Guerrand waved him off. "I'd really like to, Lyim, but I've too much studying to do. I've an exercise that's taken me two days too long already, and-"
Lyim looked around the peristyle. "I don't even see you reading a spellbook. What's so important that it can't wait until morning?"
"It's this tile thing, and-"
"I'll go with you, Lyim," cut in Esme, surprising Guerrand, "if we can stop at the library on the way."
Lyim's handsome face lit up. "The library isn't really on the way, but for you, dear lady," he said as he stood and bowed deeply, "I would circle Palanthas twice on foot, if that were your desire."
To Guerrand's amusement, Esme rolled her eyes. "Fortunately for you, Lyim, it isn't." Still, a smile lit her face, bespeaking her pleasure at the compliment.
"Esme, don't you have studying to do as well?" Guerrand could not stop himself from asking her hastily.
"If keeping Lyim occupied will prevent him from bothering you," she said lightly, "I'm happy to do it. I was intending to make a trip to the library, anyway."
Esme stood and pushed back her chair. "Goodness, the sun is all the way across the peristyle already. I'll meet you momentarily in the atrium," she said to Lyim, "after I change into a barrel." The young woman was smirking as she strode on light feet from the room.
"Good luck with the tiles, Rand," she called over her shoulder. "Perhaps we can discuss ladies and oil lamps further, if you're still awake when I get home." With that, she was gone, leaving Guerrand mightily confused.
"She's a delight!" cried Lyim, looking after her with a lecherous grin. "I swear, Rand, I don't know how you get a thing done here with her to distract you all the time."
"Unlike Belize," ground out Guerrand with thinly veiled annoyance, "Justarius expects his apprentices to study continuously. Esme and I really don't have much opportunity to see each other." Feeling the onset of an ugly mood, Guerrand touched a hand to his throbbing temples.
"What a shame," murmured Lyim, his tone suggesting he thought it anything but. He stood with a satisfied sigh. Using the lily pond for a mirror, Lyim straightened his clothing and smoothed his hair with a hand he'd dipped into the water. "Well, I'm off. Wish me luck." Looking at his reflection in the water, he placed his feathered hat at a jaunty angle, preparing to leave.
I wish you'd trip in a hole, Guerrand thought darkly. "You don't need luck," he snarled instead. "You're just going to an inn."
"With a pretty lass, I might add," Lyim said brightly. He appeared at last to notice Guerrand's mood. "You seem out of sorts, chum. You know what they say, 'all work and no play makes Rand a grumpy man.' Or something like that."
Scowling, Guerrand watched with a mixture of envy and annoyance as the other apprentice left. Of course Esme would find him more interesting. Lyim was as handsome as Esme was beautiful. He had committed to memory three new spells, while Guerrand had not yet solved the stupid tile exercise. Esme had obviously been so embarrassed for him she'd thought it necessary to cut off his explanation. He felt his cheeks grow hot at the memory.
Before even he knew what was happening, Guerrand swept the plate and tankards from the table in rage. The heavy marble plate cracked along a vein and fell into pieces. Fragments flew into the lily pond, scattering the large orange fish. The tankards bounced to a stop, the liquid inside splashing everywhere.
Guerrand's hand flew to his mouth. He could scarcely believe what he'd done. It was so unlike him to succumb to anger. The sheepish apprentice stooped to collect the pieces of the broken plate, glad no one had witnessed his passionate display. Guerrand's fingers met with the cool, jagged shapes. Almost out of habit, his eyes sank shut, and he visualized each piece by gingerly tracing its edges.
Guerrand's eyes flew open. Something inside him had changed. His mind felt clear, refreshed. He was ready to return to counting tiles. Jumping to his feet, Guerrand raced from the peristyle. This time he was certain he would see the two ladies instead of the lamp.
Chapter Eleven
The gilt-edged porcelain teacup and saucer lifted in scant, jerky motions from the top of the crowded desk. The delicate cup chattered against the saucer. Hearing it, Guerrand squeezed his eyes shut more tightly against distraction and grasped the small leather loop that was the material component for the spell that would lift the cup. He held the loop, had already spoken the magical words. The hitch had to be in his memorization of the spell.
Guerrand forced his mind to focus on the mathematical equation, visualized the pattern in his mind, followed by the mental picture of a floating cup. He could almost hear a cosmic ping as all elements of the spell came together. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't surprised to see the cup and saucer floating smoothly above the table for the first time. He was, however, delighted.
"Look, Zag! I've finally done it!"
Perched on the sill of Guerrand's small room in the villa, the sea gull lazily opened one beady eye. Congratulations. You've managed to lift a teacup, something you've been able to do with your hands since you were in short pants, I'll wager.
Guerrand frowned and snatched the cup from the air to press his lips to the golden rim. "That's not the point," he said after taking a sip. "Justarius says the levitate spell can be one of the most useful in a mage's repertoire."
Zagarus opened both eyes. It's good to know that if you ever lose both arms, the bird said wryly, you'll still be able to take tea.
"I don't know why I ever let you out of that mirror," said Guerrand with a good-natured chuckle. "It seems you're always either making fun of me or causing trouble." Guerrand set aside the teacup and saucer. "What does it look like in there, anyway?"
In the mirror? repeated Zagarus dully. Like a foggy cave, only without walls. I've made it a little nicer, taken in some twigs and such for a nest.
Belize's tiny mirror had turned out to be more useful to Guerrand than even that venerable mage could have anticipated. Zagarus had made it his home, claiming it was quite comfortable, warm, and dry. It also made a perfect hiding place for the familiar when he didn't want to be seen or disturbed.
"Can you look out of it and see me?" asked Guerrand.
Afraid I'm spying on you, eh? Zagarus scratched beneath his wing with his beak. You needn't worry. There's just a flat, shimmery wall, like a mirror that's lost its silver. At best I see fuzzy outlines moving around. Most of the time you have the mirror in a sack or pocket or drawer, so I can't see even that much.
"That's it? Is there weather or light or sound?"
Zagarus blinked, thinking. It is surprisingly noisy at times, like someone walking or talking in the back of the, well, cave. I've thought about exploring, but-
"Don't," said Guerrand firmly. "I don't need you poking around in there and getting us both into trouble. We have no idea what's in there. In fact, if you hear any more noise, we'll keep you out entirely."
I've been going in and out of it for months and nothing has happened, said Zagarus. I think it's safe enough.
"Perhaps you could go back in now," suggested Guerrand curtly, "or fly down to the harbor and eat and visit with friends. I really do need to concentrate."
It was more important than ever that Guerrand be able to study quietly. The concept of visualization was slowly coming to him. It had been nearly two months since Justarius had first explained the discipline that, with perseverance, would one day allow him to tailor his own spells. Late that same night-near early morning-he'd finally made the change from seeing only the "lamp" to the "ladies," as Esme had likened it.