His eyes lock on mine and we both feel his words, the threads they weave around us.
My legs give out and I fall down on him. He takes my full weight with his arms constricting even more. Not holding me down; holding metohim.
The same emotion emanates from us both: uncertainty. How did we get here, how did I go from yelling at him to sitting on his lap.
So we don’t react to it. Can’t. If we acknowledge it, it’ll shatter.
“I’m trying to disconnect a conjurer from their conjured item,” he tells me, his voice a feather brush of noise in the disappearing space between us. “Typically, when a conjurer summons an item, they’re connected to that item. If the item gets destroyed or used up, the conjurer is hurt, too. It isn’t excessive for most things—like withfire, small flames make the conjurer woozy. But for bigger things, it can be incredibly dangerous.”
That’s not how it is in evocation. Since we create something new, the energy draw is entirely from components, which means evocation wizards go throughinsaneamounts of components. Conjurers use components, too, but only to trigger the initial spell, so their required amounts are typically less.
Thio stares at me for another second. Two. And when his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, I hiss in a breath like I can feel that roughness on my skin.
His eyes slip shut, pinching at the corners. “I’m working on a way”—his voice is all business, but low—“to disconnect a conjurer from their conjured item. To make it so a conjurer can summon something, and not be energetically bound to it.”
My brow furrows. “But—where would the responsibility be?”
“Where is the responsibility with evocation-created items?” He looks at me. “Why does there need to be a responsibility with conjured items?”
“The responsibility in evocation is in the amount of components needed. Would you increase the components in conjuration spells? Are you… are you trying to invent evocation?”
“I’m trying to use conjuration spells, but have the option to disconnect the energy link. That’s one of the issues I’m working on: what to use as a source of energy if not the conjurer.”
“The conjurershouldbe the source of energy with conjuration. You’re taking something that already exists. You’re stealing it. Especially if you conjure something tangible, like weapons or gems—those thingsbelongedto someone else.”
“The majority of conjured items are elemental, and you know that,” he says. “Fire, lights, water. Like with evocation. Rarely does a wizard conjure something like a diamond necklace, because the components alone needed to cast that spell would be astronomical. And there are required additions to spell work so you don’t take an item actively being used by another person.”
I’m fighting not to jump to defensiveness and typicalconjurationis theftarguments. This is important to him, but I’m still not seeing why, and my jaw works as I think through my response.
“If you disconnect conjurers from their summoned items,” I start, “wizards will misuse it. They’ll summon cursed items and subject innocents to them. They’ll—”
“There will always be people who misuse spells,” he cuts me off. “We can work in fail-safes to ensure abuses are limited, but are you saying we should only create spells with evil people in mind? That the world should operate to contain bad, not reward good?”
He’s not getting defensive either, and it’s fucking with my head. This whole thing is. We’re wrapped around each other, and we’re having a calm discussion.
“The costs should be weighed against the benefits. And in this case, I see a helluva lot of costs.”
He hums, quiet for a beat, before one side of his mouth cocks. “I don’t expect to figure out a way to fully disconnect conjurers. It’s a huge topic that far more talented wizards than me have failed to solve.”
“But you’re going to try.”
“I’m going to try,” he echoes, “because it was my mother’s research topic when she worked at DaylarTech. Do you know it?” At my hum of negation, he continues, “It’s one of the research companies Arasne recruits for. I’m being primed to take over a position of leadership there. It’s been my family’s plan for me since I was a teenager: conjuration undergrad, then a Mageus in Conjuration, and get slotted into a department head job while pursuing my Doctorate in Conjuration.”
He could be reading a dictionary for all the emotion in his voice. No excitement, no passion.
My hands flinch around the back of his neck. When did I loop them there? I don’t know how to respond, but I don’t have to. He keeps talking, his gaze unfocused over my shoulder.
“They’ve had other requirements, too. Goal posts on the path to being arespectable Tourael.The Mageus Research Grant was one of them.”
His gaze slides to mine.
That’s why he went after the grant. Because his familyrequiredit of him.
There’s something in the way he’s watching me. He’s bracing, expecting me to explode, and he looks like he wouldn’t fight it at all. Like he knows he deserves any reprimand I dish out, how he doesn’tneedthis money.
I choke off my response.
Why is he playing along with his family like this? From what I know of him, he doesn’t seem the type to do anything he doesn’t want to do. Why is he obeying them?
