—He got into the private study and used the seek spell I taught him…books on the void and dark energy displacement...are in a glass vitrine in the study—
Yes!
If Lexi can get his eagle eyes on those, it could be the answer to our problems.
—So, grab them at the engagement party?—
—Before then would be preferable, but maybe not possible…he sent me a couple of photos…my gryphon definitely thinks we need to see the contents—
Hmm. I don’t see any way to make it possible.
—Drakeward is going to attempt to steal them—
—That seems risky—
—It is….probability of success is sixty eight to one—
Shit. That’s bad. Honestly, the more detailed we get about this operation, the more ludicrous it seems.
—What are our current chances of success, Lex?—
No reply.
—Lex?—
—Ninety seven point three to one—
So that’s a two point seven percent chance of things going our way.
Tits.
“Ms. Wilson?”
Oh, shit. “Sorry, what was that, Doctor Proctor?”
Doctor Proctor adjusts his spectacles, leaning over a bubbling cauldron of iridescent liquid. “I asked, Ms. Wilson, if you can explain why we must add the pulverized moonstone to the shadow-root infusion before the mixture reaches its boiling point, rather than after?”
My mind is still reeling from Alexis’s depressing success statistics, but I manage to channel dumb Theo. “Gosh, Doctor, is it because it tastes better?”
“Oh my Gods, how in Hades are you in this class, Ms. Wilson?”
I shrug and when I look up again, François is staring at me. He gives me a slight smile then turns and raises a hand. “Pardon, Docteur, but I believe Ms. Wilson has much potential. Perhaps I should partner with her? Help her catch up,n'est-ce pas?”
What the fuck?
I blink rapidly, wondering what dumb-Theo could say to make sure this doesn’t happen.
Doctor Proctor looks puzzled but nods. “If you’re sure, de Vaux. She definitely needs peer help. Wilson, move your things and sit with François.”
Once again for those at the back. What the fuck.
I sit like a deer in headlights.
“Move!” Proctor yells. “You’ve disrupted us long enough.”
Fine. I can do this. And I have to do this, because I’m the Conclave’s little placid doll.
“Thank you, François,” I say, sliding into the seat next to him.
