“If you say so, ma’am, then I’m at your disposal,” Tommy said. “Only…”
“What?”
“I do already have a job in this building.”
“Oh.” Sciona hadn’t thought of that. She chewed her lip for a moment before an utterly delightful thought occurred to her. “Well, I think that’s Cleon Renthorn’s problem now.”
Tommy tilted his head in question.
“He has charge of this floor. That means staffing, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. That is, the office manager usually handles staffing, but Highmage Renthorn has the final say.”
“Well, everyone heard him promote you to my assistant, so congratulations.” She held out her hand. “I look forward to working with you.”
Tommy’s gray eyes flicked to her hand and rested there for a moment before he accepted the handshake. And Feryn, Sciona had thought she knew rough hands! Aunt Winny’s had always been weathered from laundry, and Alba had calloused fingertips from her mechanical work. Gripping Tommy’s hand was like gripping warm stone.
“Right.” Sciona realized that she had held on a moment longer than was strictly appropriate. “Um…” Pulling her hand from his, she turned to the boxes she’d had transferred from her old office in Trethellyn Hall. Most of the books in Sciona’s personal collection were available in the library just next door to these mapping laboratories, but the library copies wouldn’t have Sciona’s years of notes in the margins. “These boxes are all I brought with me. I need the contents shelved in alphabetical order.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kneeling, Tommy opened a box, pulled out a book, and ran his thumb down the spine. After considering the lettering for a moment, he glanced back up at Sciona, and she was embarrassed to realize that she had been staring, wondering if he was telling the truth about being able to read.
It was too late to pretend she hadn’t been watching him, so she crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Problem?”
“Just a question, ma’am.”
“What?”
“Alphabetical order by title or author?”
“Author, please. Oh, but before you get to that, here.” Sciona set the pastry basket on the nearest empty table. “Have a muffin. Or four.”
“You don’t think your colleagues might like some?”
“I’m sure they would. That’s why they’re all for you.”
Not keen to interact with the other highmages any further, Sciona waited as long as she could without a lavatory break. It was only when she finally stepped out of her office and wondered where the restroom was that she realized there wasn’t one. Not for her. Only men had ever worked on this floor. Maybe she should have been annoyed, but it was almost a relief to descend to the third floor, where she didn’t risk running into a new colleague around each corner.
When she had done her business, she avoided the main stairs to her laboratory and cut through the library instead. The library was the only chamber in the Main Magistry building that exceeded Leon’s Hall in size—a decadent layer cake of mezzanines, each floor requiring a different level of clearance. Having worked as a research mage for years, Sciona knew the lower ninety percent of the library better than her own apartment complex. Now, she got to walk up the stairs she had eyed with longing for all those years to the final level. The security gates clicked open upon registering her highmage’s clasp, letting her in among the stacks.
This part of the library contained the original handwritten tomes by archmages and highmages who had lived before the printing press that had flooded the city with copies. At first, the aisles of shelves appeared deserted. But to Sciona’s surprise and total dismay, she turned a corner to find Highmage Renthorn at one of the tables, nonchalantly leafing through a crusty text that looked like it dated back to the Age of Founders. He glanced up at the sound of her boots on the wood floor, and his face split into a slimy smile.
“Miss Freynan. How’s your first day going?”
“Well, thank you,” Sciona said, screwing her own smile in place.
“So well that you had to mysteriously run off and sneak back in secret?”
“I…” It would have been indecent to tell him the truth. “There was something I needed from the second floor,” she said and shifted the subject. “Don’t you have important work to be doing, Highmage Renthorn?”
“Only busy work at this stage,” he said. “That’s why I have my assistants doing it for me while I do a little background reading.”
“You have multiple assistants?”
“Four.” He smirked. “All research mages.”
Of course. A legacy highmage didn’t have to be any good if his assistants had the skill to do the bulk of his work for him. But that wasn’t what bothered Sciona. What truly got under her skin was the knowledge that Cleon Renthorn didn’t need four assistants. He was talented enough to pull through any project on his own; he just felt entitled to the work of others.
“I suppose your father’s made sure you have all the best,” she said icily.
“He knows I’m valuable. My time is valuable.” Renthorn the Younger was still wearing that grin that teetered on the edge of mockery. “Speaking of which, how is your assistant working out, Miss Freynan?”
“Wonderfully. Thank you for asking.”
“Really?” Renthorn leaned forward, putting his elbows on the ancient text before him, straining the hand-bound spine. For some reason, that was the last straw.
“Highmage,” Sciona snapped.
“Yes?”
“I meant—it’s not Miss Freynan. It’s Highmage Freynan.”
Renthorn’s smile soured slightly. “You know, arrogance never made a woman more attractive.”
“When I care how attractive you find me, I’ll let you know.”
“Of course, you’re right. Clearly, you’ve already manipulated the man you need to.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please. We all know how you persuaded Archmage Bringham to sneak you into the High Magistry. I suppose a woman of your class would be used to using her looks—such as they are—to cut corners.”
Sciona was mute for a moment in affront, which quickly turned to disgust. “You know, I’m eight years younger than you.” And only four years behind you into the High Magistry, she didn’t add but hoped it registered anyway. “Archmage Bringham is old enough to be my father!”
“Apparently, that doesn’t matter to some women.”
“You think that’s how I got into the High Magistry?”
A derisive scoff revealed the ugliness that had been lurking just under Renthorn’s smooth air since Sciona had arrived. “Please! I overlapped with you in Bringham’s laboratory, remember?”
“Barely,” Sciona said. “Not long enough to see even one of my projects come to—”
“Long enough to see how taken he was with you.”
“He saw my talent,” she said, “just like he saw yours. He’s always prided himself on his eye for future highmages. There was Highmage Halaros, then you. Why am I any different?”