Kitaryn

Plaensys’ desk is still empty when I top the stairs. Instead, the she-elf paces in front of Trom’s desk where he is bent over scraps of yellowed paper and flattened scrolls. Plaensys' hands wring nervously as he speaks.

“...quite sure, Plaensys. It has all the marks of one.”

“One what?” I breeze across the room in swift steps, blown by anxiety.

“An incantation, Fyr-Ceann,” The word Ceann hisses off his tongue as though he will spit it out. He holds out the scrap of paper to me. “It seems the Barleyblossoms are practicing magic, just as you suspected.”

“I never suspected they were.” I snatch the paper. “I still believe they’re–” innocent. The words die as I look. Under a list of suspicious ingredients, including rare fungi and a smattering of boiled herbs, there is a line of text scrawled in an ancient language. It shares roots with Elvish such that anyone can sound it out, but the meaning is lost.

“An incantation,” I gasp.

“As I said,” Trom turns to Plaensys, “all the marks of one.”

“So, what happens now?” Plaensys places her eyes wide on me.

I wrestle with the concept. I don’t believe Aodan lied to me. I can't. In fact, I doubt any of them have. Perhaps the matriarch, but even that seems unlikely. They are genuine and kindly folk, not self-seeking law-breakers. I look between my coworkers, reaching for an answer to my own question: how did this happen?

Trom takes advantage of my hesitation to reply instead. “All evidence points towards the family not knowing. Thus, the matriarch will stand trial, and only her. Fortunately for Kitaryn’s little friend.” He levels a splintery glare toward me.

I know, then, that I need to aid the Barleyblossoms, and I will have to do it without Trom knowing. If I support them overtly, he will counter my efforts with his full attention. With that incantation staring at us, I know I cannot beat him outright.

“Right.” I nod. “That is the way of it.”

He squints at me, measuring my reaction. I try to remain unmoved.

Plaensys shakes her head and sighs. “It's a wonder that the family didn’t catch on. Poor things will lose reputation for an age.”

It is a wonder, knowing how close they are. At least one of them should’ve found the "fertilizer" suspicious.

I have to keep my breath from hitching as realization strikes. Or would they? No one is taught about magic. Not how to use it. Not how to avoid it. They would not know the dangerous ingredients, the signs of an incantation, nor the smokes of a spell. Beauty’s sake, not even Plaensys recognized the foreign words for magic. Those are things I know only because of my work. And even I can't verify it with certainty.

“May I deliver this to the lab?” I ask. Beneath the Center, a handful of trusted seniors test such recipes, determining their magic status. If I'm correct...

Trom holds me with his stoney gaze. “I thought you recused yourself from this case.”

“I did. I would only be saving you a trip downstairs.”

“Go with her, Plaensys?”

“I’m not allowed–”

“I gave you permission.”

I blink. It’s rare for Trom to speak over someone. He’s beginning to act like my father. I clutch the little scrap of paper as I retreat with Plaensys in tow.

“What are you up to, now?” Plaensys whispers.

I keep my jaw clenched.

“Kit?”

“Delivering the recipe.”

Plaensys frowns. “Did I do something to upset you?”

I shake my head. Plaensys tattled to my father about my fondness for the Barleyblossoms, but Plaensys had only been concerned. She could not have known what a betrayal she had rendered. But she would tattle again. As much as the secrecy pains me, I can't tell Plaensys what I'm planning.

I knock on an unlabelled door, and the top half of it opens to reveal a narrow-faced elf with dark, stringy hair. “Yes?”

I place the yellowed paper onto the top of the half-door. “The main report for this should go to Master Clerk Trom, but provide a summary for myself and my Athyr as well.”

The man nods. “Priority?”

“Today, please.”

He bows and takes the scrap. They haven’t had much work during the festival season; it will be done today.

Not but an hour later, a summary lands on my desk.

"Class: Potion

Effect: flora growth-enhancer

Strength: Medium"

My eyes skim for the line I seek. “Noteable marks: An incantation resulting in a swift change from brown to green coloration.”

I smile a thin, grim smile. It would barely look like magic at all. I pluck up my letter paper and quill.

"To: Aodan Barleyblossom, The Barleyblossom Cabin On Miller Lane,  The Southern Slope, 

By time this reaches you, you will have learned that your mho-mattan will stand trial for use of unlicensed magic. It is true: the recipe was for a potion. That matters little to me if she did not know it. I cannot prevent her conviction, but I have an idea of how to lessen her punishment. Meet me in the Library of Education at dusk on Sunday. In the meantime, please gather a list of your families’ schooling, including and especially your mho-mattan's, and send it to me. It is of upmost importance that this it is delivered to the Willowbirth Estate in the Mountain Hollow, not the Center of Culture.

Your friend,

Kiraryn Willowbirth"

I slip a copy of form 342 into the letter and dropped it in the outgoing mail. I follow it with three more notes, requests for certain appointments. These I seal with my personal stamp. With that done, I return to my regular work with renewed fervor. By the evening, I'm dropping an overdue stack beside Plaensys’ desk for filing. 

At last, with the sun setting on my back, I hop into the Center of Education to reserve a table or two in the library. The following moons will require long hours of study, and I'll need a place to pile an unreasonable amount of books.