LIARA only barely held her temper in check as she shifted aside the books on the library shelves, searching fruitlessly for the one book she wanted to look into. That it wasn't where she thought she'd shelved it put her out of sorts. But then, everything was out of sorts.

Grieving is a process, she reminded herself, but wished fervently that her thoughts of Dvigrad could just come at her all at once and be done with it. Memories of that blasted town had a disconcerting way of sneaking up on her and catching her unawares. Unreasonable anger. Unfathomable sadness. Would not those people leave her alone, even now?

And Nagarath. He couldn't leave her be, either. Liara, do this. Liara, fetch that. And then he'd roll up his sleeves, close his eyes, and grandly mutter his castings, clearly desirous of some expression of awe from her. Well, he could turn full gray waiting for her to ask how he'd performed his tricks. She knew how magick worked. She'd read nearly every book in his library!

Liara stomped up the spiral stairs, taking out her ire on the very stones. She was mostly angry at herself, for her littleness of heart. By rights she should be glad that Nagarath's spell had worked. It meant he was out of danger now. But for a few days, I felt special. Magickal. Like I'd always wanted. Like everyone in Dvigrad accused me of being.

And there it was again—Dvigrad, rising sharply in the back of her mind.

Jerking on the cover of an unmarked book, Liara's temper got the best of her and she carelessly knocked a half-dozen other volumes to the ground. One landed with a sickening crunch, and the girl froze. Stooping to pick up the victims of her bad mood, she noted that a binding had come loose.

Unexpectedly, the sight of the sagging binding set her to tears. Liara dropped beside it and cried and cried, cradling the book and feeling nothing but sorry for herself and everything she'd ever touched.

"Liara. Oh, Liara, what is it?"

Through her haze of tears, Liara saw the wizard looking down at her, concern lining his features. Immediately, she felt stupid for her display. Scrambling to her feet, she sniffled and tried wiping her face dry. "You're up."

He nodded, the cloud of concern remaining.

"I dropped a book." Liara guiltily lifted the broken book. It wasn't a difficult repair. She didn't even quite know why it had caused such a flood of emotion.

Nagarath gently grasped the cover and took it from her with an appraising eye. "I've done worse."

"Of course you have. And it doesn't seem to bother you at all." She slapped her hands to her mouth in horror at the angry outburst. Like the sight of the fallen book setting her to tears, Liara was stunned at herself for speaking so to the mage. Why in the world were such things coming out of her today?

Nagarath stood quietly by, waiting to see if she had more in her. His passivity stirred her illogical wrath hotter still, and she lashed out again, finally catching hold of the one complaint she could identify.

"You sit and play with your power as if it's a game. 'Perhaps today I'll let Liara see one magick word,' or 'Suppose I have her help with some spellwork—but only for today,' and then you take it all away with the snap of your fingers. I'm more trapped here than I ever was in Dvigrad." This last was infinitely not true, but nothing was stopping her now. She could feel days of stress and worry loosening with the outburst. Fire, bright and warm, consumed her. She could feel it blazing in her cheeks and eyes as Nagarath took the bait.

"Liara!"

She ignored the wizard's bark. "Maybe they were right about wizards. Maybe you're all—"

"Liara. You were kept at arm's length in Dvigrad—trapped, as you say—because they feared you. They feared what you might bring down on their heads. Whereas I do what I do out of fear for your safety and do not wish any harm to come to you."

"With the way things are right now, you're doing a splendid job. Nothing's going to happen to me, ever. Magick or otherwise."

Liara's storm of words wound down. Emptied of her rancor, she now felt empty, confused as when she'd begun to speak. Abashed, she scuffed the wood floor fitfully, not daring to meet his eyes. "I can't even be your librarian right."

Nagarath bent his tall frame and sat on the floor, leaning against the nearby shelf and patting the space beside him. "Liara, things get broken. And for some reason, that seems to be the case more when wizardry is involved. That or I'm just a magnet for clumsiness—"

Liara shook her head, feeling returning tears threaten, rain to clear away the fog in her heart.

He was trying to make it better with words. Like he always did. What she needed was to get outside, to know the world was right again. Or, in the absence of that, action.

For the world will never be right again. Dvigrad's annihilation had left her without the means to fix what had been broken, to say the words that she'd denied Father Phenlick. Lectures did not fill an irreparable hole in one's heart. All the magick in the world could not heal the hurt and fear she carried inside.

And yet Liara found that she still wanted what she'd always wanted: answers, vengeance, magick—power. And it looked like none of those things would ever be hers since Nagarath was nothing save talk and spectacle. At last understanding her agitation, she opened her mouth to explain, prompting a raised hand from the mage. Nagarath said, "Hear me out. I have had very good reasons for everything I have done with regards to your magickal education . . . or lack thereof."

"The reasons being what?"

"Please, Liara. You're only sixteen."

"Seventeen since June," she corrected petulantly. Feeling stupid talking down at him, she lowered herself to the floor beside him. "You began at eight."

"Yes, and I was wretched at it," Nagarath teased, reaching out to tweak Liara's nose. She recoiled, still angry.

He continued, "My circumstances were different from yours. You are made from witchcraft, my girl. You have three years until you reach autonomy. That makes you an exceedingly quick study. And with your keen desire to learn any and all magicks . . . I don't know how most anyone could stop you once you set down that path."

Liara smiled hungrily. Didn't he know that was what she wanted?

He did. That much was obvious from the heavy sigh and fingers to his temples. "I am not the right one to teach you. I am just keeping you safe and giving you the foundation, just like Father Phenlick tried."

"Then why are you making me learn your books and help you and everything?"

"Because you're smart. And capable. And have learned things without my meaning you to. I did not ever mean to hurt you, you know that."

Liara nodded, tired. Wanting wasn't the same as needing. And she now realized that she did not need magick so much as reconciliation. But the futility of the latter had long been her excuse for focusing so single-mindedly on the former. She had desired that acceptance so deeply that the mere invocation of Father Phenlick's name stabbed her very spirit, and for a moment she was Dvigrad's orphan again. Back then, the line between necessity and desire had blurred. The two were much the same to a lonely girl riddled with doubts that haunted her relentlessly: those of herself. "Do you know what it's like to be surrounded by all of this sorcery, not knowing whether I know something or if it's just my brain playing at being a wizard like when I was a child? It's like my tree in the woods all over again."

She hadn't meant the words to come out small. It was a confession—to herself as much as the mage. Already she wanted to back down from the admission, play it off as words prompted by exhaustion, not weakness.

Her reward was a blank look from Nagarath. At least he didn't have a ready response. But neither did he understand. The ghost of her anger returned and she leaned her head back against the bookcase.

Minutes passed. And still no glib response, no easy lecture. Liara reveled in the small victory: Nagarath, confounded.

"How about . . ." he began at last. "Would it help you to know what you know? A sort of cataloging of the knowledge you already possess?"

Resentment came crawling back under her skin. Another lecture. She did not wish to be talked down to, just now. She did not want to be managed. She wanted to be left alone, here among the books, to see if she could fix things for herself without Nagarath telling her where she was wrong.

"Come. A tour, then." Nagarath rose to standing, offering her his hand.

She grudgingly let herself be helped to her feet. Whether or not her foul mood wanted to hover around, she was ready to move on. Action she'd wanted; action she'd get. Besides, in spite of herself, she was mildly curious over what he had to show her. She followed him, walking not down to the main floor, but towards the side door of the second balcony. Back in his element, Nagarath lectured away.

"Well, there are the books, of course. Not just the reading and the working, but the repair. Like I'd said, those clever light fingers of yours were practically made for this sort of work. Then there's also that warding spell. That was impressive craft for someone less than a novice." He turned and winked. She made a face in response.

He swept into the hall, stopping at the first window they passed. "There are, of course, the famed pink trees of Limska Draga."

Liara's scowl deepened and she stopped short, arms folded. If this was his attempt at making her feel better . . .

"No, really." Nagarath turned to defend his thoughtless comment. "You took words of magick and made a spell of them. One that—" The corners of his mouth puckered with his effort not to laugh.

". . . turned the oak leaves pink." She had the grace to laugh at herself. In spite of everything, Liara felt her good humor beginning to return. How ridiculous she'd been; how grand she'd thought herself. "It was a terrible spell."

"But it worked. And I'm betting nobody before in history had done that."

She'd never thought of it that way before.

They continued their walk, Liara following with less annoyance and more curiosity, pausing at the stairs as Nagarath looked upwards into the dark recesses of the third floor. He spoke almost to himself, "At one point, you managed to make it all the way to the second step from the top."

Liara felt her hair stand on end. Guilt, her old friend, returned to heat her cheeks, "You knew about that?"

"Of course. I know most of what happens in Parentino—provided one of my spells is involved. Making it that far was rather impressive, you understand."

"It wasn't my first attempt," Liara confessed, noting that he seemed unsurprised by the admission. A thought struck her. "What if I had made it all the way upstairs?"

"I'd have turned you into a toad for your cheek." Nagarath turned, calling over his shoulder, "Come along, little magpie."

They descended to the main floor, entering Parentino's kitchen.

"Oh, I know all about your spells in the kitchen." Liara preened, eager to turn the tables on the mage. Enough was enough. He'd wanted a demonstration of what she knew, hadn't he?

"Do you?"

"All your shortcuts: the fireplace, the bucket for the well . . ."

". . . all of the components for the potions sitting in the cupboard," Nagarath continued for her, eyes sparkling.

Liara jumped in surprise. All posturing abandoned, she ran over to the cabinet and pulled wide the door. Nagarath's tea-making supplies. The mage was teasing her, clearly. Indignation clouded the horizon of her levity, threatening as she said, "There's nothing but herbs and cups for tea in here."

"Precisely." Nagarath joined her, gesticulating here and there. "Tea has its origins in spellwork, Liara. I thought you were aware of that." He glanced sideways at her, a sly smile playing about his lips. "Well, I suppose I've let the cat out of the bag on that one. There's no harm in telling you more."

Liara smiled at the mage's wink—genuinely this time—and sat down, the picture of an attentive student.

Nagarath tugged thoughtfully at the bridge of his nose. "Tea drinking has its beginnings in the art of potions, back in ancient times when magickal study was in its infancy and even the most complex of spells were mere herbal lore. It's not like anyone just went out into the woods and said, 'Here now, I think I'll take a few things home, ferment them, dry them, and then boil them in water and drink whatever I get.' "

Liara challenged his explanation. "But everyone drinks tea, Nagarath. Even Father Phenlick liked it."

"And this is a problem because?" Nagarath sat back, clearly enjoying himself.

"Father Phenlick would never have purposefully drank tea if he'd known what he was doing. By your account, everyone drinks potions and spells without even knowing it." She paused, eyes lighting up as a delightfully wicked thought occurred. "Or do they?"

The wizard laughed. "Well, some of the old wives may know a bit more, but to most folk, tea is tea." He hurried to clarify, "And this Art is so long forgotten—we're talking of a time before the invention of the wand, for goodness sakes!—that it really is more of a history lesson than practical application."

"Oh." Liara let the matter drop, her disappointment aired as she glared at the teacups. Yet again, the promise of real magecraft had been taken away from her.

Nagarath saw the look. "There will be more on that later. You're not about to stop mixing our herbs for us. Shall we continue, then?"

Liara followed the mage as he swept back out of the room and down the hall.

He moved aside the hall tapestry that hid the entrance to the library. "Technically, you're using your Art every time you open this door . . ."

"Oh?"

"Indeed." He grinned, entering the library once more and holding the door open for Liara. "As I had said, that door was always there. Just hidden. Once I allowed it, your sight could see through my spells."

Liara wasn't sure that it all added up, but if the wizard said it was so, who was she to argue? She watched, thrilling as Nagarath walked straight up to the Catalogue and laid his hand on its cover.

"I don't think I have to point out what spells you had to have mastered for this to be possible." His voice was quiet, almost reverent. "It is a thing of exceptional beauty, this book of yours. And while I know you claim that the most mundane, practical techniques were used to make it, you have to agree that it is quite, quite magickal."

Liara nodded, stunned at the compliment.

"So you see, I haven't kept all from you. And I have, in fact, silently indulged in a lot of wayward learning on your part. But you'll note that my promise to Father Phenlick has stayed firm. I have not apprenticed you, little magpie."

Liara smiled. "Technically, you said you wouldn't teach me."

"Did I?"

"Outside of Dvigrad. On the path here. You said, 'I will not teach you magick.' "

Nagarath nodded. "Well, my promise to the priest was that of apprenticeship. If you want to lay claim to other words as our standard . . ."

"Gah!" Liara threw her hands in the air. "You're so frustrating." Nagarath's smile mirrored her own. For all the secrets she feared he was keeping from her, it felt good that they might now have one of their own.

"Come, Liara. I think we have done enough mucking about with books today." Nagarath made as if to leave the library. "I, for one, am still very tired and very much need a cozy evening by the fire. Perhaps sorting through some of our tea-making supplies."

"You mean . . . spell components?" Liara teased, following the wizard as he doused the library lights with a snap.

Nagarath grinned. "Semantics."