Chapter 15: The Offer

Lord Archmage Kalleas

“So, Miss Lancaster,” Kalleas began, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers before his face, “first, let me say — your progress is impressive. Exams passed ahead of schedule, practical work at a level I haven’t seen in quite some time. That isn’t empty flattery. This isn’t the first time I’ve read your file.”

“Thank you, Archmage,” she replied evenly, without lowering her eyes.

Calm. Too calm for praise of this magnitude. Most people in her position would have lit up with pride, would have tried — however awkwardly — to show the compliment had landed. She merely tilted her head slightly, as though accepting something self-evident.

Kalleas noted this with mild, almost scholarly interest. Two hundred years behind a lectern had taught a man to read people every bit as well as magical sight read an aura — sometimes better, because an aura could be hidden, but the body’s habits almost never could. He had watched liars breathe. Watched the trembling fingers of those concealing fear. Watched the darting eyes of those improvising an explanation on the spot. Miya did none of this — and it was precisely that flawlessness that gave her away more thoroughly than any nervousness could have. No living person was ever quite that composed. Unless that person had spent a long time and worked very hard training herself to be exactly this composed.

Learned to keep a straight face, he thought, with a faint, almost paternal amusement. Learned it well. But not from me. And, unfortunately for you, my dear, not over two hundred years.

“Tell me — what are your plans going forward? After the Academy, I mean.”

A slight hesitation. Barely perceptible — her gaze flicked aside for a fraction of a second before returning to him. She hadn’t expected the question. A good sign — it meant she hadn’t yet prepared the correct, rehearsed answer.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said carefully. “I want to keep studying. Beyond that — whatever comes.”

Evasive, but honest. Good. And, more interestingly still, he noticed she swallowed almost imperceptibly midway through the sentence. A woman’s throat doesn’t move as visibly as a man’s, but Kalleas had spent more than a few centuries watching people with something to hide, and he knew: a dry mouth was the first sign someone had stepped onto uncertain ground before they’d even realized it themselves.

“And how is your father getting on? Simon, if I’m not mistaken?”

This time the reaction was far more visible. Something flickered across her face — not fear, more surprise mixed with wariness. Her pupils widened slightly; her shoulders tensed, almost imperceptibly. How does he know my father’s name? was written in that movement as clearly as if she’d said it aloud. And close behind it came a short, nearly silent exhale through the nose, the kind people use to shed a sudden spike of tension without drawing attention to it. It didn’t work. Kalleas saw it as plainly as if she’d slapped her palm on the desk.

“He’s well,” she answered after a pause slightly longer than the simple question warranted. “He’s still an Apprentice. He works for the city administration, drawing up protective wards for the warehouses.”

“Give him my regards,” Kalleas said gently. “I once taught the course he took. A talented man.”

She blinked. Once. Slowly. The information settled into her mind more slowly than it should have for someone with her speed of thought — a sure sign the news had thrown her off balance more than she wanted to show. Her eyelids lowered and rose with a faint delay, as though for a fraction of a second she’d allowed herself to hide behind them before meeting his eyes again.

“I ... didn’t know that,” she said finally. “He never mentioned it.”

Of course he didn’t, Kalleas thought, with a bitterness invisible to anyone but himself. Fifteen years of failure isn’t something a man brags about to his daughter.

“Understandable,” he said aloud, shifting to a more businesslike tone. “Let’s get to it, then. What do you say to a transfer to the fourth year? Formally, you’re ready — you’ve completed the third-year curriculum ahead of schedule.”

“I’m ready,” she answered without hesitation. Firm, calm, expected. This was a question she’d prepared for in advance — Kalleas could tell from how smoothly the answer came, without a single stumble, without a single extraneous movement. Her shoulders didn’t shift. Her hands stayed still in her lap. There was nothing to hide here, and that, too, was noticeable — by contrast with what was about to happen in the next minute.

Time.

“And what are your thoughts on the Mage examination?”

He said it casually, in the same tone he’d used for the fourth-year question — and watched.

The reaction was instant, and far more expressive than anything she’d allowed herself for the entire conversation. Her back, already straight, went rigid — he could practically see the muscles turn to stone beneath the fabric of her severe dress. Her hands in her lap tightened, fingers pressing together slightly harder than a second before. Her gaze darted down to the folder on his desk for a fraction of a second, as though hoping to find there the answer to a question she didn’t want to ask herself. And then — a short, nearly silent inhale, drawn slightly deeper than ordinary breathing required, the kind of breath people take before saying something they don’t quite believe themselves.