Son of a slave

Looking over at the only house servant in the room, Alistar asked the young woman if she could fetch them some fresh leaves for their tea. The moment she left, he spoke to his friend in a quiet voice.

"Okay, don’t tell anyone, but I found an old grimoire at the collegia’s library a while back. It was written over a century ago, and it belonged to a very talented arcanite who mainly used ice magic. Based on the spellwork that he left behind, I think he was a high arcanite."

"You have a grimoire?" said Anice, her voice painfully loud. "Alie, that’s so cool! Why didn’t you say anything?"

"I was worried Uncle would get mad if he found it. After what happened, though, I don’t think he’d mind."

Corrie didn’t remove his gaze from the still surface of his drink. "Is that how you killed him, then? The man that tried to murder you."

Anice recoiled under Alistar’s glare, pulling her silver shawl tighter around her shoulders as if in the hopes of warding off his exasperation.

"Who didn’t you tell, Anne?"

"A lot of people. Only our friends know about it."

Suppressing an eye roll, he returned his focus to Corrie and spoke in a slightly sombre tone. "It played a big role in keeping me alive. Luckily it was raining, so I had plenty of water to work with."

"You’re going to lend me that book?"

"For a couple of weeks, if you want. I’ve already memorized everything inside, so I can always make another copy if I really need to."