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The news of Numair and Daine’s relationship had made Lindhall the most popular person at the university. He should’ve expected it, no one loved gossip more than academics. And they approached gossip the same way they approached everything, with an insatiable curiosity and a commitment to understanding every facet of an issue.
Hence his popularity, as the only person in Corus who knew Numair before he was Numair. He was the only person who could potentially answer the questions on everyone’s minds. Had this happened before? Could Numair not find women his own age? Was he serious about her? Had he set this in motion long before anyone had ever noticed? Hundreds of inquiries all circling the same basic question; was there cause for alarm?
Lindhall said very little in response. In fact, he said nothing at first. He’d been as concerned as everyone else when he first learned about them, torn between his affection and respect for his former student and friend and his concern that another student was being taken advantage of. He didn’t want to believe that Numair would do something like that, but he didn’t know Numair as well as he once did, and he had to acknowledge it was possible.
Speaking with Daine had alleviated some of his concerns. To hear her tell it, they’d been nothing more than teacher and student for years, and it took going to the Realm of the Gods for either of them to realize their feelings.
“I know what some people are thinking,” she’d said. “But you know him. Do you really think Numair would’ve been the least bit improper?”
“I’ll admit it’s hard to picture,” Lindhall said, choosing his words carefully. “But I’ve only known him as a student and a friend. People can behave very differently in relationships.”
“Well, he’s behaving exactly like the Numair we both know,” Daine said firmly.
Except I barely know Numair, Lindhall had thought to himself. I knew Arram, who thought he’d marry Varice Kingsford and spend his life on a peaceful estate in Carthak. I don’t know how much that boy has changed after exile, years on the run, a war.
“I’m glad to hear it,” was all Lindhall said. “But if there are ever problems—”
“Lindhall, please—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I just want to make sure you know that you’re my friend too. And if you ever need help, a place to work, or stay, you have that here.”
Daine chuckled. “I’m overrun with those offers lately, but if the ones from Ouna, and Sarge, and Evin, and a handful of other people fall through, I’ll remember yours.”
Lindhall smiled, a little relieved he wasn’t the only person who’d spoken with Daine about this. “Ah, but none of them Carthaki birds.”
“The parrots arrived?”
“A week or so ago. Would you like to come meet them?”
“Of course!” Daine had said, and the two of them fell easily into their pattern, visiting all the animals, Daine confirming what Lindhall knew (hoped, rather) that everyone was happy and healthy.
The conversation with Daine lessened some of Lindhall’s worry. It was the same with Numair, he swore up and down he hadn’t even thought of Daine as anything other than a student until the war, and nothing had happened before they’d gone to the Realms of the Gods. Reassuring, as long as he was telling the truth. Of course, he certainly seemed genuine, but Lindhall knew, more than most, how people could lie, sometimes without even realizing it. The way powerful people lie to make all their actions seem so reasonable, almost like their way is the only option. The way people can lie to themselves, believing that everything is fine when it isn’t, for months, years, a lifetime even. The way everyone else will believe those lies because it’s so much more difficult to accept the truth.
He turned it over in his mind for weeks, but ultimately, the two of them were of age. And they were free to make their own decisions, even ones he never would have made. Daine knew she could come to him if she needed help, and that was likely the most influence he could have on the situation.
He’d have liked to put the matter out of his mind, but the swirling gossip made it impossible. He resorted to keeping odd hours for awhile, to minimize the number of people that would ask him about it.
Except he was in and out or the library so often there were no hours odd enough to avoid Gil. Normally, this was a good thing. Lindhall had always been slow to make friends, but he saw Gil, who oversaw the university libraries, frequently enough that it had worn down his defenses more quickly. Gil’s affable nature and intelligence certainly helped. Lindhall hadn’t met many people who were as widely read, nor as interested in sharing what they knew. But Gil was as quick to share his opinions, and Lindhall knew he’d want to discuss Numair and Daine.
He could only put it off for so long before he needed to reference an old volume on invertebrate reproduction. Not for the first time he cursed himself for not making any plans for the vast personal library he’d accumulated over the years in Carthak, now surely parceled out to other scholars or worse, collecting dust.
“Lindhall!” Gil said. “Why, I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays!”
Lindhall smiled. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that expression. Is that four weeks or thirty weeks?”
“It’s unspecified,” Gil replied, plucking the books from Lindhall’s hands. “What brings you in today?”
“Master Rothfine’s treatise on invertebrate reproduction,” Lindhall replied.
“I thought that was widely discredited.”
“It is, but I have to state his claims to refute them, and there’s a few things I need to check.”
“It’s in our storage,” Gil said, beckoning a student from a nearby table. “Rothfine, invertebrates. The one from 373, not 368.” The student nodded and trotted off.
“Now,” Gil said, lowering his voice and leaning on the counter. “Your former student and the wild mage.”
“What about them?”
“Surely you have some thoughts.”
“It’s really none of my business.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have an opinion on it.”
“That’s exactly what it means.”
“Look this isn’t me fishing for gossip,” Gil said, earning him a skeptical look from Lindhall. “Though of course, if you have any to share, l wouldn’t decline. But mostly I’m asking as a friend. It’s a…well, it’s created quite the stir, and he was your student after all. I was just curious how you’re taking it.”
You’re not in Carthak anymore, Lindhall reminded himself. The worst thing that can happen is what you say gets back to Numair, and it’s nothing he can’t guess, based on what you’ve already said to him.
“I was…surprised,” Lindhall finally said. “And, between us…”
“Between us.”
“It’s troubling. Even if everything is above board, which they both swear it is, it creates an appearance of impropriety,” Lindhall said, the words tumbling out of him.
“Do you know when it started?”
“Quite recently, to hear them tell it. But they’re both of age—”
“Just barely.”
“But they are. And I don’t—” Lindhall broke off here as the runner returned with the requested manuscript.
“And Otler’s reply, if you’d be so kind, Tarshin,” Gil said smoothly. “I believe it’s part of a larger collection of essays in invertebrates.” The student nodded and trotted off again.
“Well, did you say any of this to him?” Gil said, picking the conversation up again.
“More or less,” Lindhall replied.
“And?”
“And I’ve never been able to talk Numair out of anything. At least not since his powers outstripped my own. And besides…” here Lindhall trailed off again.
“Besides?” Gil prompted.
“Obviously I have a problem with it, but I’m hardly the person to be judging other people’s intimate affairs.”
“Surely you don’t mean because you—”
“I do.”
“That’s a completely different situation,” Gil said.
“That’s true. What Numair is doing is legal. Whereas I’m violating the laws of many realms, including this one—”
“A law that hasn’t been used in decades.”
“And yet it remains on the books,” Lindhall countered. “I’ve relied on the indulgences of my friends for many years, it would be hypocritical to not extend Numair the same courtesy.”
Gil drummed his fingers on the desk and regarded Lindhall. “Indulgences?” he finally asked.
“What?”
“You make it sound like such a…like you’re doing something wrong. Like we should be ashamed.”
“Many people think we should. Even in Carthak, where there’s a more permissive attitude, many people still feel like—”
“That doesn’t mean I have to agree with them,” Gil interrupted. “Do you?”
“Of course not. But it doesn’t really matter what I think, not when my job, my livelihood, whether I can stay in this realm, depends on what other people think of me.”
Gil didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“You disagree,” Lindhall filled in.
“I do, but this is hardly the forum for this kind of discussion.”
Lindhall chuckled. “You could’ve just asked to come back to my rooms. Or invited me to yours.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Gil said, as the student came trotting up with a large book in tow. Lindhall rolled his eyes and accepted the book he hadn’t asked for.
“Well, Bonedancer will be thrilled, I think he’s missed you,” he said lowering his voice a bit in the hopes the student wouldn’t hear.
“Just Bonedancer?” Gil teased.
“Alright, I have too.”
“I meant Herbie, your little hedgehog. But good to know you’re such a big sap,” Gil said.
Lindhall suppressed a laugh. “I don’t think Herbie has given you a second thought, honestly.”
“Liar, you know I’m his favorite.”
“He like that with everyone. Overly friendly. It’ll get him in trouble one of these days.”
“Lashing out because you’re embarrassed. It’s not a good look for you, Lindhall.”
Lindhall shook his head, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Two weeks for the books?” he asked.
“As always,” Gil replied.
Tonight? Lindhall mouthed, and Gil nodded.
“Say hi to Herbie for me,” Gil said as Lindhall turned to leave.
“I will!”
“You promise?”
“Goodbye, Gil,” Lindhall said. Of course he would. Gil was Herbie’s favorite, but there was no reason to give the man anymore confidence. He’d have to have a talk with Herbie about playing things cool. Though he suspected it was too late for that, for both of them.