“What’s the matter, Miss Freynan?”
“Nothing.” If he wanted to upset her, he’d have to do better than this. “Tommy, was it?” She turned curtly to the janitor. “You were going to show me to my laboratory anyway. Let’s go.”
The janitor just stood there, and, taking in his rigid posture, Sciona realized that he was as uncomfortable as she was. The sooner this stupid joke ran its course, the better for both of them. But for now, the only option was to play along.
“Now, please,” she said a little shortly.
“Ma’am.” The confused cleaning man—Tommy—crossed past the snickering mages to a door at the end of the hall, and Sciona hurried after him. Maybe it was weak of her, but Sciona was relieved not to be the only one walking that gauntlet of disdainful green eyes.
“Welcome to the High Magistry, Miss Freynan!” Renthorn called after her as she followed the Kwen into her laboratory. “Let us know if there’s anything else you need!”
Sciona couldn’t close the door fast enough.
The laboratory was a thing out of her schoolgirl daydreams. A wide granite floor for testing high-energy spells, reinforced walls, multiple desks and worktables, enough fine wood shelf space for a library… but with her heart beating in her throat, Sciona couldn’t appreciate it.
With her hand resting on the doorknob, she let out a breath and was ashamed to realize how close she was to crying. It had only been a few stupid jabs. God knew she had suffered worse in the schoolyard as a child; Renthorn at least hadn’t pulled her hair or slapped her books into the dirt. What stung was that the High Magistry was supposed to be a place of pure intellect. If there was anywhere in the world where her sex shouldn’t matter, where her class shouldn’t matter, it should have been here. But that had been a stupid assumption, hadn’t it? Bringham had warned her this would happen. In some na?ve part of her, she just hadn’t been able to accept it.
At the sound of a throat clearing over her shoulder, she turned to Tommy, almost surprised to find him still in the room. But of course, he was still here. She was standing like a fool in front of the door, blocking his only way out.
“Pardon, ma’am, but if you mages are done with your… whatever that was, may I get back to my job?”
“Of course.” Sciona felt bad that the poor cleaning man had been pulled into this—and as the instrument of the joke, no less. She may have been the one the other mages were insulting, but Tommy was the insult. She wanted to assume that the cruelty of the gesture had gone over his simple Kwen head, but she could see on his face that it hadn’t. She knew shame when she saw it.
“Ma’am?” His sullen expression shifted slightly, softening. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” and now Sciona was embarrassed twice over that she was making the janitor of all people worry about her. Was the hurt really that visible on her face? “Yes, I’m fine. You may go.” She stood back. “Sorry for keeping you.”
The Kwen eyed her for a moment in inscrutable contemplation, then moved toward the door. But as he reached for the handle, Sciona was struck with a terrible image of the other mages mocking him as he walked down the hall, perhaps even coming back to mock her.
“Actually…” She put a hand on the door just as his fingers touched the knob. “Wait.”
He stopped, apprehensive. “Something more you need, ma’am?”
“Yes. I mean—no. Not really. Just… wait a minute, please.”
“Why, ma’am? Going to hold me here indefinitely, pretending their joke didn’t bother you?”
“Excuse me!” Sciona should have asked where he got the nerve to speak to her that way. What came out of her mouth instead was, “Who says I’m letting it bother me?”
A copper eyebrow lifted in skepticism.
“I just meant…” What had she meant? God, they were standing kind of close, weren’t they? The Kwen smelled of soap and herbs, which was a bit odd, considering his people’s reputation for never washing. She supposed he did spend all day cleaning. Not the most skilled work, but how skilled was the work of a mage’s assistant? Sciona had interned as one when she was fifteen, and it had consisted mostly of following instructions to the letter. Maybe…
“Maybe you could stay.”
The Kwen tensed, plainly nervous, though Sciona couldn’t imagine why. “Ma’am?” he said very quietly. “Would that be appropriate?”
“It’s never inappropriate to do as a highmage says. Renthorn told you to stay and assist me with my research, so I think that’s what you should do.”
Tommy’s winter eyes flicked upward to study Sciona, his hand still resting on the doorknob, his brow knit in confusion… No… not confusion. Anger. He held it smoothly under that opaque Kwen countenance, but it was there.
“Your colleagues had their laugh. You proved you can take it. What more do you prove by continuing to mock me?”
“I’m not mocking,” Sciona protested, though she immediately realized that she hadn’t given Tommy any reason to believe otherwise. Kwen didn’t even attend the university—only trade schools. It did seem rather like a joke to invite one into a highmage’s laboratory. But if Sciona had overly respected convention, she wouldn’t be here. “I was serious.”
He didn’t seem convinced.
“Serving as a research mage’s assistant isn’t that hard,” she continued. “I would know. I’ve assisted a lot of mages in a lot of labs. It’s mostly following directions. You’re a Kwen, right? You know how to do that?”
The slightest tightening in his jaw. “Yes, ma’am. I can follow directions.”
“Then you’re hired.”
The anger had left Tommy’s expression; now, he was just looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “I’m not qualified.”
Well, neither is Jerrin Mordra, Sciona was tempted to point out, and get a load of him strutting his white robes around this floor.
“You speak Tiranish well,” she said. “Can you read it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then that’s all the qualification you need.” Maybe not to assist just any mage, but Sciona was not just any mage. She had always done heavier lifting than her peers—quite literally when it had come to the exam. Why should this be any different?
“The other mages’ assistants are all top students at the University,” Tommy said. “Isn’t that the level of qualification I need?”
“Only if you’re assisting a mage who wants half his work done for him.”
“When I say I can read Tiranish, I mean only very slowly. I learned from a supervisor at a previous job because he wanted me to handle inventory, but I’ve never attended a day of school. I doubt I’ll meet your standards.”
“You’ll be fine.” Sciona’s confidence was, perhaps, misplaced. But increasingly, she liked this idea of turning a joke at her expense to her advantage. That would show Renthorn that he couldn’t upset her. More than that, it would show all these mages that she didn’t need any special accommodations to succeed.