriously difficult to read. She kept a few paces behind him, not sure she liked the idea of standing right up close to a man from the Blightlands. Aunt Winny was always kind to the Kwen ladies who sold their wares in the neighborhood, but she’d have had a fit if she knew Sciona was letting a Kwen man walk with her alone down a deserted hall.
Fortunately, at the second right, they came upon more acceptable company—Sciona’s fellow mages in their white robes. She noted Jerrin Mordra right away—a disappointment but not at all a surprise. The only other mage she had met in person was Cleon Renthorn, the mapping specialist who had preceded her in Bringham’s lab. There were two older highmages in white robes beside them and a younger man in a brown assistant’s jacket with a broad white stripe down each side. The five seemed to have been chatting but broke off when Sciona turned the corner.
“Ah! You must be the legendary Miss Freynan,” said the oldest of the mages, a dark-haired man with an amicable smile. “A pleasure! I’m Yurith Tanrel.” He shook Sciona’s hand before turning to the taller man to his right. “This is Cleon Renthorn, son of Archmage Alrith Renthorn.”
“Yes,” Sciona nodded to Renthorn the Younger, and neither of them reached out for a handshake. “We’ve met.”
“You have?” Tanrel said.
“In Archmage Bringham’s laboratory,” she clarified.
Cleon Renthorn would have fallen right out of Sciona’s head, as everyone did, except that she remembered the burgeoning annoyance at how fondly Bringham had spoken of him—followed by full-blown irritation when she saw the beautiful spellwork he had done for their mutual mentor. The two of them had only overlapped a few months in Bringham’s lab before Renthorn had tested into the High Magistry, but Sciona had spent years learning from the work he had left behind, striving to improve it. Now, they were both here, researching mapping for the same barrier expansion, in competition again.
“I know firsthand how good your work was, even before you became a highmage,” she said politely. “It’s an honor to meet you again here.”
“Indeed.” Cleon Renthorn’s smile somehow took up his entire face without occupying his eyes. “And on the biggest project the Magistry has attempted since the Age of Founders! Garden of Bounty, you’d think they’d have tried to upgrade the selection of mappers rather than… well…” Something tightened at the corners of his smile. “I suppose you’ll have improved since your days struggling to fill my shoes.”
“I think you’ll find I have, Highmage, and I wouldn’t say I ever struggled.”
“Um… Well then…” Tanrel seemed eager to diffuse the tension between the former labmates. “I believe the only one of us you wouldn’t have met is Fari—”
“Highmage Farion Halaros,” Sciona lit up as her attention turned to the last mage. His brown hair was lighter than it appeared in his biographies. “I’ve read all your books on Kaedor applications.”
“I should hope so,” Highmage Halaros returned coolly, “if you’re going to keep up here.”
“Right.” Sciona pretended she wasn’t a little stricken. “Of course.”
“Halaros is just joking around with you, Freynan,” Tanrel said kindly. “And yes, he is always this obnoxious.”
“So…” Sciona looked between the highmages, wishing she’d chosen boots with a bit more of a heel—they were all so damn tall—“Are all three of you putting forth mapping proposals for the barrier expansion?”
“Not quite,” Highmage Tanrel said. “Halaros will be busy monitoring the Reserve and helping Archmage Gamwen with his backlog of projects, but I’ll be working on my own sourcing plan—in theory, anyway.”
“In theory?” Sciona said.
“Well, realistically, after the archmages assess our presentations, you and I are just going to end up assisting Renthorn with whatever he comes up with. I mean, you’ve seen his spellwebs from earlier in his career,” Tanrel laughed. “I don’t need to tell you how good he is.”
“No,” Sciona agreed as any warmth she had mustered for Tanrel evaporated. Cleon Renthorn was good. But good enough to tell Sciona what to do with her research? That remained to be seen.
“We were just introducing Highmage Mordra here to his assistant,” Renthorn said with a nod to the man in the white and brown jacket.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Sciona said, happy to turn her attention to someone other than her new colleagues.
“Yes,” the assistant returned with an awkward smile. “Only, I think we’ve met before, Miss Freynan. We had a class together here… and a few at Danworth before that.”
“Oh—of course.” If only he had been interesting enough for her to remember his name. “Um…”
“Evnan.”
“Right. Evnan. Sorry. I’m terrible with names.”
“Speaking of assistants, did we ever find one for Miss Freynan?” Highmage Tanrel turned to Renthorn, who shook his head.
“We’re short of qualified assistants since Archmage Gamwen borrowed half of them indefinitely. She could always take Tommy.”
Tanrel stifled a snort of laughter. “Renthorn, that’s mean.”
“Well, what’s meaner?” Renthorn asked. “That or making a proper research mage work under her?”
Renthorn’s meaning hit like a slap in the face; the vast majority of research mages were male. It would embarrass them to take direction from a woman, regardless of her talent.
“Hey, Blighter.”
Sciona winced at the word, which had always seemed an awful thing to call the people from beyond the barrier. Even if they had brought Blight on themselves, it was a shade too cruel for her.
“Sir?” said a quiet voice, and that was the first Sciona realized that the janitor had stayed there at her shoulder.
“The lady mage has a new job for you.”
“Renthorn—” Tanrel started, but Renthorn made a shushing motion as if to say don’t ruin my joke!
“You’re being promoted to mage’s assistant.”
“I…” Sciona was fairly sure her face had gone entirely red. Bringham had told her not to let the other highmages ruffle her. But what was she supposed to do? Just play along?
“If you want an assistant, he’s what we’ve got,” Highmage Renthorn smirked. “Sorry.”
Sciona might lack social skills, but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew when she was being insulted. She also knew that if she reacted with affront—like any man would react—the other mages would treat her as hysterical and too soft for the job. She could go to Archmage Bringham, she supposed, but no. No! She was a highmage now, damn it. She could hold her own among her peers without anyone coming to save her.