Interlude – Vernoue (Pt. 2)

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Then, with the wisdom granted to him by right of his crown and the Eternal Throne of Calanfer, blessed be its light, and the glory of the Kingdom of Diplomacy—Reclis du Marquin did sense with his imperial foresight that something was amiss.

He picked up on these things from time to time. Normally, he concerned himself with the important matters he was good at. Talking to other monarchs, directing Calanferian policy abroad, implementing policies and law, and so on.

Reclis would be the first to admit he wasn’t a minutiae kind of man. For instance, he wasn’t sure that was how you spelled minutiae. It looked wrong…

Ielane was the one who could tell you when the ball was or who was favored and who wasn’t in court or abroad. She could pick up on infighting between a couple and know what to actually do about it.

It made Reclis vaguely embarrassed, but she was an excellent help navigating moments when he put his foot in the pie, cake, or whatever they were eating. She always had.

He picked up on the tension, you see, because Vernoue had gone off to Nomaudrel, and Ielane wasn’t happy about it. She and Menisi, you see—terrible affair, the entirety of it. He’d tried to adjudicate, but between that damn [Soothsayer] and a plot of treason, it still hurt his heart.

Vernoue meeting Menisi was surprising, shocking that Ielane had allowed it, and he could tell she was stressed; half a dozen puffer sticks she chain-smoked when he found her after a late-night session of looking into the disastrous New Lands expedition said she was upset.

“I think we have to send a second expedition, dear. Dear? We’ve got some of the original fleet, but without Seraphel, we might even have to send another member of the royal family. That’s what I’m thinking. Dear?”

“Lothen.”

That was her one-word reply after several minutes of silence and smoking. Reclis coughed and activated an air-clearing charm that really helped when she was upset.

“Lothen? He’s not that—canny.”

Which was rude to say of his second-eldest son, but it was true. He was like a blunt hammer in social parlance, which Reclis was sad to say he’d gotten from his father…and the royal family, really. Ielane stared past Reclis. Her brow was furrowed. She looked—intense.

Which he did admire about her. They were a team, the best of them. Big picture, small picture. Hammer and chain. Other analogy here. He could still remember when she’d swept up to him in a ball, a [Baroness]’ daughter of Morein, and engaged him in policy debate. So enthralling, the exact kind of topic on his mind.

Her plan, in hindsight. And he’d been rather thrilled, though of course, she’d been so minor nobility that it would have been insane to marry her! Which he’d pointed out, and she’d countered with the acknowledgement that it was true she had little to give Calanfer politically. But she was the boon to the Eternal Throne itself.

History had proven her right, and here they were. Ielane spoke after a moment; he was used to her silence when she was thinking. She never forgot, just took her time replying when they were alone.

“Lothen’s chafing to impress you. He’s not the sort of man that King Itreimedes likes, though Avel can tolerate him. He’s a better warrior than a statesman. Let him head an expedition. If we can recover Seraphel, the two of them will work better together.”

“I hope so. My daughter is in Baleros with a Great Company at her neck. Ser Thilowen has a task in front of him. I only hope Ser Solstice matches his reputation.”

That hurt Reclis’ stomach. However, Ielane just pursed her lips.

“She wanted an adventure, and she has her tiara. At worst, she’s a prisoner. Better to run into a Great Company than monsters from the Dyed Lands. I’ll arrange for Lothen to return tomorrow. Remember: Agenote is attending for a visit, along with Gaiil-Drome’s representatives. You wanted half-Elven guidance for the King of Myths. You’ll have an hour to catch up with him.”

“Wonderful, Ielane. I, ah—and how is Vernoue?”

That was his attempt at subtlety. Ielane just glanced at him.

“So far, it seems she and Menisi haven’t killed each other. We’ll see what she learns in Nomaudrel. Rebelliousness again or…something else.”

That was rather vague of her. Reclis normally heard Ielane’s plans outright, and she always had one. He cleared his throat.

“If you’d like to talk about—”

“Lyonette’s not speaking to me. If you can talk to her, it might be best.”

Lyonette? Reclis blinked.

“Er, via Ushar?”

“No, her [World’s Eye Theatre].”

“Her what?”

Now, Reclis was fascinated, and Ielane wavered as he sat up, greatly intrigued by what sounded like a powerful Skill. She hesitated.

“A Skill she has at the inn. It allows her to talk to people abroad. She’s—”

“Dead gods, what a fascinating Skill! The same one that [Innkeeper] used with the Bloodfeast Raiders incident, isn’t it? You can use it without her? Is it in our records? And she’s talking to you? And not me? I suppose she thought I was busy, but I would love to talk to her! Do I have time in my schedule? Anyone in the world? I could use one of those myself; scrying orbs are so impartial. You know, our report said she talked to King Fetohep of Khelt, which is rather amazing because he’s never had time for any Terandrian ruler. If she had any thoughts on what a 600-year old Revenant thinks of current Terandria…”

And his mind was off again, racing with delight. Ielane murmured that she’d try to arrange it and find a time in his schedule. Reclis was delighted. It occurred to him he really didn’t know how Ielane was feeling about Vernoue, but all the [Queen] said was—

“Rebellion against mothers or the evil [Queen] is part of growing up. For some [Princesses]. Shardele won’t do it, and Aielef failed, but Vernoue surprised me. I’m…gambling a bit, I suppose. The stakes have changed.”

“Ah, well, I’ll leave you to it. You do work hard, my dear. And you are quite beautiful tonight—”

“Can we postpone until tomorrow, Reclis?”

“I can wait.”

They arranged a lot of things by common consent, like when one or the other was antsy for alone time or physical contact. Reclis was about to bring up Menisi, very carefully, when he glanced over. The 8th cigar was turning to ash in the trash, and he coughed and spoke.

“Ielane. Your nose is bleeding.”

She wiped at it, seeming unsurprised as she concentrated, and he swore her aura was on guard—she rose.

“So it is. It’s been happening a bit of late, but it’s merely temporary. Vensha?”

She rose and left the royal beds. He slept, because she’d tell him if something was wrong.

 

——

 

The next day, Reclis had some time off with his son, Agenote. Eldest of Calanfer, first born, not heir to the throne. Reclis liked Agenote, though he felt poorly around the lad sometimes.

Agenote was forty years old. Forty something. Reclis always felt he’d let Agenote down—well, him and Lothen and Kanmis—he loved his sons and daughters all, of course, but Agenote…

Alright, here was the thing. The three [Princes] of Calanfer weren’t the same as the [Princesses]. Ielane did seem to have expectations of her daughters to be more like her. And she seemed to expect her sons to be, well, like Reclis.

Well, part of the problem was when Agenote and Lothen had been born. Of the three, Agenote was certainly the happiest, Reclis thought. He came bounding up the steps with annoying vitality for a forty-year old, and he was thin, if not fit, and energetic enough.

Half-Elven diet. He bowed as Reclis nodded to Agenote’s wife, a Human Lady of Groves, Virmilla. She wasn’t a half-Elf—such marriages between the two races were often discouraged not because of sheer speciesism but because the age disparity made it damned hard on both. She bowed, and he smiled at her.

“Agenote, I was thinking we should have a walk or a game of chess. Virmilla, it is a delight to speak with you and the delegation you brought! How are the New Lands? Wait, Ielane would be remiss if she didn’t see you.”

His thoughts scattered in a dozen directions, but Virmilla was family, and she talked with him about the New Lands and the state of Gaiil-Drome after the war. He would have gone on inquiring about public opinion until Agenote interrupted.

“Father, I’m sure we can save the state talk for the banquet and afterwards. Half the delegation wishes to have a word.”

“Ah, yes, drinks together. Well then…shall we find a place to sit? Or walk? You’re looking well.”

The 1st [Prince] of Calanfer had a relaxed laugh, and he put his hands in his pockets as they walked the royal gardens, in peace. He spoke so casually.

“I’ve taken up woodworking. Some of the old villages will trade if you have something halfway decent. I worked on a statuette for two years, and I managed to get one of the children to trade me for something they’ve made.”

“…Rather disappointing for the work of a [Prince].”

“They can only see the quality, Father. It’s an honor to have anyone from an old village respect anything you do.”

“Ah, perfect. You’re impressing the Court of Years. And how is the royal family? Queen Ishlleni’s feelings on the state of the war? The New Lands?”

Here, Reclis’ enthusiasm clashed with an odd expression on Agenote’s face. Which was resignation and ruefulness.

“I don’t visit her in court that often, Father. She’s well enough, I think. You’d know more of her.”

“Well, she’s a half-Elf, and without a husband, I don’t get to speak to her in the same easy parlance as, say, Nadel. Despite our proximities! And she’s older, Agenote. Hundreds of years to my decades. I think she’s content to let me run about so long as the Dawn Concordat holds—if you could ingratiate yourself with the [Prince] or [Princess]—”

“They’re both three hundred years old, Father. It’s hard to share their perspective. I know you’re passionate, but let’s not talk politics, please. How’s Seraphel?”

—And that was it. Agenote just didn’t see eye-to-eye with his father. They were very respectful of each other, but—and Reclis sighed—the 1st [Prince] was less of an asset than even Lothen, because, well…he was happy. Married to a lovely [Lady of the Groves] in what he was assured was a healthy marriage, childless, but that was because Gaiil-Drome really did take the long damn view about having children, and…happy.

Disinterested in pushing for Calanfer. He visited often enough, and Ellet came running up, begging for treats from Gaiil-Drome. Agenote laughed and brought her fresh fruits, which she ran to share with her friends. When Reclis and Agenote sat together, they could talk.

It was Agenote who directed the conversation to family when Reclis wanted to discuss the state of the world. He listened to Agenote talk about Seraphel with great concern.

“If I thought it’d help, I’d ask Her Majesty to send some [Forest Knights] to Baleros, but I don’t know the state of things. I’m sure Mother has a plan.”

“She always does. We’re sending Lothen to the New Lands, I think. Vernoue’s visiting Menisi right now, and Lyonette’s apparently having a tiff with Ielane, but I don’t know more.”

Agenote sat forwards, and he became sharp and intent like Reclis could be, which surprised the [King].

“Vernoue’s visiting Menisi? Did Mother approve it?”

“Of course. I imagine so.”

Agenote sat back, and his eyes flickered around the palace as if trying to take things in.

“Things are different. I don’t visit enough, only six times last year…Lorentha wrote about Vernoue travelling, but that’s good. I hope. Ellet’s far better than I could hope.”

“Oh, you still keep in touch with our [Librarian]? Not making her send you books when you have Gaiil-Drome’s libraries to prevail on?”

Reclis teased his son, and Agenote gave him a patient gaze that Reclis felt was oddly disappointed. Feeling ruffled, the King of Calanfer tried to pick apart the oddities.

“Well…what’s changed so much in your eyes, Agenote? The Menisi feud aside?”

For answer, Agenote just took a drink of some plum juice he’d brought, and Reclis grimaced as he did the same. More Umbral Throne diplomacy after this meal.

“Well, you tell me, Father. It’s hard to broach the subject, but I’ve always wondered…why you let Mother push my sisters so hard. She’s only taken it easier on Ellet—I thought it was because Lyonette ran away. And I didn’t even see the worst of it; I was married to Virmilla, thanks to Grannymother and Grandkingfather, but I saw bits of it. Lothen, Kanmis—I always got the impression we were failures, but I never saw my sisters as being that much better. Is Mother a good [Queen]?”

What a strange question. Reclis almost laughed at the nicknames for the former King Mardeis and Queen Lanshee du Marquin. He missed them.

…Well, they were both alive. But they never visited. Most of the immediate royal family didn’t. Of course, it had been messy when the throne changed hands. He felt guilty about it sometimes, even now. But he gave Agenote’s question some real attention as he signalled for some snacks. Damn. Head Chef Mexte was here with those vegetables. Reclis sighed.

“Ielane’s strict, Agenote, but a good [Queen]? We have to consider the state of Calanfer when I was, well, Vernoue’s age. Do you know what the kingdom was like?”

“If we must, Father.”

Agenote wore a weary expression, but his memory was good. He closed his eyes.

“If I can distill it—let’s see. The Necromancer was plaguing Terandria terribly. We were in recovery after our colonies in Chandrar and, previously, Izril were destroyed due to the ascendancy of Archmage Zelkyr. Actually, hadn’t we fought off a few wars from Drakes headed to our shores?”

“Our colonies in Chandrar were still active. The King of Destruction wiped those out. A good sign of the times was the abundance of mithril. Never common in peaceful eras; it was worth nearly double what it is today, though the recent veins in Bitorm obviously throw off that calculation. Actually, House Lanight suffered a major loss in the New Lands, but it’s only invigorated their feelings towards—”

Reclis corrected his son, and Agenote patiently dragged them back on track.

“Right, at the time, Ailendamus was a third smaller than it was, wasn’t it?”

“Mm, close. It was full swing in that expansionist era until the lull during the King of Destruction’s ascendancy. So, where was Calanfer in all this?”

“Thriving decently.”

Reclis shook his head energetically.

“At the mercy of foreign powers, Agenote! We had four descendants of the throne, including myself. One passed, my older sister Rensha, during a terrible tragedy at sea—your Aunt Linerte and Uncle Roffric were both either wed or due to be, and we had…no…power. Virtually none! While Ailendamus was rolling over nations, Father and Mother—mine, your grandparents—were barely able to keep the Dawn Concordat together. There was a time when Kaliv was considering becoming a subsidiary of Ailendamus!”

“That’s not ideal.”

Agenote admitted, and Reclis waved his hands urgently.

“It was not! Pheislant was eying Gaiil-Drome at the time, and Nadel didn’t have its Lord of the Dance. The south was completely disorganized, and Taimaguros was also winning wars in the north and setting every kingdom but the Restful Three into chaos. Worse, each member of the royal family was wed either for local marriages, or in Linerte’s case, she was almost set to wed abroad! She was planning on a marriage to a Lizardman in Baleros!”

“She never was wed, was she?”

“No—it was quite the scandal, but the point was the Lizardman in question wasn’t even nobility in Baleros. Don’t you see? Even Ielane and I didn’t bring more than a few paltry ties to Morein.”

“…Sounds like Grannymother and Grandkingfather were letting you wed for love.”

The 1st [Prince] opened one eye. Reclis sighed.

“They were idealists, following King Cormed’s vision for Calanfer. You know, his postulations of Queen Marquin’s ideals for rulership that we might be that shining kingdom to inspire? It rather falls apart when you have a war-state which will roll over your neighbors. Ielane changed all that.”

“By helping you take the Throne, despite being third in line, and forcing your parents into abdicating. When did you two claim the crown?”

“…Around the time Aielef was born?”

“So that’s when Mother began making Calanfer efficient, then. Consolidating the power of the crown and marrying off Kanmis to Taimaguros, Lothen to Avel—how is Kanmis?”

“Fully brought into the Taima-side of things.”

Reclis muttered into his cups. Kanmis had been subverted by Taimaguros; his loyalty to Calanfer wasn’t even suspect, just missing. He did visit, but they could count on him less than Agenote. The [Prince] shifted.

“So you think Mother pushed all of the family so hard because we needed better royals?”

“We needed every edge we could get, Agenote. My mother worked hard against Ailendamus, but she had no tools. Ielane’s made our spy networks a thing to be reckoned with. If we weren’t so disadvantaged, we would have had a full coalition against Ailendamus. As it is, we’ve done well against the Kingdom of Glass and Glory. She might seem harsh, but she reached a [Queen]’s position from being a minor [Baroness].”

“Yes. And she’s tried to turn her daughters into the same kind of woman. Virmilla’s terrified of her, you know, Father?”

“Ielane? Surely not.”

The disapproval in his son’s eyes was a shock to Reclis, who sat back as Agenote played with his half-empty cup. The 1st Prince wore a weary expression.

“As I said, I was relieved Ellet wasn’t drinking at age thirteen or—into some other problem. I respect Mother, I do, but I’m glad Grannymother backed my marriage. I’m quite happy. I hope you are for me, even if I’m the first disappointment.”

That made Reclis’ heart hurt. He reached out and placed a firm hand on Agenote’s shoulder.

“And I’m delighted that you are happy, Agenote! I just wish…we are rulers of Calanfer. Upon us, the future of Marquin’s great kingdom rests. We all sacrifice in the name of that. It is the implicit bargain between ruler and subjects. The very ideal upon which Calanfer was founded.”

Agenote said nothing for a while and sipped from his drink. His eyes stole to the Eternal Throne, and he murmured.

“It just feels like the [Princesses] war with Mother sometimes. Menisi being the worst of it, but Lyonette, Vernoue? Shardele?”

Reclis did smile then, because he could reassure Agenote.

“All part of the plan, my boy. Ielane’s often said that counter-levelling requires a good villain. Sometimes, I think she enjoys the strife.”

He didn’t understand why Agenote gave him a pained gaze then and changed the subject to ask about Virmilla’s health. King Reclis du Marquin was somewhat unhappy with the conversation, which he sensed had gone badly, but then he was distracted by a call from Lyonette. She appeared, quite meekly, and he leapt up. Agenote’s smile of disbelief and the way Lyonette’s face lit up on seeing him was worth it.

“Lyonette! There’s my brave and dashing girl. When did you become a second Aielef?”

For a moment, he forgot he was the King of Calanfer and she was his wayward daughter and entangling Calanfer in foreign affairs. He almost went to scoop her up and put her on his lap as he had when she was smaller, and she gulped.

“Father…I’m sorry I ran away, and—and I’ve been so troublesome. And that I hadn’t called. Mother knew I was alive.”

He stopped, looking her over, and realized they hadn’t talked in so…long.

“Have you been eating properly? The Thronebearers reached you and took care of your health, didn’t they? Lyonette, so long as you’re well, I’d forgive you for all but murder. Er, but don’t murder. Ielane’s never had to cover that up before, I think.”

She blinked, then actually hid a smile for a second. She seemed nervous, and Agenote was himself gazing at Reclis warily, but the [King] just kept speaking.

“Are you in need of anything? We could have you back—didn’t Ielane say something about difficulties there?”

Why wasn’t Lyonette back? Damn, the war with Ailendamus had distracted him, and Lyonette was fidgeting.

“Father. I—I have someone to introduce to you. I’m actually a mother now. This is my daughter, one of them. Mrsha?”

His head went blank as Lyonette showed him a young Gnoll girl. And Reclis’ first thought was:

Either they grow Gnolls far faster than Humans or I’ve missed something. Oh, this is the girl that she…hm. White Gnoll girl. Meeting of Tribes. Oh, so interesting. The second popped out of his mouth, regardless.

“Do I have to have some Gnoll fellow hit with sticks?”

“Father! I don’t have any partners at this time! I adopted her after she lost her tribe. And here’s Nanette—”

King Reclis found himself being introduced to a fourteen-year-old girl who described herself as a witch. Without the hat? He was so utterly confounded he resolved to have words with Ielane, because he was sure she knew about this but hadn’t told him! He mimed shaking hands with Mrsha and, again—forgot to be a [King].

“Well, I never expected to have grandchildren from you any time soon. Are they in good health? Do you need gold or…more Thronebearers for raising them? Hello, Mrsha, was it? I suppose I’m your grandfather. How do you do? How is being a Doombearer in this day and age after the revelation of the Meeting of Tribes?”

He recalled, then, he was [King] of Calanfer and began worrying about how you dealt with a [Princess] who had two children when it came to royal succession. Or the scandal of having a witch in the royal bloodlines—it was Calanfer’s first time, but he had several historical precedents he had to search for.

Then his mind was going a mile a minute, but the thing that he forgot, and which made Lyonette fish for a handkerchief and wipe her eyes, was the same thing that made his eldest son smile.

Though King Reclis didn’t understand why until Lyonette said—

“Father, you don’t—object?”

“To what?”

He peered up at her so blankly that she teared up harder. The King of Calanfer called for a chair so he could sit and talk to his granddaughters. Of course, he didn’t ask if Lyonette was serious about being a mother. He just watched the little ones’ faces and saw how they turned to her with questions and how they acted.

That…was similar to him and his parents, so he believed her. Drat. He’d have to have the royal genealogies updated. Then he just asked Lyonette how she had been and tried to catch up with his absent daughter.

Of course, Reclis asked too many questions, especially when he realized Mrsha had a lot of opinions and excellent penmanship. He and she had a full discussion on Kheltian royalty while Lyonette dabbed at her eyes and Virmilla and Agenote asked her about the inn. Then the Erribathe-Ailendamus incident occurred, and it attracted all of his attention.

But King Reclis du Marquin was utterly blindsided by Vernoue’s actions. And Menisi’s. He always was. His family was always ahead of him or veering in directions he didn’t anticipate, much like Ielane.

 

——

 

King Nuvityn of Erribathe was shocked at how much had changed in Terandria in a hundred years. Which was a real half-Elven thing to think, of course, but he found himself dismayed as he toured the kingdoms next to his beloved Kingdom of Myths.

He truly felt like those old legends of a warrior lost to time, who emerged to find the world had shifted. It was a state of being that half-Elves could relate to, which meant he spent a lot of time in their company.

…Which, again, made him feel old. Because he was, dead gods damn it! 241 years old! Actually, they’d looked it up, and he might be even older due to them dropping some birthdays and him forgetting to celebrate them as eras changed and dates reset.

Prildor and Tserre were some of the old half-Elves from the Village of the Spring. The rest of his court, like Voreca, Andromeda, Miihey, were all young. A century at best. He tried to talk with them, like Voreca, the Osverthian warrior armed in mithril plate, a fierce warrior and leader of part of his vanguard.

“I remember when Ailendamus had yet to exist. There were sixteen kingdoms to the south. Now, just one.”

“It must have been a profusion of cultures, Your Majesty.”

She gave him a surprised glance, as if she couldn’t imagine anything but the vast empire they were passing through. She didn’t remember any of them. Not Colaan’s cheeses, galloping horses over Yort’s borders in merry cattle raids, none of it.

Tserre and Prildor got it, though they were just as bad.

“Colaan cheese? I always meant to get some of that. Has the kingdom vanished? Tree rot.”

Prildor slapped his leg, genuinely upset. Nuvityn put his head in his hands. Prildor was carving an arrow; a nervous tic. He was rather overwhelmed by all this change in scenery and ‘rushing about’. He’d emerge from their tents and still be brushing his teeth when they had to hit the road. Of course, everyone accommodated his pace as best they could, and he was a veteran of the campaigns; he took the sudden twists and turns with a sigh, as if he expected to be shocked.

Especially by this.

Tserre was faster, more inquisitive, but still a half-Elf. She sat in the same place she’d been for the last three days, on her walking cottage.

“Nations change each time you wake from the dream, Your Majesty. One gets used to it.”

“It’s only happened to me twice. Hundred Heroes willing, not too many more times. My heart cannot bear it.”

He was hugely discouraged by a lot of changes. Terandria seemed…weaker than he recalled. Smaller.

Perhaps it was the Dwarves. The first thing he’d done was go to Dwarfhome with a mind to outfit his army. He had a mere ten thousand with him, and the idea had crossed his mind to upgrade their armor—already enchanted steel, forestwood, or mithril—to Adamantium, Orichalcum, or better.

To his shock, all the old master [Smiths] were gone. Not a one wanted to forge Adamantium! When he’d asked about Forgemaster Taxus, whom he was sure would still be alive, they’d given him such looks he’d had to privately inquire about the incident.

“Terrible business with Forgemaster Taxus. Just appalling.”

Prildor shook his head, and Tserre had vanished into the mountain-city to find some ‘specialists’ she claimed might do some good work. After three days, she’d emerged and announced she’d run into nothing but ‘stone’.

On they went. Ailendamus had refused entry across the border, and Nuvityn had debated just passing through, but he’d elected to go through Noelictus—only to have King Nicte Allorev request a meeting.

An audience, rather, in person. Of course, the [Diplomats] came first. Fawning courtiers and seemingly straight-talking men and women—Nuvityn had been collecting them since the moment he left Erribathe. But he didn’t really interact with them.

Iradoren, again, was the one who had the patience and inclination to play games with two dozen politicians who wanted to get you into an agreement they could use for the publicity of it, or via enforcing it with a Skill. Honeytraps with lovely ladies, parties in your honor, quiet conversations in the stairway that could mean life or death for thousands—

What Nuvityn had learned was that it was optional. Not [Diplomats] themselves; you had to have them, and he’d sent for Erribathe’s too, but it was sort of like…chess. No, that was a bad analogy. It was more like lancers.

You sent them at each other. Someone throws a [Diplomat] in your way? You toss one at them, and it distracts the two long enough for you to walk past and get the job done. Cats, that was it. It was like cats. All you had to do was throw enough of them at each other, and whatever they got up to was fine, even if they multiplied.

A [King] didn’t have to listen to anyone else but a fellow monarch, and Nuvityn used that to move between nations relatively unimpeded. It was also because the Kingdom of Myths was so powerful, he knew, but he had a mind to do as he pleased—until he met the King of Hosts.

Who was annoyingly likeable.

King Allorev Nicte was from Kaaz, and so Nuvityn had pictured a rather prickly man. But the darker-skinned King Allorev was in fact exceedingly likeable; he had been known as the Prince of Hosts in his youth, and he’d come riding into Nuvityn’s camp and had charmed his way through three different groups of Nuvityn’s warriors before Nuvityn or his people had known he was there.

That was…impressive. It truly was. Erribathe’s people were varied, and each one had proud cultures. Treating them all like the same person was a huge mistake; more than one ruler of Erribathe had offended a particular group and dealt with their enmity for decades. For an outsider? You not only had to be knowledgeable about a multitude of different cultures, but skilled—that was what so many foreign [Diplomats] found out.

 

——

 

King Allorev was throwing horseshoes with Kehndroth’s nomads when Nuvityn found him. He wore riding clothes and had eschewed his crown, which explained how they’d not noticed him for what he was, and he was suppressing his aura.

A talented man; some monarchs didn’t even have control of their auras, let alone the ability to suppress it. Also, he’d just beaten the entire group, and they were forking over coins, grumbling.

“And you let him get through your defenses?”

Strategist Andromeda was horrified by this lapse, but Miihey protested.

“He fed our warbears with honey. They can smell enemies. Should we have not let him through? A [King] is a [King]. And he made it through Kehndroth as well!”

Andromeda turned red as Allorev walked through the nomads and nodded to Nuvityn; despite himself, the King of Myth’s lips quirked.

“I wish you hadn’t told me of his presence, Andromeda. It seems the King of Hosts was minded to recreate an old story. That of a man who could charm his way through a dozen factions to reach the one he wished to speak to.”

He thought that was what Allorev was doing, and the King of Hosts bowed slightly.

“If I was noticed, I suppose that means I failed. King of Myths, cousin, I apologize for failing to live up to stories. But then—old stories come again, it seems.”

He rose with a glint in his eye, and Nuvityn liked him. Which was, of course, probably enhanced by Allorev’s Skills and his own research into Nuvityn, but it was well done. Nuvityn invited him to an audience, and indeed, regretted they hadn’t let Allorev reach the center of his own accord.

Thereafter, they’d had a meeting where the King of Hosts had all but begged Nuvityn to skirt his borders—lest he entangle himself in Noelictus’ woes. That was just politics—though it was interesting, for all it was damned annoying.

“Anything the Army of Myths might aid in?”

King Allorev had hesitated mightily and smiled at Nuvityn. He was a charming man. He had leaned over the fine Noelictan cuisine, all black and white, and murmured.

“The worst of the storm has passed, King Nuvityn. If it had come to the worst, your nation is the first I would have prevailed on. I do not fear your discretion, you understand, but that of your people.”

That was a fair problem. Whatever it was must have been dire enough, and Nuvityn had rubbed at his beard, exasperated, but inclined to accede to this gracious man who was clearly in true need. Even so, it was another obstacle…

At Nuvityn’s half-scowl, Allorev hesitated. He glanced at his trimmed fingernails, then spoke softly.

“This is perhaps a poor venue to discuss the matter, cousin. But for you, I would offer you a view of the issue…if you are so inclined. A trust I hope you would keep private unless you felt the good of all of Terandria necessitated it otherwise.”

Intriguing. He was willing to show Nuvityn this issue? The King of Myths hesitated and began to worry he’d be entangled in Noelictus’ issues…or simply inclined to help. Entanglement, like the half-Elves said.

“If you ask it of me, as a fellow ruler, I cannot gainsay that request, King Allorev. Would it be more prudent to request an explanation once the matter is settled?”

Allorev’s eyes brightened.

“In confidence? Of course.”

Ah, now that would work. Though it did mean that he’d have to go around Noelictus. Nuvityn nodded, glancing at a map he’d brought out.

“Then I shall respect your request. Ah, but to avoid conflict with Ailendamus…would it be impossible to pass even along the borders? Through Ovela, perchance?”

That would give him a clear shot through Noelictus down into Pheislant, and here Allorev had drummed his fingers on the table.

“I would grant it in a heartbeat, Your Majesty, but Ovela, it is in a stalemate with Ailendamus. And the Earl is…a special case. I will request it of him, but the Crown would not force his will in most matters.”

The King of Myth’s brows had almost vanished into his hairline. What kind of [Earl] scares the ruling [King] so?

“Is he a man I might—assist the Kingdom of Shades in removing in some way? Long has Erribathe respected the nation that feeds so much of Terandria.”

Allorev blinked, as if he thought Nuvityn’s memory so poor. He half-smiled.

“Your memory is gratifying, King of Myths. I fear that our reputation is not so inspiring across the rest of Terandria.”

Nuvityn frowned harder, and he removed his crown to place before him. A gesture between [Kings].

“I mean what I say. Erribathe has long lain quiet, but had Ailendamus invaded Noelictus in truth, I had spoken to Iradoren about sending forces to your defense. One of the original nations of the Hundred Heroes should not fall. Why should that reputation change so often?”

Such a gratified look from the King of Hosts, who murmured.

“The Necromancer, King Nuvityn?”

“Oh. Of course.”

He’d never penetrated into Erribathe beyond the mistlands. It seemed that Nuvityn had underestimated the trauma the rest of the continent had towards Az’kerash. When he remarked on that, Allorev had given him what was becoming a familiar gaze, that of someone eying a fish truly out of water.

Nuvityn disliked that. He disliked the feeling of being a fossil behind the times and tried to shake loose the feeling of dust clinging to him. At least the dust came with being so intimidating that no nation wanted to cross his. He’d thought Allorev coming with nearly twenty thousand soldiers was a sign of hostilities until he saw how poor the quality of his [Soldiers]’ armor was.

Iradoren had often said how Erribathe’s power could have thrust back the King of Destruction had they truly made an attempt…

Iradoren.

Nuvityn tried to distract himself, but few men, even fellow [Kings], treated him like an equal or with anything but utter wariness or fear.

Except for the Earl of Ovela. Nuvityn made the request to pass through Ovela and got a one-note response.

No.

 

——

 

Half of his court were furious as the messenger delivered the response, and Nuvityn just sat there. He was half-tempted to march into Ovela just to spite the messenger, who was a Hunter of Noelictus, an old man with white hair and black skin.

Hunters. Brave and dangerous—Nuvityn turned to Tserre, who had stopped knitting something and rocking in a chair on her walking house. Prildor had put aside his own carving.

“Should we test this Earl’s rudeness, my advisors? What cause might he have for denying our entry?”

“Whatever ails the Kingdom of Shades, Your Majesty? Or perhaps simple wariness of an army.”

“If I gave him assurances we merely require passage…?”

The King of Myths was frustrated, and Andromeda called out, angry and young.

“Your Majesty! Where we walk, nations follow! We should teach a lesson to the nations who have forgotten what the Kingdom of Myths is!”

She was Iradoren’s former lover and admirer. At least one of the two—Nuvityn met her eyes.

“As a bully or braggart, [Strategist]? Is that the wisdom of Kehndroth?”

She hesitated, then, and Prildor murmured.

“I’d rather not fight ghosts. My arrows don’t do much against them.”

He was one of the two great experts that Nuvityn had summoned—beyond even the [Soldiers], who were all above Level 30. Even above Nuvityn himself; when the Court of Myths heard that, they fell silent.

“There are no ghosts in Noelictus—only rumors of them, Lord Prildor. This Earl isn’t the same as the Twins of Ovela, but just as hot-headed. There is respect and rudeness. Surely this teeters on the latter, even if we do not wish conflict?”

For once, Voreca was in agreement with Andromeda; the two disliked being taken lightly. It was Miihey, the people of Forem’s leader, a [Barbarian], who coughed. The half-Elf was younger than Tserre and Prildor and bare-chested, but for all his wildness, he had eyes only for his elders.

“Your wisdom, Magus Tserre?”

She glanced up from inspecting the [Hunter] who stood there, unmoving, as he cast around the camp of Erribathe.

“I’d say this Earl of Ovela is twice as hotheaded as you think. As for why we’re turned away—hm. It would be something to have the Kingdom of Myths respect Noelictus’ sovereignty. That the Earl of Ovela spoke and Erribathe listened would benefit their reputations greatly.”

“So we trade our reputation for this Earl’s? All the more reason to refuse!”

One of the other advisors slammed a fist down. There was a chorus of agreement, but at this point, the itching on Nuvityn’s back grew too much to bear. He shifted and finally realized the old [Hunter] standing before him was too calm in his presence.

So old. His eyes were yellow like a beast of Erribathe, and if that shine on his hilts wasn’t Mithril…slowly, the King of Myths felt that creeping sensation he had learned not to ignore. He rose, slightly, and nodded to the [Hunter].

“Bold is the Earl of Ovela. Rude, perhaps, to the Kingdom of Myths. What says he to deny our passage?”

The [Hunter] responded in a low growl, sounding amused as he rested his hands on his blades. None of the court liked that, and they reached for their weapons.

“He says that the Kingdom of Myths is too much trouble to deal with on a border with Ailendamus, Your Majesty. Two nosy half-Elves—one death-marked—and a host of triumphant warriors that love to poke around is a pain to deal with. Besides, Erribathe owes this particular Earl a favor.”

“Watch your tongue, [Hunter]! Ovela and the Kingdom of Shades have done no service to Erribathe in the last hundred years worth calling upon! Let alone of this caliber!”

Andromeda leapt to her feet and shouted as a chorus of jeers rose. But Nuvityn just raised a hand. He beckoned the man forwards.

“Approach, brave [Hunter]. If a debt is owed, I regret that I do not recall it.”

The Hunter strolled forwards until several soldiers of Osverthia lowered their blades to bar him. He seemed amused, too, as he ignored their blades.

“You could look it up. I’m sure it’s on the books if it hasn’t been claimed already. If it has—call it a favor in advance.”

“Hunter, let go your blades and disarm. You stand in the presence of myths who fear no armed messengers, but we do not tolerate threats to His Majesty. Not now.”

Voreca called out. Now, Nuvityn’s lips were twitching. He saw the Hunter’s were doing the same. They were enjoying this. Old men—doing old men things. Waiting to see how long it took for the young to catch on.

“If I were to fear for my life, I am already within death’s reach, Voreca. Nor would I doubt the word of the Earl of Ovela. I am minded to offer him every courtesy and ask what debts were incurred.”

She hesitated.

“Very good, Your Majesty. Should I send for…him…”

Then she trailed off, and Andromeda took over.

“Shall we summon him to the camp or arrange a meeting?”

Nuvityn replied mildly.

“I think I could do it myself, [Strategist]. What is the Earl of Ovela’s name, pray, brave Hunter?”

“Piortesenzth. Do you have any half-Elven wine?”

With that, the Hunter strode over to a table with drinks, and Nuvityn walked over to join him. Then, and only then, did the Court of Myths realize that the old Hunter who had come representing the Earl of Ovela and the man himself were one and the same.

He didn’t feel like a dangerous man. But he looked it. Which made sense; a Hunter of Noelictus could surely suppress their true nature. Tserre hopped off her cottage, and Prildor strode over with a book he’d pulled out of his bag of holding.

They had a conversation amongst equals as the children watched.

 

——

 

Piortesenzth spent two entire days in Nuvityn’s company, mostly so he could sample all the food from the Kingdom of Myths. His appearance was so noteworthy that several half-Elves stormed out of Erribathe just to meet him—if it really was him.

Nuvityn spent a delightful time those two nights reading up on stories of a certain Hunter of Noelictus who did have several favors on the books. If it was him. The books were so old that even re-copied and preserved multiple times, they were ancient.

Talking with Piortesenzth was more old-people stuff, but enjoyable. Prildor had a book, you see, which he only brought out when he met someone who was old.

“Have you heard about the Claiven Earth? They popped up recently.”

“Nope.”

Prildor made a small note in his book.

“What’s the last major thing you remember vanishing?”

The old Hunter rolled one shoulder as Tserre sipped from some tea, watching him with narrowed eyes. The two were rather competitive. Nuvityn thought it was about who was older or, possibly, more dangerous.

“They got rid of Maada eggs.”

“What are those?”

“Big…serpents? Very friendly. They lay big, fat yellow eggs, and they taste great. No one keeps ‘em anymore. I wanted to buy some, but they’re all dead apparently.”

“Interesting. I don’t remember those.”

Prildor’s brows rose, and he wrote this down, clearly very happy. Tserre’s eyes narrowed further.

“Nor do I, but they are in a book I read once. Anyone could claim to know what they’re like. What’s something unique about them only one who met them would know?”

The Hunter gave her a blank look.

“…They have ticklish chins?”

There was no followup to that, so the King of Myths just smiled and drank some wine as Prildor asked for another thing that Piortesenzth remembered. The Hunter sighed.

“The Continent of Glass. I miss that place. You could buy sunlight.”

“Ah. Um.”

Then it was Prildor and Tserre’s turn to exchange that glance that Nuvityn saw so often on the younger, and he laughed and asked Piortesenzth—

“Won’t you reconsider, Earl of Ovela? I am much taken with you.”

The Hunter scratched at his chin.

“Hmm. You’ve feasted me well, and I’ve enjoyed this, but no. It’s reputation. The beast backs down, and everyone applauds. Erribathe is the biggest beast around; it always was. Consider it a favor to me. For the Beast of Mists.”

Nothing would do but the King of Myths accede to that. He was, after all, nothing if not someone who respected old debts and traditions. He longed to talk more with the man, and to his delight, the Earl of Ovela had some time.

Two days, he let Erribathe camp on Ovela’s borders. Never entering the province, but he returned each day, and after the first meeting, he brought more people with him.

“I have to beat Ovela back into shape. I do have some Hunters I’d like your forces to humiliate.”

Hunters of Noelictus. Nuvityn had always loved the dark coats of leather and the grim hats of Noelictus’ warriors, which had felt as exotic to him as a burnoose, veil, or kilts compared to most of Terandria.

There were apparently many Hunters of Noelictus who came to Ovela for training—and the border guard—and Piortesenzth referred to all of them as ‘children’. Certainly, given the disparity in levels, Nuvityn suspected they were all children to him.

However, Piortesenzth might have made the error of thinking Erribathe was all that he remembered too. Because some of the Hunters he wanted humiliated had turned out to be warriors as peerless as Nuvityn’s own fighters.

 

——

 

“Halt! The bout goes to the Veteran Hunter!”

After the third time one of his warriors lost to a Veteran Hunter, Nuvityn nodded for Miihey to take the next opponent on. Nuvityn walked over to Piortesenzth, who was observing, arms folded.

“Your Veteran Hunters are capable. Every warrior in my ranks is above Level 30.”

“Ah, so you’re not going to war.”

It was amazing how often Nuvityn smiled or laughed while talking to the old Hunter, though sometimes it was in chagrin, such as now. He shook his head.

“Erribathe is not the Kingdom of Myths you knew, Hunter Piortesenzth. Your Veteran Hunters are besting my warriors, which embarrasses them greatly.”

Indeed, each loser was being berated by their kinsfolk, but he thought it was well. This was a reminder to them that other nations had teeth, even more than Piortesenzth’s presence. The old [Hunter] simply snorted.

“My Veteran Hunters…they’re the best of Noelictus, but they give themselves airs. I’d prefer if your lot smashed the entire group flat so they’d work harder. Life has been too easy for them lately.”

From the look some of the Veteran Hunters shot him, Nuvityn wondered what Piortesenzth considered easy. He watched as Miihey fought the fourth Veteran Hunter, a woman with two mithril axes. She had white hair, but he thought it was just dye or natural hair color; she certainly fought like a younger woman, awhirl with slashing blades as Miihey hopped backwards.

Miihey was a [Barbarian]; the half-Elf was bare-chested and had a simple cloak of bearhide around his shoulders. He also used an axe, but a giant battleaxe instead of twin hatchets.

Faced with his aggressive opponent, he retreated, blocking with the haft of his axe as if it were a quarterstaff, lashing out with kicks or punches. One of the kicks sent the Veteran Hunter staggering back a few paces, and he followed it up with the battleaxe—the ground was cut in twain, and Nuvityn shouted.

“Don’t maim or kill your foe, Miihey!”

“She’s too good to take her lightly, Your Majesty!”

The half-Elf grinned. Piortesenzth shouted as well.

“Work harder, Hunter Haeight! Stop fighting as if you’re better and use all your Skills. He’s not even trying hard.”

The Veteran Hunter turned red. True enough, Miihey hadn’t been fighting with his all; he probably had ten levels on the younger woman. He kept changing the position of his hands on his axe haft to avoid them being cut as he blocked with his long weapon, instead of swinging it full-force like Nuvityn knew he could do.

At Piortesenzth’s words, Haeight lowered her blades, touched the brim of her hat, then activated a Skill. Her eyes began to glow, and she threw her head back as her aura swirled and condensed. Her voice was hoarse and exploded out of her lungs in a screaming howl as she threw herself at Miihey, who backed up in surprise.

“That’s…a frenzy Skill. It looks almost like a blood Skill.”

Nuvityn was shocked and saw Miihey retreating in genuine defense as Haeight came at him, swinging faster and harder. He had to swirl his cloak around and use it to block her rain of blows, cursing.

“That’s Haeight. She’s young even for a Veteran Hunter, but I told her she had to replace me when I died.”

It seemed Piortesenzth liked this particular Hunter, because he smiled as he watched Haeight’s onslaught continue. When it was clear she wouldn’t let up her rain of blows, Miihey cursed and swung his axe.

“[Axe Art: Mauling Bearclaws]!”

The slash he left on the ground forced the Veteran Hunter back; she rolled left, came up, threw an axe, and he dodged as he swung the butt of his axe into her side. It tossed her over the ground—and Miihey twisted out of the way of his final blow as the hatchet Haeight had thrown boomeranged back to her.

Not bad at all. She lost, of course; Miihey kept out of range of her frenzy Skill and used his Skills to knock her about, but she’d surprised him, and when he finally stood over her, he ruefully showed some of his kin a few light bruises on his arms from where his bearskin cloak had failed to protect him.

Nuvityn himself applauded that; Piortesenzth did not. He strolled over as Haeight got up.

“If he’d been a Skeleton Lord, you’d be dead, Haeight. You’ve been fighting undead too long, and low-level ones at that. You need to learn how to cleave Bone Giants.”

“Yes, Hunter Piortesenzth.”

She hung her head, sweaty and dishevelled, and he motioned towards Nuvityn’s warriors.

“Fight two more. Some of the armored folk next. Their place starts with an ‘O’. Beat at least one of them or I’ll make you raid Ailendamus solo.”

Osverthia’s warriors looked askance at the perceived insult. Haeight seemed quite nervous as she picked up her axes. Nuvityn winced and waved Voreca back; he might as well give the poor Hunter a chance of success.

Haeight won a bout against a regular Osverthian, then lost to Voreca. She was limping off the field, exhausted, when the old Hunter strolled over.

“More practice. Chop down ten trees with the dullest hatchet you can find before you return for supper. Beastblood, rookie.”

She reacted with a shout of alarm—but he punched her in the side so fast Nuvityn barely saw it. The King of Myths saw Prildor stop drinking wine with some Veteran Hunters and watch as Huntress Haeight flew through the air—hit a group of Forem’s [Barbarians]—and landed.

He wondered how many ribs she’d broken. Piortesenzth strolled back, hands in his pockets.

“Everyone’s softer than I remember. Which is fine. The Kingdom of Myths used to be smaller. Ten thousand would be the entire army—and they’d win because everyone would be over Level 40. But they were less hospitable. I’d have to trade three skulls for a single flask of wine from Forem’s tribes.”

He glowered at Miihey’s folk as if this was still a sore point however many aeons later. Nuvityn could only offer Piortesenzth all the wine he could drink—and he had some sent to the poor huntress that had caught the old man’s attention.

Besides, it was good to see Voreca and Andromeda lose a bit of their swagger and be reminded the other kingdoms were not so easy to push over. Certainly, when it was done, the Veteran Hunters had won as many matches as they’d lost, though the lesser Hunters lost almost every match.

As for Piortesenzth, he refused all duels and offers. He did elect to arm-wrestle Miihey and the [Barbarians] of Forem, though, as well as Torek’dale.

Well. It was just good they had time to march and a long road ahead, because eighteen broken arms would take time to heal.

 

——

 

There was one more option if Noelictus was no good: Samal. Nuvityn took his army towards the Kingdom of Keys…and marched straight across the border without even bothering to ask for passage.

“I don’t have enough keys for this. Damn. I should have taken us east instead of west!”

Erribathe was wide enough that he could have just marched that way instead to get to a coastline, and it did have ships they could sail from a river delta into the sea. However, one of the few things Erribathe had ever lost was their coastal region and the folk who lived there, the Ressins. They’d…left after a poor [King] had failed to live up to expectations.

Desonis had been founded by descendants of Erribathe’s famed sea-dwellers. However, sailing from the eastern coastline would have made it twice as long to get to Baleros, and the Village of the Spring was remote enough that Nuvityn had chosen the shortest route to a port in Pheislant.

Now, he was stymied at every turn.

Back they went, and when he was faced with having to march back the way he’d come across his entire Kingdom of Myths, he made one last attempt to gain passage south. Nuvityn confessed; he lost his temper when Ailendamus refused to issue him passage again. They were no Earl of Ovela.

He passed by their border fortresses, and they shouted and sent [Knights] to object, but short of physical confrontation, they didn’t stop his army the first week they marched. Unpleasantness occurred, of course, but he had to admit he’d wanted it with them.

“Someone’s watching us, Your Majesty.”

Tserre interrupted Nuvityn as he read a report on how the nations south of Ailendamus had changed over the years, and he glanced up.

“Could you stop them?”

“Quite likely, but watching is often preferable to doing the dance of stopping all eyes. They have good spellcasters, though.”

Ah. Good by her standards. She sat, eying his reports, as Nuvityn murmured.

“House Shoel cast magics of a superlative quality during the battle at sea.”

“I watched a recording. They were decent. Too exposed, too overconfident. Ship boarding actions kill [Mages] fast. They should have abandoned their ships and flown or fought on platforms instead. Never let a [Pirate] get on board the same ship as you.”

She was a veteran warrior, then. Tserre was a mystery to him, from her isolation in the Village of the Spring to the fact that she had—apparently—some ties with the Death of Magic herself.

And a bounty on her head from Rhir and, as Piortesenzth had revealed, death-marks. Whatever those were. Nuvityn trusted Tserre, or he trusted that she was concerned about her grand-niece, Ceria, enough to come with him.

Figuring out her story and earning her trust was the fun part.

“So you’ve seen battles at sea, then. As well as wars?”

The question made Tserre scowl.

“As Your Majesty might have guessed, one sees both over the course of a long life. Prildor hates sailing, and he’s survived multiple naval engagements. Even a shipwrecking, apparently.”

“He told me about that. He drifted eighty-nine days—which is why he hates the sea. But you’ve fought on the sea and in wars, Magus?”

She folded her arms as her two chickens pecked at some feed next to her.

“I used to be a Mage of Wistram. Fighting at sea is only natural, and fighting in wars as well, for a Mage of Wistram.”

“Really? They don’t fight in wars these days. Ailendamus was a startling exception.”

She scowled.

“Wistram Academy always fights in wars. There’s always a hothead group of young [Mages] who think that [Siege Fireball] solves everything. Much as I enjoy our game of truths, you will have to work harder than that to ferret truth out of me, Your Majesty.”

He gave her an amused smile, and she hesitated and grew more irked.

“I rather think that Wistram has changed beyond your memories of it, Magus Tserre. You didn’t even remember the Golems.”

Then again, he remembered a time before the Golems too, if vaguely. Tserre muttered.

“I remember Truestone Golems. See them once, see them a hundred times. And I also remember Calanfer! How is the Eternal Throne doing?”

More clues; Piortesenzth hailed from a time long before Calanfer, if what he claimed was true. Tserre…no. But Calanfer did seem to impress her, because she asked about it of all the nations.

“We might pass by it, though I had planned on Pheislant. Would Silvaria interest you?”

She flicked her fingers.

“Calanfer’s the only nation of the lot worth a damn. And only because they did something during the Creler Wars. Have you seen the Eternal Throne? It is a sight.”

“A few times.”

He wrote this down. Tserre didn’t realize she’d been tricked into admitting she remembered Silvaria, the nation that Az’kerash had destroyed, for several minutes, whereupon she glowered.

“How has it changed? Calanfer was fierce enough back in my day, but your court laughed about Thronebearers of Calanfer, whatever they are.”

Nuvityn put down his notes with a sigh.

“Golden knights. Calanfer nearly lost its last war with Ailendamus. Whatever nation you might remember—they’re known as the Kingdom of Diplomacy these days.”

“That hasn’t changed, at least. But diplomacy comes with pen and ink or by the tip of a sword.”

“More of the former, less of the latter. It’s…different than I remember. I’ve known several generations of rulers. This new [King] and [Queen] seem efficient. But I miss the old Calanfer.”

He sat back. A cup of tea popped into Nuvityn’s hand, and he drank from it. Tserre raised her brows.

“If you’re going to tell me a story, my ears don’t have all day.”

He grinned as one of the riding Court of Myths gave Tserre an aghast glance, and then he spoke.

“I recall it being pleasant, and the King and Queen of Radiance were excellent hosts. To hear tell of it now, one should watch one’s back because the new rulers wield secrets and favors like weapons. Their royal family—rather unhappy. One [Princess] has run away, another is shipwrecked on Baleros…”

He didn’t think he’d left Erribathe recently enough to meet King Reclis or Queen Ielane. Then again, as he explained to Tserre—

“It might be for the best. Ailendamus was swallowing nations unguarded left and right. This Calanfer has more teeth.”

“A rat with teeth as opposed to one without is still a rat. Great nation or not, the Dawn Concordat has thrown back armies of multiple nations in Krawlnmak Pass. I’ll add it to my list of disappointments.”

She was settling back in her rocking chair when her eyes opened, and she craned her neck up.

“I think we’re under attack. [Mages] incoming.”

She rocked back on her chair, and it flipped head-over-heels into her cottage. Nuvityn shot to his feet as the doors closed. An alarm sounded ten seconds later, a horn blowing.

It wasn’t quite an attack; rather a force sent to turn his army back or force them out of Ailendamus’ borders. A full two legions of Hydra Knights, a lot of those ‘Greatbows’, their regular soldiers, and—Tserre claimed—at least a dozen magical specialists.

Nuvityn didn’t heed their calls to parley or turn. He ordered Prildor to fire a warning shot.

He wanted to fight with them.

 

——

 

Vernoue du Marquin reached Ailendamus’ borders just as the skirmish began.

For context, the road to get here was a frantic four days from the moment she and Menisi realized that they were still sisters willing to help each other out.

When she was actually minded to aid Vernoue, Menisi du Marquin was most like her mother—a compliment Vernoue had decided to only give her when they were fighting. Because they would—they were sisters.

Realizing she could shove and annoy Menisi made her far less intimidating, though it meant the 2nd Princess also pulled pranks like putting a dead, stuffed snake in Vernoue’s bed. However, she had a straightforwards approach to Vernoue’s problem.

“It sounds like you need a magical teacher. Studying by yourself isn’t going to work. Give me that list.”

Vernoue was buried in her spellbook, concentrating mightily on learning [Invisibility], among other spells. After the vision the potion had given her, she was filled with determination. The weight of lost lives, the great odds she had faced, and that feeling of what she dreamed of gave her the will to focus as she never had before—

…For a little bit.

The problem with life-shifting events was that they didn’t change the fact that you could be bored, get tired, or…lose focus. It helped, make no mistake, but it didn’t mean Vernoue was suddenly some paragon of intense willpower and spirit.

What helped was that Menisi took one look at the list and began putting out feelers and came back inside of the day with news.

“Ceria Springwalker? Connected to that inn and Lyonette. Tserre? A little birdie in Dwarfhome told me that a half-Elf by the same name was with the King of Myths. I think we have your [Mage].”

“What? Really?”

“One of the few we can actually reach. Come on, pack your things. Your coach is faster than mine—she’s worth trying, and I do want to see the King of Myths. His people aren’t often seen, and I hear they have half-Elven [Barbarians]…rugged.”

She licked her lips, and Vernoue wavered.

“B-but the list says—”

“You can’t be picky. Also, it’s future-you. I don’t trust her judgement. Let’s see what she’s like, and she might at least recommend you to others.”

So that was that. Vernoue let Menisi do the arrangements; she had almost mastered [Invisibility], actually, when they broke the news to Grand Duke Naodin.

He took it surprisingly well.

“My sister needs a magical teacher, and I’m minded to help her, Naodin. You’re to stay here and mind the estates. I’ll be back.”

“You’d better be.”

He glared at Vernoue, and then his eyes became that familiar glare of suspicion.

“Are you two sleeping together?”

“No!”

“No.”

Vernoue’s response seemed to satisfy the Grand Duke, and he grunted as he turned to Menisi.

“If you stop complaining about your mother, go and see Erribathe. If they have any weapons from the Kingdom of Myths, I want one. Do you want me to ride along?”

“Knowing you, you’ll want to impress the King of Myths. Besides, the smaller the escort, the less this will seem like an affront if we have to cross into Ailendamus.”

Another grunt.

“Tell me if you need [Soldiers]. Don’t cause trouble.”

She threw her arms around him and kissed him, and after a mandatory vanishing, Menisi came back and announced they could set out that night.

“Won’t he worry you’re cheating on him? Your Skill only goes so far, surely.”

It felt like the two of them were necessarily dependent on each other—if only bound by mutual antagonism. Menisi’s eyes glittered with amusement.

“Loyalty is loyalty, Vernoue. I know how far he’ll be pushed before he gets impatient. Besides, I have my ways of placating him even if I have to be gone weeks or more.”

“…One of your servants who’s willing to sleep with him?”

Vernoue hazarded, worrying she was getting too used to Menisi’s rather shocking ways. She was glad that she wasn’t, because Menisi whispered in her ear.

“No, actually, I’ve found you can take some resin and make very realistic molds. Then you just enchant one with a sympathetic magic, and both people hold one end of the spell and—”

Vernoue covered her ears and sang until Menisi’s laughter began. She had many ways of dealing with separation that Vernoue didn’t want to know about.

 

——

 

Aside from that, and Menisi trying to seduce half her escort, the ride to Ailendamus was brisk. They skirted the Kingdom of Glass and Glory, heading back towards Calanfer along the border—but edging around any active pockets of fighting until they reached the border. Then, Menisi ordered the Calanferians to change clothing and took charge.

“I am a Lady of Nomaudrel seeking to enter the Kingdom of Glass and Glory. This is my sister—we have a mind to seek some magical tutors if we may.”

The checkpoint guards weren’t slouches, but Menisi could tell the absolute truth, and she was a woman of note. Vernoue, tiara hidden, smiled nervously at the Hydra Knight, who half-bowed.

“Your Ladyship, I merely remind you that certain substances are illicit in Ailendamus. If you will permit us a check of the carriage.”

“Oh, do go ahead. I can also speak into a truth stone.”

“Very reasonable, Your Ladyship. This won’t take but a moment.”

They were checking the carriage, and the Calanferians were sweating, but the normally-thorough inspection was rather rushed. Mostly because one of the Hydra Knights pulled out a huge, flopping—

The scream from the [Knight] was followed by Menisi’s bright voice.

“Oh, that’s mine. And that. I’m sure it’s not illegal.”

Just highly distressing. Some very flustered [Knights] sent them on their way with a few injunctions about laws regarding public decency. Menisi leaned over and whispered to Vernoue.

“And if I were smuggling drugs, I’d do the same thing. Not personally, you understand, but nothing flusters a gentleman [Knight] more than handling a phallus that’s not his own. Well, most [Knights]. Some will surprise you.”

All that to say that their ride was rather smooth—again—until they reached the army squaring off with Erribathe. Now that was a sight to see.

 

——

 

Vernoue had some trauma with Ailendamus’ forces, especially after surviving a shot from a Lance-Arrow, and the sight of the huge, X-shaped Greatbows made her flinch. Ailendamus had formed ranks, so glittering squares of pikes and crossbows were like formations on a literal war-table.

They even had several [Battlemages], who sparked with magic in her eyes, shielding their battalions with domed barrier spells. They seemed—dangerous. As one of the finest armies of Terandria should.

But they were up against the Kingdom of Myths, and despite a three-to-one advantage in numbers, there was something uncanny about King Nuvityn’s army. For one thing, they were rather…

Ragtag?

No. Not quite. It was just that they didn’t have the same military cohesion that Vernoue associated with an army. Parts did, but each group seemed to have their own odd style.

For instance, there was a core of glittering, well-armed [Soldiers] around the King of Myths. They had horses and long lances and seemed to be the image of an army of glorious [Knights]. But they stood completely at odds with a gaggle of [Barbarians] to their left.

They were bare-chested—men and women to Menisi’s delight—wearing warpaint and holding great axes. Some were even half-Elves! And they had companions—a giant warthog one was riding, and a bear who was silver-grey and roared as he stood on two legs, higher than the people on horseback.

To their left were a bunch of mounted horse-people, but not armored. They rode left and right, light on the saddles, holding longbows, setting up a wild call that roused distant birds from a forest.

Each group was so diverse, it seemed as though the entire effect of the Army of Myths should be diminished. Instead, there was a kind of sudden chill Vernoue felt upon seeing them. A surging in her bones, as if Lorentha’s stories had come to life.

It felt like stories of the Hundred Heroes themselves come to life, as if each warrior could run into an army and lay about them, ten-to-one, and come out without a scratch. It wasn’t just their appearance. Menisi grunted.

“They’re all above Level 30. Huh. They could take those Hydra Knights in a fair fight, ten thousand against ten thousand, without the [King]. Or those two. Mark that house there? That’s your half-Elf.”

Then Vernoue saw Tserre and Prildor, and she nearly went blind.

[Detect Fame: Magic].

Menisi half-turned, and her expression of interest turned to one of concern.

“Vernoue?”

The 5th Princess was crying. She didn’t know why at first, only that the sight of the short half-Elf, standing on the walking cottage, struck her with such pain in her chest…Vernoue blinked the tears out of her eyes and thought she saw robes fluttering in the wind. A nimbus like the northern lights of Cenidau blowing behind a far younger, taller woman holding a staff that shone like the stars aloft.

…Then she blinked, and Tserre merely wore old, fussy green robes, and she was sitting on a rocking chair. But Vernoue still knew.

“She’s beautiful.”

“They’re both over Level 50. Perhaps over Level 60. Right. I was going for the old archer, but your [Mage] might be fun too.”

Vernoue opened one door of the carriage and pushed Menisi out. She was about to tell the nervous [Driver] to try and get closer to the King of Myth’s army when Nuvityn lifted a hand.

They had been trying to force his army to leave Ailendamus and head into Pheislant or another nation—but the King of Myths didn’t seem inclined to accede. Which suggested he was marching through Ailendamus on purpose, because he could have turned by this point and headed into the Kingdom of Lighthouses.

Nuvityn gestured at Ailendamus’ army, and the half-Elf, the tall man with white hair, Prildor, according to Menisi’s sources, put an arrow to the string.

Instantly, Ailendamus’ army made ready. Menisi hauled herself into the carriage.

“Tiaras on. Driver, back up the carriage! Ailendamus’ army almost certainly doesn’t want to fight, but they aren’t going to want to lose face. It’s going to be waggling dicks all the way down, and I’d rather not take a stray shot from either side.”

Crude, but accurate to what Vernoue thought was going to happen too. She was expecting to see the half-Elf master-archer loose an arrow and do something from the stories, like splitting a shaft from an arrow he’d fired or knocking a helmet from one of the enemy [Soldiers].

What she wasn’t prepared for—nor, it seemed, the Army of Myths—was for Prildor to sight down his bow, aim up hesitantly, and loose an arrow up.

It flew high, high…wobbled…and came down a good fifty feet in front of the first formations of Ailendamus’ soldiers. Actually, it bounced when it hit the ground.

Vernoue stared. The Kingdom of Myth’s army turned to gaze at Prildor as the rather red-faced half-Elf lowered his bow.

“…Okay, he’s not an archer. I wonder what—”

Then Menisi cut off and swore, and the carriage began to roll back fast. Then everyone watching saw what Prildor was good at.

 

——

 

From the appalled King of Bows to the watchful King and Queen of Calanfer to Nuvityn himself, they could all agree: Prildor wasn’t that good with a bow.

“The wind was against me! And I haven’t fought in an army for at least a few centuries! I took a few shots at undead against that Necromancer fellow—”

He was arguing with Tserre, who was mocking him.

“Prildor, I could shoot a bow better than that. In front of this Kingdom of Glass and Glory?”

“You couldn’t even flex my bow. Go ahead, do it without magic.”

They were bickering as Nuvityn saw the arrow bounce off the ground. It wasn’t even enchanted; it was one of Prildor’s home-made arrows.

…Which were okay. They were, in fact, wood or tipped with stone if he got creative. No iron; he didn’t have any iron, and Prildor hated smithing and smelting the stuff. So he’d put a wooden arrowtip on them or just make it a sharpened point.

An arrow of Erribathe. He could just see Ailendamus’ soldiers glancing at each other, as if wondering if they were being pranked. Was this all the famous King of Myths had?

“Prildor.”

“What? Oh. Ah. I forgot to use my Skill.”

Prildor whirled, realized nothing was happening and, flustered, nocked an arrow again.

This time, Tserre slapped her face, and Nuvityn did wince. Prildor’s second shot was worse than his first. It didn’t have enough of an arc and landed two hundred feet short. Prildor snapped his fingers.

“What is that, two hundred feet? Better call it one hundred and fifty—Tserre, I swear. You’re the one with chickens on a battlefield!”

“My chickens have more combat potential than you do. Silence, Prildor. I need to concentrate. There are enemy [Mages] testing our position.”

Voreca was glancing at Nuvityn, clearly wanting to demonstrate her people’s abilities, or anyone’s, but he just leaned over his pommel. Prildor turned and sighed.

“Oh well. We’re not trying to hurt anyone, correct, Your Majesty?”

“No indeed, Prildor.”

“Excellent. I didn’t try hard.”

Everyone turned to Prildor, and then Nuvityn saw it. Nuvityn’s eyes hadn’t been focused on the two arrows or on Ailendamus’ army exactly. He had been glancing at an odd carriage that had slowed in the distance—one vehicle among many on the road, but which gave him an odd feeling there was someone of note inside it. But then his eyes had flicked back up.

Now, Nuvityn saw the bright, clear skies of blue spring shift, and the blowing wind seemed to conjure a shadow that passed over Ailendamus’ forces. Not a perfect shadow—it stormed across the ground like flecks of light amidst shadows, almost like rain.

Voreca’s head rose as she saw the shadows cover them and sweep towards Ailendamus’ army. There was a scream—a Skill shouted—and then silence.

“Giants walking.”

She breathed, and then the arrows began falling. How many, Nuvityn couldn’t count. Thousands—enough to seem like some great cloud of insects curved across the sky and showered down.

“Shields! Sh—”

The [Battlemages]’ shields glowed brighter, and he saw more popping up as the [Soldiers] raised physical shields, gazing up at the wave of arrows. Prildor leaned on his bow, expression weary as Tserre stopped mocking him.

The arrows hit Ailendamus’ army, and the thunderclap of sound and breaking arrows striking barriers of magic made it appear as though the entire landscape had jumped and dissolved into pieces for a second.

Arrows clattering to the ground, fracturing—shouts and screams of alarm. One barrier spell nearly went out; a secondary one popped into existence a bare foot over cowering [Soldiers]. Prildor exhaled when he saw that.

“That was close. Good thing I sent the unsharpened arrows at them. I’d hate to start a war. Do I send another volley, Your Majesty?”

Everyone was dead silent as Prildor lifted a hand. Nuvityn glanced at Ailendamus’ army. They were in pure disarray, surrounded by broken arrows, probably half-deaf from the sounds of them landing.

“Hold, Prildor. Let’s see if they have a response.”

He bowed, and someone whispered.

“Your Majesty, who is he?”

King Nuvityn eyed Prildor as the half-Elf made a beckoning gesture, and the arrows began to vanish. He said:

“[Recall Inventory]. Damn. A lot more broke than I thought. Next time, I’d rather appreciate a [Phantom Volley] first, Your Majesty. I’m not made of arrows.”

The arrows vanished. Pulled back into his stockpiles. His stockpiles…which he added to each day, each hour, each year he was alive. The half-Elf, whose job it was to cut down trees, to prune them, who chopped them up into sticks, processed them into arrows—every day of his life.

And he had lived so long. Nuvityn had seen his storerooms, the only thing that Prildor had asked for help in digging—lined with arrows in bundles. So many, and yes, not enchanted, not even tipped with metal, many of them. But he had those if need be.

“Prildor is the [Royal Stockpiler], Voreca. His stores have armed Erribathe’s [Archers] for centuries. Every arrow he has ever made is at his disposal.”

“That’s not my actual class.”

Prildor huffed, seeming not to like [Stockpiler] as a descriptor of what he did. He gestured at the battlefield.

“Everyone ran out of arrows during the first war I was part of. So I prepared enough—the rest of it is just a bit of velocity and positioning. I ran out of [Archers] before arrows in the war when I reached Level 40.”

He seemed sad at that, shaking his head, until he turned to Nuvityn with one of his half-smiles. The half-Elf brushed at his white hair, blowing in the wind, and in the silence, his voice was the only one heard.

“That is why it is good that we exist, Tserre and I. Terribly as we must sometimes live, fewer children need to raise bows because of our deeds. I would prefer not to make war on this nation, though, Your Majesty.”

He turned back to the army of glass and glory, and they were hesitant to march on the half-Elf who could darken the skies with arrows. Surely, Nuvityn thought, some of them would finally find his name and remember him.

Even Tserre had no jests for Prildor now. Though his words seemed to have wearied her again; she drew a shawl around her body as if feeling the cold and murmured to Nuvityn.

“There was a wind spell that knocked his arrow off in the air. Don’t tell him, though. He needs to stay humble.”

Nuvityn snorted lightly as he turned his gaze to the enemy army, drained of their bravado.

Now, what of you, Ailendamus? If they wanted to play a game of might, he would oblige them, but he very much doubted they could best Prildor’s casual display. Indeed, Nuvityn sensed the enemy [General] was trying to retreat as soon as he re-ordered his position.

Someone had other plans, though.

“Challenge! We challenge the warriors of myths to honorable battle! Let this affair be decided by warriors of honor!”

A [Knight] of Drell rode forwards, and Nuvityn sighed.

“Knights. I forgot how many you run into. Does anyone want to hit him?”

“Me, Your Majesty?”

Miihey grinned, and Nuvityn had endless amounts of volunteers. He was debating sending someone to trounce the Drell Knight, however good he might be, when Prildor hopped off the cottage and strode over the ground.

“Prildor, what are you doing?”

“One second—I have to pick up my arrows. The first two didn’t count for [Return Inventory], you see.”

The entire army of Ailendamus moved back as the half-Elf jogged over. Nuvityn watched, lips twitching, as Prildor ran to pick up the two arrows he’d shot. Two—but he hated wasting them. He picked one up and was tugging the other out of the ground and pointing at it, clearly trying to say to Tserre ‘see? Look how deep it went!’.

…The bolt of red lightning came down fast. Tserre cursed, and it exploded eighteen feet over Prildor’s head.

“Magical attack!”

Nuvityn spun, and two black bolts of magic, so fast that he only saw their afterimages, shot towards Tserre. She blocked one with a hand-sized shield and parried the other as if her wand were a sword.

“Return fire! Defend—”

“Hold!”

Nuvityn bellowed, and his forces halted. He was annoyed, but if he had pushed Ailendamus, they were pushing back, and he’d be a fool to escalate. However—the magic attacks continued.

“Your Majesty, we can’t tell who’s sending the spells.”

One of his [Battlemages] was from Osverthia and was trying to ward Prildor as he ran back, eyes wide, but if Erribathe had humiliated Ailendamus, it was time for a turnaround.

A second bolt of lightning cracked down despite every spellcaster’s attempt to stop it. Save for Tserre; she was inspecting her wand and staring narrow-eyed past the [Soldiers].

“That’s a long-range cast from their capital. Multiple [Mages] on the ground, all high-level. Concealed. Your Majesty, get clear of me. I see you, girl. Do you want to challenge me?”

“Prildor, Tserre!”

The half-Elf was shouting ‘cover me’ as he ran—but the second bolt of lightning shot down, and this time, Tserre didn’t block it.

It wasn’t nearly as fast as real lightning. Nuvityn, as a young lad, had once made a game of trying to dodge real lightning bolts in a storm with some friends from Osverthia. He’d had 2nd degree burns and hadn’t been able to hear for a week.

Even so—it was fast. Prildor glanced over his shoulder, screamed—threw up his hands, and ran just out of the way of the crater that blew dirt and grass up.

“Prildor, here!”

The [Mages] were casting defensive barriers, and the half-Elf sprinted at them—then switched directions and ran left, still yelling.

Another bolt of lightning blew a crater in the ground—then missed again as he zig-zagged, and Nuvityn saw the bolts of lightning pause—then three stab down.

All three missed, though the last one sent Prildor leaping forward where he rolled to his feet and sprinted—still screaming for ‘cover’, arms raised. He swerved, dodging the final lightning bolt, and then raced under a barrier spell.

Only then did he wipe at his brows, turn, and glare at Tserre. Nuvityn wondered if he could have dodged seven lightning bolts, even with a moment’s warning like that.

He also wondered what kind of a [Mage] could so contemptuously bypass even Erribathe’s magical protections.

 

——

 

Everyone in his chambers was staring at the Wyrm of Ailendamus. Rhisveri avoided looking at all of them.

“He’s good at dodging. I was on-target the entire time! You saw it!”

He stabbed his claw at the half-Elf brushing dirt off his clothing. Rhisveri turned to Sophridel, who gave him a smile with one of his masks.

“Your aim is undeniable, Rhisveri.”

“Silence! I hit Ryoka first try! He’s a master of dodging! Where is Paxere? Tell her to stop shooting at that damn half-Elf! We don’t want a war here!”

 

——

 

A messenger came towards Erribathe, issuing another request for them to leave.

“The Kingdom of Glass and Glory has no desire to war with the Kingdom of Myths, but our sovereign borders will be respected, Your Majesty! Nor will we allow the passage of a criminal wanted by Rhir over our lands!”

Ah. Their intelligence was good. Tserre had been noticed by multiple powers when she’d left her home. Nuvityn glanced at the sky, but no more bolts were coming.

He was tempted to just keep marching and leave it at that, or head into Pheislant, but a second war was occurring between Tserre and those invisible spellcasters.

Some kind of fast magic kept targeting Tserre; she was blocking it with a buckler-sized barrier spell instead of a standard, full body barrier. Her eyes were narrowed, and she spoke.

“There’s your House Shoel. This is a Tier 5 attack spell.”

“Do you need protections, Tserre? If we must reply—”

“No, I do not. Eleven children can’t best me! Shut up!”

She shouted it at Nuvityn, forgetting he was the King of Myths. Still, he called to the [Messenger].

“Attacking a citizen of my kingdom is cause for war, messenger! Have your [Mages] cease their provocations. I issued my rebuke, and you have done the same. Continue, and I shall make it more than a mere display.”

The [Knight] rode back fast, and as if they’d heard him, the volley of [Midnight Shard] spells intensified the moment Nuvityn spoke. One, then six, then three—Tserre sat in her chair, refusing to move. Three more hovering shields appeared, blocking in tandem—then a chicken squawked as eight came at her.

“Tserre! Oh.”

Prildor shouted in alarm, but the chicken leapt into the way of two blasts, then ran around, squawking and fanning its wings. Nuvityn was impressed. He leaned over to Andromeda.

“Find out what that chicken is.”

She nodded, and then the volley of magic stopped as the [Messenger] reached the [General] and he bellowed orders.

There was a rather…smug feeling to the invisible spellcasters, Nuvityn decided. They’d pushed the envelope as far as it would go, though perhaps it was out of spite; Tserre was still sitting in her rocking chair, and she appeared—peeved.

The fact that she had weathered so many attack spells was impressive enough to his people. Nuvityn nodded and thought the point well-made to the magic-users who might recognize that display.

“Move out. Andromeda, that carriage…”

He was gesturing for his army to march towards the border, which was less than a day’s march away in any case. Enough of this posturing; both sides had made their point, and he was disinclined to do more when the King of Destruction and other foes were extant. And Nuvityn did think of the King of Destruction as one of the foes of this time to address if ever there should come an opportunity…

He made one mistake, the King of Myths. He had done the dance of egos well, held his forces back despite the tensions, and made a display with restraint and confidence. His mistake…was assuming that Tserre was like Prildor, an unpredictable but reliable veteran legend.

His read on her wasn’t complete. Or he would have realized she was the ornery kind of old legend.

The army was moving, and Ailendamus’ forces were pulling back to shadow them when Tserre stood up from her chair. Her eyes were blazing.

“You think you know magic, you little brat? I see you. A war of spells you want? [Identify High Magic]. [Marking of the Archer’s Star]. [Grand Dispelling].”

Nuvityn whirled.

“Tserre—”

Too late. She did something—and he saw one of the glowing markers appear over a figure who dropped out of the air before catching themselves and trying to vanish in a cloud of black smog. However—the glowing marker hovered in the air. Eleven of them.

“Uh oh. It’s like the time she got mad at the forest.”

Prildor stepped behind Nuvityn. The King of Myths shouted.

“Tserre! Don’t harm—”

She definitely heard him. She just didn’t care. The half-Elf was grinning as the [Mages] she had marked replied with a volley of spells far more aggressive than before. They were alarmed; a roaring fireball curved towards her as more black shards of magic fired in a spray—

Then the [Mage] began to fight as the 5th Princess and King of Myths watched and realized who Tserre had been.

 

——

 

She spun her wand one-handed, and magic whirled around her. It was as if Vernoue could see strands of mana forming a whirling shield that flicked the fireball aside.

All the half-Elf’s teeth were bared, and she leaned out of the way of one of the [Midnight Shards]. Another ricocheted off her wand. Then she flicked her wand up.

“My turn. [Arrows of True Seeking]. [Enlarge Spell]. Let’s see you dodge, girl.”

The arrow she fired off her wand was taller than Vernoue. It was bright red, bordered with a white nimbus, and streaked towards the eleven marked figures. Tserre didn’t fire one, though. She fired fifty.

The criss-crossing arrows made Ailendamus’ army raise their shields, but they passed over the heads of the soldiers, weaving through the air, as the eleven [Mages] dodged frantically. One of the arrows exploded, intercepted with magic—another hammered down, missing one of the spellcasters by inches.

The King of Myths was shouting, but the [Mage] was laughing. She lifted her other hand and pointed.

“[Incineration Ray]. [Expand Spell].”

A needle-thin ray of red light shot after one of the figures, then became a roaring beam that set fire to the earth as Tserre’s finger followed the figure. She narrowed her eyes, lifted a hand—

Three bolts of red lightning hit shields above her that crackled. Then she tsked.

She vanished, whirling around and reappearing two dozen feet to the left in the air, away from her cottage. A hail of [Midnight Shards] struck it, and Tserre scoffed.

She kept firing those arrows, keeping the other [Mages] permanently moving and dodging or blocking her attacks. Another bolt of red lightning—she caught it in her off-hand, as if it were magnetic, then flicked it at one of the [Mages].

She was aiming at someone—the bolt caught the invisible figure, and for a second, Vernoue saw a person appear, jerking. A young woman, snarling, with—missing fingers on one hand?

Then she vanished, and Tserre laughed mockingly. She began blinking, dodging return fire as she teleported around in a display of magical ability Vernoue was left speechless by.

That’s not [Lesser Teleport]. She’s so quick! But the King of Myths was shouting at her, and Tserre put up her wand. She closed her eyes—and then they opened. Then her eyes began to glow.

“Do you think I walk away from challenges? Threaten me with Rhir—survive this. [Mystical Spellsurge].”

The air around her condensed, and her glow of mana became a pillar of light like one of Pheislant’s lighthouses. Vernoue was so weak-kneed she could barely cling to the window of her carriage.

“Oh my.”

Menisi raised her brows, and the laughing half-Elf raised a hand to the sky.

“[Rain of Lightning Bolts]! [Mass Spell: Transmute Air to Water]. [Elemental Cohesion].”

Then a sea rose, and waters swept around Ailendamus’ army, pure black—and the bolts of lightning criss-crossed into the water, but didn’t dissipate on contact. Rather, they formed stabbing lines of force through the water before spreading out. Detonating inside the water and making it explode with force.

More than one shadowed figure was illuminated by the blasts, leaping out of the water or retreating. Vernoue’s heart was thundering out of her mouth. She saw the young woman that Tserre was aiming at struggling in the water, then go flying upwards as the half-Elf pointed a finger at her. She loosed a trio of lightning bolts from her finger, and Vernoue flinched.

The explosion never came. Tserre lowered her finger, and the young woman fell out of the bubble of water that had caught her, into the metal arm of a [Knight]. Which hurt, probably—but the other arm had sliced the three bolts of lightning in half.

A woman wearing all-black armor pointed her sword at Tserre as the [Mage] lowered her finger and eyed the Great Knight of Ailendamus. The [Soldiers] were cheering her as she motioned Paxere back—Vernoue had no idea who either one was, but Menisi supplied the names.

“That’s a member of House Shoel. And that—is Dame Eclizza, one of their Great Knights of Ailendamus. The Pale Serpent. I heard she was dead.”

“She looks pretty alive to me! What level is she?”

High enough to make the half-Elf stop firing lightning. Tserre put up her wand and teleported back to her scorched cottage porch. Perhaps because she had sensed a worthier foe had appeared—or because the King of Myths was ordering her to stand down.

The two armies backed up fast. Vernoue half-expected a third round, but the Great Knight just whirled and walked back to her forces. The half-Elf scowled and put her fingers in her ears as Prildor shouted at her.

Right there and then, Vernoue decided that Magus Tserre was her teacher, if she could convince the woman. She had, however, forgotten the warning future-Vernoue had given to her. Which was implicitly…‘don’t do it.’

 

——

 

Well, that was enough excitement for the day. Nuvityn was mildly wroth with Tserre, but he couldn’t blame her, especially after she’d pointed out how many high-level spells they’d tossed at her.

“Leave it be, Tserre. You’ve put Ailendamus’ guard up—and whomever you meant to send a message to.”

“Whatever do you mean, Your Majesty?”

She gave him an innocent look as Prildor threw up his hands. Nuvityn returned her gaze steadily.

“My people might not be as high-level as you, nor are we a country that specializes in…spycraft. But the Kingdom of Myths has its means. Your cottage will be guarded by Torek’dale’s hillfolk, and I will send a missive to the Blighted Kingdom warning them that any action against you will result in the cessation of all support from Erribathe.”

Her eyes flickered, and she gave him a deep bow.

“We will see if that is enough, Your Majesty. I…apologize for any inconvenience.”

“Save it for Calanfer.”

He muttered. That was a jest, in part. They were headed towards Calanfer so he could speak to the rulers about…Lyonette du Marquin, whom he believed was residing in The Wandering Inn. He owed Calanfer some wroth, though it would be complex.

Iradoren had attacked Princess Seraphel, but she had been defending Ser Solstice. A mess without a clear high ground. His son was dead. He would be a [King] and father…but he would try to avoid endangering a [Princess] or those children.

With all that said, he wanted to leave Ailendamus’ lands as fast as possible, so he set a march towards the border. Restoring order in the ranks and fielding several worried questions from his kingdom and issuing a few proclamations took him enough time that he only remembered the carriage when Andromeda rode forth.

“Your Majesty. Two [Princesses] of Calanfer beg an audience.”

“What? We haven’t even crossed the border yet!”

He twisted around, astonished to learn who was in that carriage. When he heard it was the 2nd and the 5th Princesses of Calanfer, Nuvityn had an immediate reaction.

“Dead gods. Five children.”

He didn’t know how…wait, weren’t there nine? What a choice. But it left him with an issue…he sighed.

“If they’ve come to gawk at the Kingdom of Myth’s army, allow them. But I am—occupied.”

Talking to Prildor. He just didn’t want to deal with a young [Princess]’ questions. A child he would humor, but he was not minded to talk to the two women, who looked like actual adults.

To his relief, they merely curtseyed to him, then drove into his camp. He eyed the two of them idly.

Nuvityn would be the first to admit he wasn’t the most regal of [Kings]. Too much Manoerhog, not enough the [King of Wyld Folks]. He was scarce over Level 40, although to be fair, he had lived through quiet eras.

But he was still competent in aura, statecraft, warfare, and an expert in pig-wrestling. So he read the two [Princesses] out of the corner of his eye.

“Low-level, the young one. Mage. What capability, Andromeda?”

The [Strategist] could cast magic, and she shook her head.

“Nothing worth mentioning, Your Majesty. The elder is the black sheep of the family.”

Nuvityn fished out his report, and read it as Prildor muttered.

“I didn’t think I’d have to dodge lightning. My heart’s racing. I need to lie down. May I stop in Gaiil-Drome for a month, Your Majesty?”

“I can allow a day while we board ships. Hmm. This report’s not specific. Was she exiled for cheating on her spouse?”

Prildor’s head snapped around with an expression of horror and ill-concealed interest. Andromeda wavered and peered at Menisi du Marquin.

“I—don’t—actually, there are rumors to that effect, Your Majesty?”

“Her aura is…slick. Odd. I don’t like it.”

Nuvityn wiped a hand on his breeches. He had the feeling she was watching him, and it reminded him of a sharp-eyed doe in the forests, salivating at him as though he were the last stag in existence. It was very off-putting. It didn’t seem quite healthy.

“Affairs. Dead gods. We had one in our village last…time. It must have gone on six decades before it was found out. So uncomfortable. So scandalous.”

Prildor waved at his red face, and Nuvityn opened his mouth. So did Andromeda, and by mutual agreement, they decided to leave it be. Instead, the King of Myths glanced over and murmured.

“She’s eying you, Prildor.”

“Dead gods. Strategist Andromeda, pretend we’re a couple.”

Prildor seized her arm, and she yelped.

“Lord Prildor!”

Oh, interesting. Her interest in Prildor aside, both [Princesses] were heading towards the walking cottage, which towered over everyone else. Tserre was in no mood to chat, but the two, riding horses, were calling up to the half-Elf.

He supposed it was because of Tserre’s display of magic, though he felt like that might have intimidated even a fascinated [Princess]. Despite himself, King Nuvityn motioned.

“Let’s see what they want. Come on, Prildor. The worst that will happen is you refuse the woman. You’re a champion of Erribathe, and not even a foreign [Princess] can gainsay you. If she tries, it will be an incident, and Calanfer is adroit at such things.”

The half-Elf wailed.

“But what if I’m seduced? I’m highly suggestible! It’s happened countless times! Gorgons, Selphids, very lovely Centauresses—”

The King of Myths half-turned on his saddle. He rode into a line of soldiers, who all tripped over themselves. He motioned at Prildor.

“…Fair point, why don’t you stay behind.”

“No, there’s nothing for it.”

The half-Elf trotted over with Nuvityn, who made a ‘get him back’ motion to Andromeda; she really looked reluctant now. However, then his attention was drawn to—

“Magus Tserre! Magus Tserre, please, allow me to introduce myself! I am 5th Princess Vernoue, and I would be honored to learn magic from you! Please! I—I know where your grandniece is! Ceria Springwalker!”

Tserre had been steadily ignoring Vernoue, who was entreating her, but her ears were twitching every time Vernoue shouted the name. Nuvityn was instantly fascinated.

How did she know Tserre’s relationship to Ceria Springwalker? That was a secret as far as he knew. He spoke.

“Your Highness of Calanfer.”

“King of Myths!”

She turned and nearly bowed herself out of the saddle. Princess Menisi caught her.

“Your Majesty of Myths, forgive our trespass. My sister and I were enthralled by your army, and we have come to beg a boon of your [Mage]. I am Princess Menisi, and this is Princess Vernoue.”

Straightforward, but still intriguing.

“Of Magus Tserre? I had no idea her reputation was so well known in this day and age. Princess Menisi, we are about a great journey, and with due respect, I cannot spend my time socializing or distracting Magus Tserre from her many duties. Though I do hope to speak to your royal parents in Calanfer. Briefly.”

He thought it was decently said; Tserre nodded at Nuvityn, and he really didn’t have time to waste, even marching. However, Menisi just tilted her head a second, as if trying to read him. She gazed far too long at him—and Prildor—and the half-Elf fanned at his face. But when she spoke next, she shocked him.

“Would it help if I said it is a matter of prophecy, Your Majesty? The work of the great [Soothsayer], Rastandius, has led my sister to beg an audience with Magus Tserre.”

If anything was calculated to make Nuvityn perk up, it was that. Rastandius. Don’t I know that name? He glanced at one of his people, and it was Miihey who spoke.

“I heard that name. The highest-level [Soothsayer] or some such. One with actual power.”

“Prophecy?”

“Or fate. Either way, it speaks, and we follow. Might we have an audience with Magus Tserre? My sister would dearly love to learn from her.”

Menisi smiled at the King of Myths. He raised his brows, about to ask all manner of questions, when he heard a snort.

“I’m not taking apprentices. Let that be the end of it. Nor do I need help finding where Ceria is; she’s on the scrying orb.”

Oh. Vernoue wilted, and Nuvityn nodded at Tserre.

“Taking a [Princess] as an apprentice would be too complicated anyways. Your Highnesses, I would like to hear the story of how you came by any threads of fate in this day and age.”

He smiled ruefully.

“Erribathe does love such things. However, as Magus Tserre says, it appears a fruitless task.”

Vernoue burst out.

“But Your Majesty, please! Magus Tserre is one of barely twelve [Mages] in the world who might teach me magic, proper magic! I am not a great spellcaster, but it has been my dream to learn magic from a true expert all my life, and Magus Tserre—”

She gave the half-Elf a starry-eyed look of worship, which made Tserre harrumph. But the half-Elf’s ears were twitching.

“I’m not sure how I got on any…list, but the accuracy of it aside, I’m not interested. Find someone who is. That half-Elf from Wistram is teaching everyone decent magic. Go there.”

Vernoue’s face fell. She began to ask again, but Tserre’s cottage lifted higher. It was Menisi who cocked her head again and then murmured.

“Vernoue, it was a long-shot. If she already knows where her grandniece is—she’s not even top five. Isn’t she almost at the bottom?”

Aha. There was that Calanferian diplomacy Nuvityn had heard so much about. He saw Vernoue begin to object, then glance at her sister and reply over-loudly.

“Well, I suppose…but she was closest!”

Glance up—and Tserre’s eyes had narrowed as she pretended to read a book. Now, Nuvityn was smiling, and even Prildor grinned. The [King] did enjoy this kind of thing and saw Menisi use a Skill.

[Needling Comment].

“What about the other ones on the list? Hmm. Oh. Silvenia Ettertree. How about her?”

Such an innocent look—half the people around Nuvityn stiffened, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Vernoue hesitated.

“S-Silvenia Ettertree? She’s—”

The cottage slammed back to eye-level so fast Nuvityn jumped, and Tserre glared at them.

“Are you both ignorant or doing this on purpose? That’s the Death of Magic. If she even deigned to teach you two, you’d be marked for death by the Blighted Kingdom if she didn’t murder you by having you eat Creler Eggs for training!”

Vernoue flinched.

“I—I only meant it’s on the list—”

“How about…Izikere?”

Menisi asked, glancing at Tserre. This time, it took the half-Elf a second before her face went flat.

“The Goblin Lord of the island? Whomever made that list is a fool.”

“Well, you’re on it, Magus. Leireit is the second best option. A [Sorcerer] from First Landing. If my poor sister cannot secure your aid, we have no choice but to go to other teachers. The best would be Izikere, then Leireit, then a Lizardman in Baleros. I’m not even sure who, some random one, I think.”

The 2nd Princess of Calanfer wore a teasing, huge smile as Tserre’s eyes narrowed. She lifted her spectacles—then visibly calmed.

“Well done, Princess of Calanfer. You’ve piqued my emotions. By all means, ask the Death of Magic for lessons. I am too busy. Besides. Your sister has no magical foundations worth pursuing. I might as well teach Prildor.”

“Hey!”

The [Stockpiler] shouted, and the cottage began to rise. But here, an extraordinary thing happened. Princess Vernoue caught the lip of it and tried to haul herself up!

“Magus, please! I’ve seen the future, and—I—h-help!”

No arm strength. She dangled there, unable to pull herself up, as her fingers began to slip. Nuvityn watched, then coughed.

“Magus Tserre.”

A spell pulled Vernoue off the cottage, then floated her down to the ground. Not half a minute had passed before Vernoue was riding up to the cottage.

“Magus! I can offer you wealth! Help to find Ceria Springwalker! In fact—my sister works at an inn where Ceria stays! She’s friends with her!”

Nuvityn twitched at that, and his good mood faded. This time, Tserre’s cottage lowered, and she gave Vernoue and Nuvityn a long stare.

“We are bound for Eternal Calanfer, are we not, Your Majesty?”

“Imminently, Tserre.”

“Then—it seems I must give this real credence. Your name, girl?”

“Princess Vernoue du Marquin, Magus.”

Vernoue curtsied, breathless. Tserre eyed her up and down.

“Marquin. The blood of warriors. Your sister knows my…Ceria? Explain.”

“Well, I, ah, they work at the same inn where Adventurer Springwalker got her start as a Silver-rank adventurer. I don’t know all the details, but my sister informed me they knew each other well! In fact, they fought for an [Innkeeper], Erin Solstice, who was…ah…”

Menisi had been making ‘x’ motions with her hands, but Vernoue was so frantic she had forgotten. Then she remembered, and every head turned to King Nuvityn, even Tserre’s. He didn’t know what was on his face, but he spoke calmly, he thought.

“This matter I intend to put before the Eternal Throne, but I do not bear Ceria Springwalker the same enmity as…anyone else. Continue, Princess.”

But he would remember the connection to the 6th Princess as well. Vernoue gulped.

“I—I drank a potion that showed me the future, and I was given knowledge of how to learn great magic, Magus. You are one of the few who could teach me. I beg you to consider it!”

Tserre just gazed at Vernoue, up and down, and then exhaled.

“I have no time for an apprentice. You have no foundation, not one I consider, no unique talent—royalty is merely royalty. However, I can see you will not let the matter drop. In honor of your…passion and ‘Eternal’ Calanfer’s great deeds, I shall give you a fitting test.”

Then she smiled and drew a wand from her holster as Vernoue beamed in delight.

“Anything! However I may prove myself, I will!”

“Splendid. All you have to do is defeat my little spell.”

Tserre ignored Nuvityn’s warning look. She flicked her wand at Vernoue, then tapped the girl on the forehead.

“[Cage of Impervious Force]. [Mystic Arcane Lock]. [Spell Warp].”

Her eyes glowed for a second in a way that suggested to Nuvityn this was not a low-tier magic. Then he saw a series of blue, glowing bars catch Vernoue, and she squeaked and dropped off the cottage in a rectangular prison.

“Wh—”

“Free yourself from my prison and I shall be delighted to take you on. Simply say, ‘I give up’, and the bars will vanish, though you fail. If I sail from Terandria’s shores you also fail, because I can’t wait forever. No second chances. It is a time-honored test. Farewell, Princess.”

Tserre called over her shoulder as several Thronebearers dove off horses and caught the small cage, which suggested it was either light as air or they were stronger than Nuvityn thought. He saw Vernoue rattle the bars, which didn’t even make a sound, then eye the front.

A pulsing, multi-layered magical seal with at least sixty-two different levels of magic, some of them moving, was in the place of a lock. Nuvityn sighed, but Tserre was smiling, and he didn’t see another option himself. Vernoue made a small sound.

“Tserre! She is so terribly rude; do excuse me, Your Highness.”

Prildor shouted at Tserre, then apologized to Menisi. She offered him a hand, which he hesitated, before bowing over.

“Lord Prildor! I am so terribly sorry about all the inconvenience. May I introduce myself again? I—”

Nuvityn rode straight through the two of them on the pretext of asking Prildor about half-Elves in Gaiil-Drome, and Vernoue screamed.

“Menisi! Stop flirting and help!”

Both sighed gustily.

 

——

 

Vernoue sat in a cage. It was big enough to walk around in, a small circle, and they could pass her food in, but she couldn’t fit her head through the bars. Soon, she realized the horror that was needing a bucket and towels draped over the bars—and they had to carry her on top of her coach back to Calanfer.

Because she didn’t quit.

Oh, no. This was it. She knew this was meant to be an impossible task, but she, Vernoue, wouldn’t back away from…

“Vernoue, you’re not solving this. The note was right. She is delightfully unpleasant. She just cast this spell to get rid of you, but I can tell it’s not something any regular [Mage] could solve. I like her.”

Menisi wandered over on the first day of Vernoue’s imprisonment. The entire army of Myths around her and she was focusing all her brain power on this lock. She…saw the magical layers, could sort of poke at them with her mana, but a basic [Unlock] spell didn’t even touch the magic. It was condensed mana, internalized spell circles, layered enchantments, and she didn’t even know how you began breaking into it.

But she tried. She had to.

“See if you can convince her, Menisi. I have to try, please!”

“Oh, I will try. She’s fascinating. I already tried to seduce her—well, I just put myself out there. And she said that I wasn’t nearly interesting enough. The King of Myths also declined.”

“Menisi!”

“Don’t worry, the half-Elf and I will be very discreet.”

Vernoue put her hands over her head as she stared at the lock. She could do this! She just had to glean one spark of inspiration, one piece of the future….

 

——

 

Two days later, Vernoue’s return to the royal capital in her cell attracted countless stares, but Calanfer couldn’t hide what had happened. Menisi had vanished in Gaiil-Drome with Prildor, claiming, accurately, that she wasn’t welcome near the palace.

As for Nuvityn—well, he set the entire palace abuzz, but Vernoue, trapped in her rooms, only heard about it from visitors.

“Vernoue, what have you gotten yourself into?”

Aielef was exasperated, amused, and oddly sympathetic. She sat down as Ellet tried to pull at the bars and asked if she could touch the magical lock. Vernoue was curled into a ball, staring at the magic.

“I want to learn magic.”

“Mother says it’s the most ridiculous stunt you’ve pulled yet. She’s been speaking to the King of Myths, though. The court is abuzz with them. They’re so odd, and—well, there’s trouble because of Seraphel and Ser Solstice. But he’s very…polite.”

“He gave me a sigilstone from Erribathe!”

Ellet piped up, aglow with meeting Nuvityn, who had blown her away. Vernoue muttered.

“What about Magus Tserre?”

“She’s here. She raided our library, and Lorentha says Tserre’s a prickly woman she thinks she’s heard of—she’s going to come by.”

And the [Librarian] did, with Cindersnap, who fit through the bars and curled around Vernoue’s legs. And Mexte, who brought her food every day and sat with her, and the [Court Mages], and even her brother, Agenote. He sat, chuckling.

“Vernoue, I’d never have thought to see the day when you were in a magical cage, begging for lessons from a truly great [Mage]. Calanfer’s changed.”

He offered her some half-Elven hummus, and she just sat there.

“I’m not quitting, Agenote.”

The 1st Prince of Calanfer blinked.

“I didn’t tell you to, did I?”

“Everyone’s doing it. No one’s said it directly—except for Aielef—but they’re all trying to make me feel better. When does the King of Myths leave?”

“Ah—two days. He’s getting ships, but even with delays, he’s bound for Izril he says. Or Baleros? Or Chandrar? It seems he’s of many minds. But I rather fear you don’t have much time.”

Agenote stretched out as Vernoue bowed her head.

“I can’t even figure out how this works, Agenote. If I just knew Tier 4 magic…!”

“I don’t think this is meant to be solved, Vernoue.”

He spoke quietly, and she didn’t respond. Of course this was a false test, like when the Dragon had challenged the [Knight], Ser Gorethem, to strike him three times. But this was…

You have other tutors you could ask. You can keep trying. Don’t give up. That was what Menisi had said, but the problem was that Vernoue was wavering.

All the conviction, the determination and will from that potion felt like months ago, not less than a week. She began to doubt if she’d truly lived four hundred lives, if she was that tough or strong.

It might not be my future. Maybe I’m just a weaker Vernoue. I can’t do that. 

“Vernoue…I’m proud of you.”

Agenote’s voice made Vernoue’s head rise. He was playing with a brooch that symbolized his rank in Gaiil-Drome.

“What for? For getting locked up?”

“For visiting Menisi, Vernoue. I know that wasn’t easy. And for begging a Level 50+ [Mage] for lessons! That’s not like the little Vernoue I remember. I know things have been hard here. Lyonette, Seraphel—and Menisi. I’m ashamed I didn’t help more, but I was afraid of Mother. I still am. But look at you.”

He gave her a faint smile, his red hair mixed with blonde framing his oddly youthful features, despite his age.

“You’re trying. So is Seraphel and Lyonette. I met her.”

“So did I. What did you think of her?”

She put her hands on the bars, and he raised his brows.

“What do I think? I thought, ‘is this little, peon-hating Lyonette? Dead gods, she’s wearing an apron! This is the real imposter!’”

She giggled, and Agenote sombered before going on.

“I think—Father was there, and he got distracted, you know him. But I think if he’d looked closely, he would have seen someone doing so well that I’m envious. And I don’t know if it’s fair—but she’s not here. Seraphel might be overseas and lost, but—she’s not here. And sometimes, I think that would be best for all of you.”

He avoided her gaze, and Vernoue rattled the bars a bit.

“I’m…Menisi’s alright, Agenote. She’s very odd. But she’s better. I’d like to be like her, at least. Or somewhere else. If I can just get out of here—”

Suddenly, the bars seemed more important to make vanish. He half-smiled at her, then frowned at the bars.

“I shouldn’t waste your time if you’re that determined. Lorentha’s been finding books on cracking magic. I’ll give her a hand. I’ll come back for dinner, alright?”

He rose, and she resumed work on the lock—to no avail. But she was trying. Trying…giving up…

 

——

 

Vernoue was sobbing to herself in her rooms that night. Sobbing but continuing to work on the spell.

It rather annoyed Tserre, who silenced the voice. She monitored the spell, because that was just due diligence. It was even harder to pick a lock when the key was still in it, and information was information; even the famous ‘Thronebearers’ couldn’t stop her.

“What a small kingdom came of Marquin the Radiant.”

That was Tserre’s only comment, and then she thought of Ceria and began to do more research into how the world had changed. But then she slept and had an annoying dream about being a nervous half-Elf going to her first day at Wistram academy. The little half-Elven girl stared up at the shining citadel, raised her wand, and said—

“[Dream Purge].”

Tserre slept as the dream vanished around her.

 

——

 

King Nuvityn did not care for Reclis du Marquin or Queen Ielane. He met with them several times in public and privately as well. There were formalities to observe, station to respect, and they had a conversation about Lyonette where he assured them he was not…vengeful, but she inhabited a building he would rather vanish.

The more interesting of the conversations was the second one, actually, and it was there he got the mettle of King Reclis du Marquin.

Mists cloak me, the man can talk. He wanted to know all the minutiae of ruling Erribathe and was patently disappointed that Nuvityn’s attitude was ‘let it prosper’.

However. Queen Ielane struck him as the true force behind the Eternal Throne. At first, he thought she was in charge of everything and Reclis the dupe. Until they persuaded him to sit and discuss…well…

“A trade alliance.”

“It needn’t be for any great object, Nuvityn. Merely symbolic.”

Reclis, Nuvityn, and Ielane sat in a parlor meant only for royalty, and Nuvityn drank sparingly of some rather good wine. He played the game of impartiality well; he didn’t care for any damn trade alliance, but he resisted the forces upon him, such as the drink—and Queen Ielane.

She was good. He’d run into several earnest Calanferians who were very concerned about Princess Vernoue’s imprisonment that morning, and conversation about Lyonette du Marquin happened to come his way, especially the daughters she’d adopted.

Half of his Court of Myths had a better impression of Calanfer after being hosted generously—not obsequiously—by Calanferians who understood the love of myths and stories that his people had. Some, like Andromeda, were set in their dislike, but they seemed too busy to advise him.

Divide and conquer, use of force in the right areas—all in the realm of soft power. Even in this private room, she added onto Reclis’ statement.

“A small symbol, but it would be the Eternal Throne’s honor to establish one with the Kingdom of Myths, even at cost to ourselves. That is the weight of a symbol in Erribathe, is it not?”

Oh, she was good. She must have known better than to play up her charming personality most people saw of her, so she was more direct, trading charm for wits. He nodded his head as he raised his cup.

“It is small—but why should Erribathe involve itself with other kingdoms? We stand apart and let trade and everything else pass us by to everyone’s benefit.”

“Perhaps it would be a small boon in light of the dead? Our Thronebearers died during the disaster at sea, King of Myths. Some slain by Prince Iradoren’s hand himself. We have fought long and hard against Ailendamus, who also was unchecked by Erribathe. Is that not worth some crumb of favor?”

His hand closed on the goblet as Reclis’ face stiffened slightly; he must not have known how direct Ielane would be. But Nuvityn merely exhaled.

“You read me well, Queen Ielane du Marquin. Let me say I am considering it. Why trade?”

Then it was Reclis’ turn, and Nuvityn saw the [King]…focus in ways he had not during the banquet when he’d talked of policy. King Reclis put his fingers together and spoke.

“The objective is to curb Ailendamus’ and Taimaguros’ rising power, if I may be direct, Nuvityn. That is the obvious state of the board; the Dominion and Kingdom of Glass and Glory are allied and rising in power, and even Kaaz might be threatened in time.”

“Not with the Thousand Lances.”

Nuvityn muttered, and Reclis waved that away.

“The Thousand Lances are military. I foresee economic pressure; Kaaz is not immune to that. Ailendamus has gone for Noelictus, then the Dawn Concordat. Soon, Desonis. The theory I have operated under is simple. The southern nations must form a bulwark against Ailendamus.”

“Difficult given existing enmities.”

Reclis would never get Desonis and Pheislant to like each other. And a massive coalition would fall apart, but Reclis’ eyes were sharp.

“The bulwark is formed, Your Majesty. If not completely, each nation is supported. Sectors of power. Noelictus, Pheislant, and Avel. Dawn Concordat. Bitorm, Desonis, Nomaudrel, Nadel—”

“None of which can stop Ailendamus at full intensity. The Dawn Concordat survived this war, but it was close.”

Reclis lifted a finger.

“It needn’t have to! Merely that each coalition survives and maintains cordial relationships rather than being manipulated into war, Nuvityn. Win or lose—and I anticipate losses—so long as the borders do not shift egregiously, Ailendamus will be stalemated.”

“For how long until it wins a victory?”

The King of Calanfer leaned forwards, serious.

“Until it fractures. I am a student of history and kingdoms, King Nuvityn. Surely you are as well. Erribathe is an exception due to the many factors that empower it, but the Taimaguros Dominion? Ailendamus? These are vast nations who already show fractures, in the case of Taimaguros. Ailendamus’ war machine is predicated on victories. It shall splinter and divide into lesser kingdoms unless it is founded with masterful governance, such as the first nations of Terandria—who also broke apart in time. War is not the solution to Ailendamus. The cure is simply…unity of a sort we Terandrians may stomach, and time enough to solidify such bonds.”

What an interesting point of view. Reclis du Marquin was not like many monarchs in the north that Nuvityn could name. He was utterly pragmatic, to the point of considering Calanfer’s ability to lead a coalition that could challenge Ailendamus and finding a simpler solution.

It was not a plan without faults. His plans hinged upon Ailendamus being unable to win great victories and this war not escalating, but Reclis was calm as he indicated the imaginary board.

“They would never have taken Kaliv. The Griffin Queen would have lost the lowlands; they might have pushed into Calanfer, but the retributory response from other nations wary of them taking the Dawn Concordat was inevitable.”

“Unless they stormed your capital so fast no one could react.”

The Great General Dionamella had come close, and Reclis hesitated—he clearly didn’t want to admit that, but Ielane jumped in.

“Is it not worthwhile for Erribathe to consider a small agreement? It costs the Kingdom of Myths nothing to pursue a plan for peace.”

Then he saw it. Nuvityn nodded slowly. Reclis smiled, and it was not because he admired Reclis that Nuvityn agreed. He didn’t really like the man. Reclis thought in terms of policy, shifting agreements, and…mortality, and Nuvityn hailed from a land that believed in timeless stories. They were fundamentally different men, and Reclis was so focused on his visions of leadership it felt like he sometimes missed the color of the leaves.

However, Nuvityn’s fears that he was being played into some grand game of Calanfer were abated slightly because the mastermind of Calanfer…wasn’t calling the shots. Oh, she moved in ways Reclis didn’t, but he had seen Ielane staring at Reclis as he spoke.

Just smiling. Fondly, in a way Nuvityn didn’t think was fake. It was a simple glance of admiration and pride that made Nuvityn feel that was the dynamic. Vision and executor. High-minded plans and straightforward execution.

Queen Ielane believed in Reclis’ plans. And that shaped this nation. Nuvityn sighed, and they were quick to offer him a straightforwards deal without frills he agreed to. They were, at least, good at making things simple for him, which was a privilege of his power, he knew.

“I should take a day to visit your father and mother, King Reclis. That they still live is fortunate. I hold them in great esteem.”

Reclis beamed and assured Nuvityn they would be delighted to welcome the King of Myths himself. It was only Ielane whose eyes flickered, and he thought she caught that he held them in higher esteem than the present rulers.

But that was all. King Nuvityn turned at the door.

“Ah, your daughter, Vernoue. I regret Magus Tserre’s test. She is rather stubborn, and I cannot force her to do anything.”

He waited, and Reclis glanced at Ielane before lifting a hand.

“Vernoue learning greater magic would be welcome, but it is an inconvenience to Erribathe that I am well aware would not serve, especially upon your quest, Nuvityn. Besides…to what end would it be done? She’s to be wed to Ser Venoriat, or is that to someone else, Ielane?”

Nuvityn saw Queen Ielane shrug her shoulders fractionally.

“Nothing is set, Reclis. That is purely an idle thought, King Nuvityn. Vernoue is young. We shall help her make something of herself, for the Eternal Throne.”

“May it stand forever.”

Reclis murmured, and Nuvityn blinked at them. He’d expected them to ask him to help their daughter in some way. It, clearly, didn’t occur to them. He would have put it from his mind—but the 5th Princess in her cage became more obvious as he was about to ride out of the palace the next day. Mostly because they’d put her in the royal garden.

 

——

 

She was dry-eyed by morning on the second-to-last day, sitting calmly and eating some healthy porridge while just…pushing against the lock when a furor reached her rooms.

Vernoue peered up and put a smile on her face for Lorentha, Mexte, or her family, save for her parents who hadn’t visited her, busy as they were, and then the door opened.

“Your Highness, guests—excuse me! Excuse me, you cannot—”

Someone forced the Thronebearers out of the way, and Vernoue blinked. She saw a clamor of armored bodies. Arguing—and then one of them broke through.

There was a flash of purple, and then she saw the knight step forwards, and she felt a cool breeze blow across the courtyard. And, Vernoue swore, leaves. In the spring?

Falling maple leaves, bringing with them the scent of the settling earth and a cool chill to the air. Then she saw the other [Knights] turn, and their armor gleamed with the same colors of orange, vibrant purple—the colors of their season.

She recognized one of the figures shoving at the Thronebearers. Ser Ilm! But her eyes were on the oldest [Knight] present, who pushed back the arguing Thronebearers with a magical hand larger than they were and turned to bow to her.

He seemed to leave a trail in the air, like glowing fireflies followed him, radiant motes of mana, he was so full of magic. His smile creased the laugh lines and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and illuminated his greying features. He called to her as her breath caught.

“With great apologies, we had no time to waste, Your Highness du Marquin. Are we unwelcome? I had hoped our invitation to you went both ways. After all, a friend of the Order of Seasons is surely always a friend.”

Ser Venoriat, the Fall’s Sentinel, was fully armed and armored, and she stood as nearly three dozen Knights of Autumn crowded the doorway.

“Ser Venoriat! But how—?”

“Your sister sent word the moment she heard of the challenge of this Magus Tserre. I regret it took us so long to ride here—we had to collect all the tomes we had. How long have we? She said a day.”

Who…Aielef appeared, fan in hand, seeming quite pleased with herself. Vernoue spluttered.

“This is—of course you are welcome, Ser Venoriat! But this is my test. Isn’t this cheating?”

The Fall’s Sentinel was amused.

“That magus said nothing about assistance. We may need a better location to fit so many [Knights]. And a spell circle. With your permission?”

Her heart leapt. Vernoue began laughing as the [Knights] lifted her up and carried her down to the gardens. That was how the King of Myths observed her working with three dozen cross-legged [Knights]. The Fall’s Sentinel got up to introduce himself to the King of Myths, for their organizations were old, but he excused himself to continue puzzling over the spell.

 

——

 

Two hours later, the Knights of Autumn were dismayed, and Vernoue grew worried again. They had brought dozens of books on magical locks, and showed her diagrams of lesser locking spells. Each one looked less complicated than the one on her cage by an order of magnitude. One had found a diagram of a Tier 5 locking spell…it was a fold-out illustration rendered to-scale. It was nearly a quarter the size of the one she was facing.

“This spell is fiendishly complex, Fall’s Sentinel! I’ve never seen spellwork this intricate.”

One of the Fall Knights exclaimed, but Venoriat never raised his head from the section of the lock he was working on. He grimaced as it abruptly shifted to a new pattern, and raised his head.

“Send to Archmage Eldavin. I communicated it to him—he is all too willing to take a look at this.”

Then Vernoue was gasping as a familiar half-Elf appeared on a scrying orb.

“Fall’s Sentinel! I’m a bit busy right now, but anything for, er, friends of—dead gods, is that a Haiivn Lockspell? No wonder you can’t crack it! It keeps shifting! Give me five minutes and I’ll have a counterspell.”

Then she was beaming, just beaming, and she knew she’d succeed. Even if it took help, it was the power of friendship, the wisdom of [Knights] and Archmages…

 

——

 

Archmage Eldavin requested three more scrying spells for better angles after half an hour, then insisted on getting a [Mage] from Wistram who could link their senses for more intensive study. He stopped multi-tasking and sent an image of himself to the Eternal Throne—like Lyonette had done—who went pacing around the cage as Ser Venoriat pored over books. Then the Archmage of Memory began asking about specialist Skills and talking about teleporting someone from Wistram Academy if they had the right ones.

By nightfall, Vernoue’s heart was in her shoes. By midnight, the Archmage of Memories said—

“Well. This Magus Tserre certainly predates Zelkyr’s test. Spells like these are always as hard as the owner wants to make them, and if you can’t blast them or be clever about it, it’s understandably damn hard. How long do you have? A week? I’ll put it on top of my list and we’ll make it happen by then.”

 

——

 

She didn’t cry. She just worked—trying the techniques that the [Knights] were teaching her. Cheating wouldn’t work; no one could magic Vernoue from outside the cage. Shrinking her, making her phase through the bars—even a Potion of Diminutive Size did nothing but give her the runs.

King Reclis came by on the final day and had a word with Vernoue.

“It’s a fine attempt, Vernoue. We’ll find you a spellcaster, but you have to consider the dangers of a teacher like this, even if you succeeded. I’m proud of you—that’s real Marquin grit. Why don’t we have a meal together once you’re out and you can bathe? Unless you’d like to stick it out the last day?”

He was so…Vernoue was sniffing as she sat there. King Reclis’ face was troubled.

“Father, I want to learn magic.”

“And learn it you shall, Vernoue! There’s a place for a [Magical Princess] in any realm. I just…”

Reclis got up and paced, then peered at her.

“Sometimes, you go up against legends, and the Kingdom of Myth is all legends. We’re flesh-and-blood, and I’d hate for you to think of this as a failure. King Nuvityn himself believes this is a test with no solution. Don’t beat yourself up about the impossible, my girl.”

She knew he was right. This was petty. Tserre was a bitch; future Vernoue was right. But it still hurt.

Then came Queen Ielane, and that was even more surreal.

 

——

 

Her mother sat, smoking on a puffer in the royal gardens; the exhausted Knights of Autumn had drained their mana and offered to make one last push after researching, but Vernoue had told them to rest.

She hadn’t even let them bring her back to her rooms. A night out in the cold—despite heating spells—had left Vernoue sore and empty. She was a mess, but Ielane didn’t seem to care for once.

“You’ll have to thank Ser Venoriat later. The Order of Seasons put a lot of effort into this moment.”

Vernoue’s head hung as she sat there, pushing against the lock. That was all she could do—just sort of throw her mana at the spell. Eldavin could manipulate it, even enter the spell and begin altering it or unmaking it on the fly, but the spell kept repairing and adjusting to him. She had just learned [Push Mana].

She was Level 27. As the day dawned, Ielane blew out some smoke and continued.

“It’s not wasted effort. Framing it as a victory of spirit is the way to do it. If you were so minded, this would be the time to turn to him for reassurance and comfort after your grand effort.”

“Mother!”

Vernoue screamed at her. Ielane just raised one brow.

“It’s an option, Vernoue. I’m not forcing you into this. I am rather impressed by your levelling. This entire event is a success, publicly, personally—you’re overwrought and depressed. Don’t look at it like defeat.”

Triumph can be made of defeat. Ielane’s sayings. Vernoue wiped at her grubby face.

“I—I thought I’d succeed, Mother. Not even Archmage Eldavin can help me. I wanted to make something of myself. What if I can’t after this? I’m losing my resolve.”

Four hundred lives, a potion, all the help—and she was just a coward, a weak [Princess]. Ielane’s eyes never wavered.

“If you fail and fall to pieces, I will find a place for you, Vernoue. Or make something of you.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?”

The [Princess] sobbed at her mother, now crying full out. She tore the tiara from her head, and Ielane paused again. She gazed directly at Vernoue. Then, it seemed like her cold face, which could be so charming, so beautiful, tried to soften.

But how? Ielane had red hair, which was fake and dyed, and she was not the greatest beauty—she often said her Skills had given her daughters and sons far more, but she had found a way to work on all these things. Only in private did she seem to uncoil from the act slightly, which merely revealed the intensity with which she worked.

“Vernoue. I have always expected great things of you and my other daughters. If I seem…disapproving at times, it is merely because I feel you can do more. We all must be pushed to succeed. Lyonette has expressed how hard I push. Agenote as well, among others of late.”

“You push hard, Mother. Too hard.”

Vernoue whispered. To that, Ielane just tamped out her puffer and seemed genuinely annoyed.

“I never locked you in your rooms to keep you on a diet.”

That…yes? Ielane raised her brows as Vernoue stared at her.

“So you see, I’ve grown softer with age, with Ellet especially. Calanfer was not in an ideal place when Reclis took the throne, Vernoue. All were used hard. Seraphel…perhaps Seraphel the most. We are not safe. Ailendamus waits for the second round, and if Marquin’s kingdom is to endure, we must try. The shape that effort takes…has changed in my mind. Which is why I have approved of all of this. Even Menisi.”

Approved of this. Vernoue felt her chest flutter, then squeezed her arms.

“Why did you send Menisi off? Why marry her to…?”

“Because she could have started a war alongside Reclis’ parents. They would have taken her side. She was involving a dangerous man—Rastandius, who can topple nations. I wish it had not come to that either, but she was my best pupil. I regret she broke herself against the bar I set.”

Broke herself against the bar. Ielane glanced at Vernoue, then stood.

“I can see this conversation isn’t necessary now. Vensha, something to wipe Vernoue’s face. Leave the rest of her attire. Ragged—and a scent, very subtle. Fail like a falling star, Vernoue. That is your triumph.”

 

——

 

Neither parent made her feel better. But moments after Ielane had left, almost as if she were waiting for the moment to appear, Lyonette stepped out of the royal garden bushes.

“Vernoue. I’m sorry you’re going through so much.”

“Lyonette?”

Vernoue thought she saw a flicker to her left, of light, but it was a trick of her sleep-addled mind. Lyonette stepped forwards, and Mrsha poked her head out. The Gnoll girl seemed very guilty.

Princess Vernoue, I fear I’ve caused more sadness. It’s a symptom of The Wandering Inn. I’m very sorry about the advice I gave you.

She wanted to stroke Mrsha’s head, but her hand distorted Mrsha’s projection when she tried to touch her through the bars. The prison Vernoue was in could even disrupt Skills, it seemed.

“Don’t be, Mrsha. And Lyonette—I’m trying. Don’t you see? I’m…trying. I just wish I were stronger, like you.”

“Vernoue…you’re trying so much harder than I ever did! I was just a spoiled [Thief]! I blew up someone’s shop and nearly died in the cold before Erin rescued me!”

Lyonette came over, and they spoke through the bars. Vernoue licked parched lips.

“Erin. You keep mentioning her. She saved your life?”

“She helped…let me find who I am. She’s something else, Vernoue. She’s not quite a sister, not like you or Shardele or—but she is family. A different kind.”

How that hurt. How Vernoue envied that as she clung to her bars. She peered at Lyonette, who could say that, and the other [Princess] averted her gaze.

“Of course, I love you all, but it’s—different here. So much so. I want you to see it. But this stupid cell! Mrsha, you were right, and I was wrong. Tserre does deserve that description.”

Yeah! What a b—

Lyonette snatched the note from Mrsha, and Vernoue laughed. Then the [Princess] cast around.

“We’re all cheering you on over here. We asked for help from our experts, and Valeterisa had a lot of theories she sent to Archmage Eldavin…I rather think that was for the best. The [Witches] apologize; they’d send you a charm had they time. But we can at least cheer you on!”

“Yes, exactly! We are rooting for you, Princess! Don’t give up! Miracles happen!”

Nanette and Mrsha produced wavy little pom poms and cheered Vernoue as the [Princess] gamely tried to…no, it was no good. But Lyonette did have someone she brought over covertly.

“There’s one trick we can use. We have this expert, this grumpy old man who refuses to help if Eldavin couldn’t do it…but she might. Liska?”

“Hey.”

A Gnoll appeared and poked a finger at the cage.

“[Open Says Me].”

Vernoue held her breath as Liska thrust her paws out. She made a low rumbling sound.

“Aaaaah. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Lyonette interrupted after a moment.

“Liska, what are you doing?”

The Gnoll stopped screaming and turned to Lyonette.

“Isn’t this how you throw Skills? I, uh, don’t think it’s working.”

It was so silly that Vernoue burst out laughing. Lyonette sighed, and Liska tried a few more times as Mrsha also silently shouted and waved her wand for ‘luck’. And then they left Vernoue, promising to call later.

She was wiping her tears away when someone coughed.

“Your Highness.”

King Nuvityn stepped out of the shadows, and several Thronebearers bowed warily. She froze up. Had he been…? The King of Myths knelt before her cage.

“I think Magus Tserre has done you a great unkindness. As have I. I did not realize how much you truly wanted this. Your efforts, these last few days, have humbled me. I apologize—I do not know if I could force her to take you as an apprentice, and to be candid, nor will I. We go about dangerous business, and Tserre is…”

He paused.

“Dangerous. In ways I may not understand. I had heard you counterlevelled. That alone is some small boon. I merely wished to convey my respects.”

“Your Majesty of Myths, it is an honor.”

She tried to sound proper, but he just sat there. He glanced at the place Lyonette had been. Vernoue wanted to say something to keep the silence from waxing long; her mother had always taught her to do that when appropriate.

However, she couldn’t make the words come out. For a moment, when he’d stepped out of the darkness, the King of Myths had scared her. It was something about his bearing. The way shadows seemed to cling to his body. Like dark thoughts lingering.

Vernoue’s eyes felt drawn to the sword at his side, and she realized the Thronebearers had tightened their formations around her cage. They seemed so small compared to him. He was a huge man, of course, but he seemed more a half-Giant now, looming.

His eyes were on the place where Lyonette had stood. Vernoue only realized she was shaking after she closed her trembling lips.

Then—the moment passed. The dark, troubled expression that crossed the King of Myth’s brows left, like a cloud in front of the moon, and his features became softer. The moonlight illuminated his face, and it was suddenly pained, Human, and even guilty. Troubled, yes, but not to be feared.

Nuvityn brushed at his hair as the mortals in front of him relaxed, and several glowing moths in the garden flew around him. He let one alight on his finger, ruefully inspecting it, and then blew on it gently; it flew away and he turned to her and sighed. As if that said it all.

“Assumptions make an ass out of all. Sometimes, knowledge is painful. I have always feared fortune and fate as much as coveted it. It seems to me knowing one’s destiny never works out.”

“It—does seem that way in stories, doesn’t it?”

He smiled, ruefully, and rose.

“Nevertheless…knowing is often worth it. Sometimes, we strive against foes we cannot win against, or events pass that are unchanged, despite all the effort in the world.”

He stood there, and she almost expected to see the Grand Design in his eyes, but all she found was a [King] who put hands in his pockets. A grieving father. He glanced at her once.

“But there is always, always, a part of me that hopes that someone catches the falling pillar, that the lone [Soldier] defeats the army. That is the boy that the King of Myths should never fail to lose. May I ask…what drove you to this challenge? If it was pure curiosity, that is a fine answer. [Heroes] were made of that.”

He smiled briefly, and Vernoue stammered an answer.

“No, I—I did see a future in which I was so powerful. But failed each time, King Nuvityn. Again and again, until I despaired of it. I didn’t have the courage to keep defying fate. It truly felt impossible, just like this. I’m afraid I don’t have the strength to keep pushing forever.”

“Who could?”

He shook his head and sat on his haunches; such a casual gesture for a [King]. Vernoue whispered.

“But I had to try this. Though I failed…though I’m too weak to be the best me I can be, I’m unable to stop dreaming. I apologize for wasting your time.”

His eyes lit up, and he stood. The King of Myths turned, and she feared he’d been offended, but all he said was:

“Never. Go to Erribathe with my blessing after this, Princess. Perhaps you will find a teacher there.”

Speechless, she stood there as he walked away. Was that…?

Vernoue focused on the lock and pushed her mana against it again. Then she called out after his back.

“Your Majesty! May I ask—Prince Iradoren. I am dreadfully sorry for his passing. H-he always felt to me to be striving as hard as any other I saw.”

From what she had observed of him. At the end, on that ship—she saw Nuvityn’s shoulders stiffen.

“What was his dream that carried him all the way towards the New Lands?”

She meant it as a way to connect. An offering for his words, but when he turned his face, she flinched and hid behind the bars. For that terrible expression—he stood in the fading moonlight. It took him long minutes before he finally whispered.

“…Glory? I don’t know if he had one. Just the outline. What…do you give someone born into the heart of stories already told if he cannot see himself in them?”

Then he left.

 

——

 

Magus Tserre had a lot of thoughts that night. Mostly that too many people were cheering this [Princess] on. She wasn’t the only one who had ever strived! She was a [Princess], born with a golden spoon in her mouth!

There were so many with ambitions and deserving potential. Any street corner had children like that. They would never have this opportunity. So why…

That damn ‘Archmage of Memories’ was good, but overconfident, and he hadn’t used any Skills. Maybe he couldn’t throw them—she’d had fun with that. The Knights of Autumn weren’t good at breaking spells; they were all aura, and she had the advantageous position, and they hadn’t tried to just force it to break.

But she’d had less fun waking up in the middle of the night to defend against—she had no idea.

Some random Gnoll girl shouting ‘open up’ for fifteen minutes straight! And it had almost worked! Tserre had a mild headache from countering it, and then His Majesty of Erribathe had come to call.

Well, it explained what had happened to the late Prince. Classic tales. She felt vaguely sorry for him and decided not to think at all about…Ceria.

Ceria. Dead gods, they were wasting time here. Tserre punched her pillow into shape, trying not to imagine a half-Elven girl burying…

Damn it all. Damn time, damn Rhir, damn secrets, and damn me and villages. She was just drifting off and determined to ignore any requests from Nuvityn because she meant what she’d said. But no sooner had Tserre drifted off than the final visitor came calling, and then things got…complex.

 

——

 

Vernoue was sitting, head resting against the bars of the cell. When Venoriat returned, she’d continue trying, if only to show willing, but she was tired. That was when a chaos of voices erupted around her. Thronebearers started running.

“What’s going on?”

No one answered her. She heard shouting, an uproar of voices, then—someone came running into the royal gardens.

“It’s her! It’s her! Vernoue, get out of the cage!”

Shardele was waving her hands. The 1st Princess was in a panic not helped by the Dreamleaf—she raced into the garden and pointed a trembling finger. Vernoue heard shouting.

“Who—?”

She knew it already, but even so, when the 1st Princess whispered, she felt lightheaded.

“Menisi.”

The 2nd Princess stormed into the Eternal Throne, and the entire palace shook at one point. Vernoue shouted and demanded answers, but all she got was members of her family running into the gardens to deliver news.

Ellet.

“Vernoue, Vernoue! It’s elder sister Menisi! She’s so beautiful—everyone’s afraid of her!”

Then came Aielef, wide-eyed, jogging back and forth with her daughters.

“She says she’s coming back to stay here! What did you say to her, Vernoue? Mother’s furious! She’s trying to refuse, I think—Me-Menisi says she’s come to help raise Ellet and my daughters!”

She seemed as terrified as Shardele. Then came the quake and a babble of so many [Servants], nobles, and common folk that Vernoue had to shout to get someone to tell her—

It was Prince Agenote who walked in, rather wide-eyed. He sat down.

“Uh. Vern? Menisi’s here, and she’s coming your way. Remember our conversation about being elsewhere? I think that might have been for the best.”

“Why? What did she do?”

He licked his lips.

“She announced she had come back in Calanfer’s time of need and wished to help raise Ellet and get to know her sisters. Then she and Mother were arguing—in public—and Menisi kissed her full on the lips. The two had an aura clash right then and there.”

Vernoue’s jaw dropped. Then came Menisi herself.

“Vernoue!”

She had never appeared happier. She squatted down next to the cell without a care for how improper it was. The Thronebearers were aghast. But Menisi only had eyes for Vernoue.

“You’re on your final day. Have you given everything you have?”

“I think so…I can’t figure it out, Menisi. I’m trying—did Mother slap you?”

Menisi indicated the handprint on her cheek.

“I actually set her off. I’m staying, Vernoue. Regardless of this—someone’s got to run interference for Lyonette and Seraphel. And you. I’ve run away so long. It’s time to try one more time.”

She winked, her bright hair waving, and Vernoue saw her eyes shift. She stood in her home, the 2nd Princess of Calanfer, and the 5th Princess thought only she noticed how Menisi’s hands were shaking on the bars as she reached out.

Bravery. That was the word that came to Vernoue’s mind. Menisi might not have done the right thing in the past, and by her own admission, she was twisted. But she had come to the woman who scared her the most—for her sister.

Her heart. Vernoue thought she could hear Menisi’s thudding almost as loud as hers. It was filled with that same force as Lyonette’s.

Determination.

Vernoue’s eyes began to blaze. The sapphire blue irises rose to meet Menisi’s, who sat back on her haunches.

“There we go. That’s the little sister who impressed me. Got any more cards left in the tarot deck?”

“Not really. Just one—bad one.”

Vernoue the Enchanting whispered, and Menisi reached out and touched her arm.

“Play it, then kick the board over and sleep with the [Dealer]’s husband.”

She laughed, and then Vernoue was giggling. Her eyes began to shimmer brighter and brighter, and she executed the magical move that Tserre wasn’t expecting. She pushed with her mana—and pushed—and did the one thing that the Grand Design had taught her in four hundred lives.

How to die.

 

<WAIT, WHAT?>

 

The Grand Design grew worried for a moment there, until it saw what she actually meant. Words were so…imprecise.

 

——

 

Tserre realized what the 5th Princess was doing and began suppressing Vernoue’s mana. But the 5th Princess was—

“She must be mad.”

How had she even learned to draw that deep on her reserves? It was the kind of thing that [Mages] did in battle. Draw too much mana and you’d melt or evaporate or—

She was brute-forcing it. Tserre had expected Eldavin to try it, or the Autumn Knights. That was all. The 5th Princess was throwing her mana against the wall of Tserre’s magic like a fly crashing against a fortress wall.

Or rather, a vase hurling itself at said wall. Obviously, Tserre suppressed her mana. If the idiot [Princess] died, it would be a disaster.

But she kept doing it, and now, Tserre wasn’t in an advantaged position. The entire point of the cage was to give her an edge from which she could counter her opponent, even against a superior magic-user. It was meant to be an unbreakable lock against anyone but the best magic-user ever, damn it! Even Silvenia couldn’t solve it more than one in five times!

However, manually suppressing Vernoue to keep her from blowing herself up was just—a pure mana clash. And the 5th Princess had royal magic wells and mana potions!

Tserre was still the more powerful mage, many times over! She held down the [Princess] for ten minutes, annoyed. Then…for an hour.

Vernoue couldn’t keep doing this forever. The amount of concentration it takes to overload your mana circuits is—

Three hours. Tserre saw the Order of Autumn remonstrating with the [Princess], who sat cross-legged in her prison. That 2nd Princess was cheering her on with the 7th Princess of Calanfer.

“Idiot!”

Tserre snapped. She held her hand down over the boiling kettle of steam, containing the raging energy within. She kept pushing. How did a spoiled [Princess] have this much willpower?

 

——

 

Queen Ielane du Marquin did what she always did when she wanted to relax. She shuffled a deck of cards.

Smoking wasn’t actually her go-to. It was a vice, and she took to it when stressed, but when she was trying to have fun? She’d call Vensha, Rouslin, and a few other servants or Thronebearers she could trust implicitly, and they’d play. Or she’d go to a gambling parlor in disguise and play.

She was, after all, a former [Gambler] herself. It wasn’t her vice, though, like how Aielef painted or Shardele used Dreamleaf. It used to be how Ielane made money.

Not every nation was rich, and a [Baron] might have a higher ranking than your average [Lord] or [Lady], but only just—a family could sell or lose its holdings over the years and be little more than aristocratically poor. Hers had been closer to [Merchants], trading on their name, and she’d grown up balancing budgets, managing people—it was why she’d gotten so good at such things.

But she’d also learned to gamble and play for stakes smaller than those of a nation—but sometimes life-and-death. When Ielane had been invited to Lyonette’s little gambling night, she’d been rather tickled.

A shame she was so removed, because the Quarass had proven to be an interesting opponent. In fact, the two had played several games against each other since then—but it was more work with the Quarass, who hinted she had a way to talk to Lyonette because of course she did.

Ielane was betting copper against Vensha as the two watched their cards. Vensha had taken off a polished gauntlet that she had angled a lamp on a desk towards to try and spot Ielane’s cards. The [Queen] had palmed two cards from the deck, but she rather suspected Vensha had already slipped several spare cards into the deck. Ielane sipped from a cup of wine, then spoke.

“My daughter is trying her best, but she will fail. There’s some sympathy from that half-Elf for stubbornness, but it would be ridiculous for her to take an apprentice. I doubt even this last gambit of…what did you say she was doing—exploding her mana circuits?—will work.”

“Unlikely, Your Majesty. Magus Tserre is keeping her suppressed, and the Magus is notoriously stubborn from the stories. I imagine Princess Vernoue will be distraught.”

“Perhaps. She’ll be glad to get out of that cage. She’s worked hard this time. Her levels may be reward enough.”

Vensha said nothing, but she cast a card down. And because it had a discard symbol on it, Ielane reached for a magical card.

It activated a [Darkness] spell, and the cloud obscured both’s vision. In the darkness, Ielane guarded her cards and grabbed for one of the ones she’d earmarked as an Archmage of Fire. Vensha slapped her hand and tried to pull a card from the deck. As the fog vanished, Vensha inspected the card she’d drawn.

It was a business card for a [Merchant] who sold dolls. Vensha flicked it away, sighing. Then she sat there, fiddling with her cards. She was unusually distracted; she didn’t even notice Ielane slipping a spare card out of her sleeves and adding it to her hand. Ielane raised her brows.

“That’s three hands you’ve lost in a row, Vensha. What’s bothering you? Menisi? She’s in your domain now. You can handle whatever people she might bring in. She will be a nuisance, but a manageable one.”

The grey-haired Thronebearer cast down a card distractedly.

“It’s not just Menisi, Ielane. Your daughter, Vernoue. I…you know what exploding her mana circuits entails, don’t you?”

The Queen of Calanfer took a sip from her cup.

“I’m aware it’s fatal. And that Magus Tserre is holding it back. Unless the risk is greater than you stated, it seems she’s trying hard. Which is what I approve of. She’ll be rewarded, but the former Archmage of Fiends will leave Calanfer on her journey with the King of Myths apprentice-less. I cannot imagine a way for Vernoue to triumph. The Fall’s Sentinel, the King of Myths, and Menisi combined couldn’t manage it.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

A silence ensued wherein Ielane won her hand and scowled, because Vensha wasn’t putting up much of a fight. She snapped as she filled her cup again.

“Vernoue’s young. She’ll find another teacher.”

Before Vensha could reply, there was a tap at the doors. Ielane shielded her cards as Vensha turned. A servant opened the doors at Ielane’s call.

“Your Majesty. You have guests—”

“No.”

Ielane wasn’t in the mood for intrusion. Nor did she have anything important scheduled. She lowered her brows as the servant peeked over her shoulder.

“Your Majesty, it’s your royal daughter, Princess Men—”

A hand shoved the servant aside. Ielane never saw Vensha get to her feet; the Thronebearer’s hand was on the hilt of her sword as Menisi du Marquin, the 2nd Princess of Calanfer, entered the room.

“Hello, Ielane. I need a word.”

“Menisi, if you insist on vexing me, I shall have you punished. I am still the Queen of Calanfer, and my will shall be respected.”

Ielane didn’t glance at Menisi as her good mood faded. She put down her cup and motioned for Vensha to expel Menisi. The Thronebearer hesitated. She had seen what the Queen of Calanfer had not.

Menisi did not smile at her mother. She just wore an inquisitive expression, head slightly tilted, like an owl studying an opponent. Her poise was good; she had always been the fastest learner, the sharpest. The biggest failure.

Even the sight of her and the knowledge she’d come back to influence Ellet and the state of Calanfer annoyed Ielane. They had made a truce, even if it had never been with words. But Menisi’s voice was calm.

“I’ll ignore you talking to me as if I weren’t a grown woman. Though we detest each other, Ielane, I need you to do something. Not for me. For Vernoue. I insist you hear me out.”

Ielane studied one nail as her surge of annoyance grew. She didn’t like the correlation between Vernoue’s visit to Menisi and Vernoue’s improvement in levels. Ielane put that down to Lyonette’s influence, nothing…Menisi had done.

“Vernoue’s situation I am well aware of. Vensha, why are you not throwing Menisi out?”

“I fear Your Majesty may suffer a small insurrection if I do.”

Ielane’s head rose. Then she saw Menisi had brought backup.

Librarian Lorentha and Head Chef Mexte entered the room, bowing. Both ignored Ielane’s vexed stare. Small wonder Vensha hesitated; ejecting these two would cause trouble. Ielane smiled frostily at the duo, ignoring Menisi.

“Lorentha, Mexte. I had forgotten how much you doted upon Menisi. I assume you have a similar request of me?”

“Your Majesty. I would like you to speak to your daughter.”

The half-Elf bowed as her fox twined around her neck. Mexte doffed his chef’s hat to her.

“We are all terribly worried by Princess Vernoue’s state, Your Majesty. She’s almost killed herself trying to open the cage. I’ve heard of [Mages] doing what she’s doing—the last one overloaded his circuits to blow half of a rival company to pieces. It isn’t the sort of thing a [Princess] should think to do.”

“I shall have tutors instruct her to restrain herself. In this case, it was a splendid gambit. Your concern is noted, Mexte. She is in little danger. Magus Tserre is suppressing this phenomenon, and a [Mage] is prepared to step in should Tserre slip.”

It annoyed her they thought so little of her ability to see ahead. Mexte and Lorentha exchanged a glance as Menisi sighed loudly. Ielane was truly annoyed now, but she wouldn’t offend two of the palace’s best servants, beloved by all. A [Queen] was often held hostage by the will of her people. She just hadn’t expected this.

“Ielane. We have all been trying to help Vernoue. I came from my delightful home to give her my support. That I am here, speaking to you, is because I want to help her. I cannot think of a solution that doesn’t involve manipulating Magus Tserre, and I doubt she would accept any apprentice after being strong-armed or tricked.”

“Obvious. Why would I do something that removes the only eligible [Princess] in Calanfer? There are more teachers. More apt ones, and far less dangerous circumstances.”

This time, the [Queen] remarked to Vensha, avoiding turning to her daughter. Menisi cocked her head.

“I know this is going to fall on deaf ears, but it’s because it’s what Vernoue wants.”

At last, Ielane was forced to look at Menisi. When she did, sparks didn’t fly. Their auras didn’t clash. They spoke at each other, then, and felt like decades fell away. And then it was personal. Ielane sat forwards on her throne.

“You must have visited your grandmother. What is good for the individual does not align with what is good for the state.”

“You don’t know that. That’s just how you think. Look at Lyonette. She ran away because she was so miserable, and I see how you’re building up around her. You don’t believe in that simply because you never lived that life. I pity you, Mother. Let one of us be that other way.”

“That ‘other one’ is Prince Agenote. See how he has done. Two generations of that attitude left Calanfer in the worst state it has been for three thousand years.”

Ielane’s tone was frosty, and Menisi just shook her head.

“I’m not going to play historian with you, Mother. You have this notion that Grannymother and Grandking—hah, what names. You seem to think they and their parents were soft, but benign. Great Grandfather Olered was the same man who said not a word when they put Peril Chandler to death. They have their faults, which you did convince me of. Now, I’m pointing out yours. You needn’t send Vernoue off forever, but if you’d just help her pass this test—”

“And this is your opinion, Lorentha? Mexte?”

Ielane gazed past Menisi at the other two. They bowed. Mexte murmured.

“Princess Menisi’s words speak for us, Your Majesty.”

“Princess Menisi is a poor messenger. Nor does she know who Magus Tserre is. I have researched her background, and I do not deem this to be in Calanfer’s interests. Vernoue will have a suitable teacher, if we must send her to Wistram or convince House Shoel of Ailendamus to teach her.”

Perhaps it was a Skill. [Unguarded Statement]—Ielane saw Menisi stir, and the [Queen]’s eyes narrowed. She let out an exasperated sound and turned to the other two and the half-open door. Ielane didn’t worry about that; if there were servants here, they were her people and knew better than to repeat what they’d heard. No spies in her inner circle. The 2nd Princess spoke to the others.

“So that’s it. She’s got a plan that involves Ailendamus. Probably to end the war or even use Vernoue as a ransom. That’s why she’s doing nothing.”

And the fact that Tserre is dangerous and this damn test was meant to be unwinnable. Ielane didn’t say that. She kept her face blank as Mexte and Lorentha exchanged glances. Menisi swung around.

“Ielane, that’s why we’re here. We are asking you to put what Vernoue wants above whatever you think is most optimal. You have been wrong before. The King of Myths and Erribathe? Having Vernoue level as a [Mage]? These are all boons to Calanfer.”

“And you think you and two of the palace’s finest servants can force me to change my mind?”

The [Queen]’s voice was soft, and Mexte preened at her compliment in that way of his, ignoring her dangerous tone. Lorentha just seemed disappointed, which Ielane tried to ignore, and Menisi stood straight. She gave Ielane that half-smile that made the [Queen]’s back crawl. A trap. But Menisi had grown older. Ielane never saw it close until someone else spoke with that sense of timing and drama that was innate to him—even if he seldom used it.

“No, Mother. It’s an appeal from all of us.”

The door. Prince Agenote stepped out from behind it, and the Queen of Calanfer blinked. Agenote avoided her like the plague. She began to scowl at Menisi until there was a swish—and her eyes opened wide.

Princess Shardele was trying to hide behind Agenote, and she was very clearly on Dreamleaf. But she was there, and Aielef strode in behind her. Ellet clung to her bigger sister’s side, but when they halted before her, every member of the royal family in Calanfer except for Vernoue was present.

Vensha’s eyes were wide as she stared at the royal family, and her gaze flicked past the two bowing servants.

“I see. You’ve been working quickly, Menisi.”

“It’s not a scheme, Mother. We all want to help Vernoue. Please…”

One glance and Aielef fell silent, and Shardele spoke, to everyone’s surprise. She fiddled with a pipe she was hiding behind her back.

“I, um, I don’t quite know what’s going on with all the magic, but Vernoue has never shut up about magic. She’ll be insufferable if she doesn’t become an apprentice. And if she does, she’ll also be insufferable. But if Menisi’s come all this way, I think it might matter, Mother?”

It was the worst rhetorical argument the royal family could have uttered, and even Ellet gave Shardele a vaguely dismayed look, but the comment from the absent 1st Princess told Ielane that they were united.

Which, of course, made her not want to accede to Menisi’s little plan. Rebellion was like a seed. Once watered, it grew. Ellet was watching Ielane, and the [Queen] nodded to Menisi, appreciating the trap set. No matter what she did, she would either disappoint her daughter or teach her to rebel. Which was well enough in its own way.

It was Agenote and Menisi who shook their heads at the Queen of Calanfer, as if the trap wasn’t the point. They had the same despairing expression they sometimes turned on their father.

“What makes you think I even have a way to best Magus Tserre’s plans? For your information, by the Eternal Throne, I have no such means to hand. Greed could not compel her, and Calanfer cannot shield her from her enemies. I have nothing to offer her, no lever to pull.”

It was all true, and Ellet’s face fell, but Menisi just folded her arms.

“You are the Queen of Calanfer, Mother. The true Queen of Diplomacy. If you can do nothing, then you’re not the woman who’s changed Calanfer so much, for ill and—I suppose—good. Your entire family is asking you—Lyonette would if she were here, and Seraphel as well, I’ll wager.”

“Lothen wouldn’t. And I bet Kanmis wouldn’t care.”

Agenote muttered, and Aielef snorted.

“Just pretend neither one exists. I do.”

Ellet covered her mouth, but she burst out.

“Please, Mother?”

That made Ielane scowl harder. She swept her eyes over her offspring, then fanned her cards out, inspecting them. Well, it was a fine little gambit, but she played the card she always had.

“And what do I get in return for throwing Calanfer’s plans into chaos? From you, Agenote? Menisi? Calanfer is in need, and Ailendamus is still at war. You did not come to me empty-handed, I trust.”

She thought it was well-done, but her children’s response surprised her.

They sighed. Not just Agenote and Menisi, but Shardele, Aielef, and even little Ellet. Just a slight exhalation of breath, but the single gesture was so spontaneous that they eyed each other. Menisi lifted a hand wearily.

“Is that what it requires for you to do something for family, Ielane? Is that the lesson you want to teach us?”

The Queen of Calanfer went still, because even Vensha shifted at that, and the most loyal Thronebearer’s eyes were on Ielane.

Even you? Vensha scratched at her chin and pulled a chair out slightly, but just stepped back, signalling her feelings. Ielane sat there as the cards moved slightly, as if a breeze or some strange hand of fate moved them. Wavering. Annoyed. Unwilling to give before the argument that even she admitted had a point.

The royal family of Calanfer waited, deadlocked with the Queen of Calanfer. Ielane was opening her mouth and Menisi was biting her lip as her fists clenched when someone interrupted the conversation.

A voice chuckled, and Ielane’s eyes went wide. She felt her stomach lurch in mild delight and surprise, which grew as King Reclis du Marquin spoke.

“Ielane, they have a point.”

He appeared with a flourish, or tried to. The Cloak of Balshadow caught on the table and nearly knocked it over. Reclis caught himself as he wobbled in his chair, and his family jumped.

He was seated in the chair Vensha had pulled out for him, across from Ielane. He’d been here, listening to them! It was Vernoue’s cloak; he must have taken it from storage. He loved creeping around in it, listening to conversations. Now, he steepled his fingers together and leaned forwards.

“I thought I detected some friction of late, and I wasn’t wrong.”

His son and daughters gave him such an amazed look that the King of Calanfer seemed mildly hurt.

“I can tell when things are rocky. I just leave it to Ielane, but Vernoue’s been on my mind as well. Ielane, you must admit, Menisi’s gotten you again.”

Ielane scowled at him. Menisi had always been the only one who could even score points on her when she talked back. Reclis’ eyes lingered on his daughter, and Menisi smiled crookedly.

“Thank you, Reclis. Don’t worry, I have enough to say to you as well. But if you could speak to your wife…”

He blinked at her, but then turned that smile on Ielane that was so hard not to oblige. Like…a golden retriever. A cleverer one at times, when he needed to be. She glowered at him.

“This is not a good idea, Reclis.”

“You don’t know that, Laney. The Kingdom of Myths? The Archmage of Fiends, who was taught personally by Silvenia? Perhaps it will be to our detriment, but I think I see the potential value as well as you do. Come now, you love gambling. You just don’t like someone else coming up with a plan when you’re set on yours. Hasn’t Lyonette done well? Let Vernoue have her chance. Seraphel too.”

“I don’t have a plan—”

They all stared at her, and the Queen of Calanfer glared around, but no one backed down. Reclis patted her hand. She resisted the urge to stab him with the edge of a playing card. The Queen of Calanfer sat there, unmoving, as Reclis waggled his eyebrows, and Menisi waited, smiling.

“If you won’t, we’ll just do it without you.”

Queen Ielane’s brows snapped together, and her eyes flashed. Then her face smoothed, and she let out her breath. Slowly. She rose, placing the worn deck of cards into the box.

She spoke to her daughter as she walked past her family, out of the room.

“As much as it would amuse me to see you try, I don’t believe in wasting Vernoue’s efforts. I never have.”

Then she was gone, striding down the corridors. Vensha hurried after her, and Agenote turned to Menisi. He waited, along with Reclis, for Menisi’s thumbs-up. Then Aielef’s whoop filled the royal chambers, and the servants emerged.

Queen Ielane was already mad, but she grew exasperated when she heard the cheering begin. As if she were some kind of monster.

 

——

 

The final meeting took place as the sun was setting over the royal gardens. It was evening, and they were loading the ship for the King of Myth’s departure. Vernoue was covered in sweat. She knew she wasn’t going to make it. The half-Elf had effortlessly held her mana at bay, dissipating it or something.

Menisi was gone. She had run off to rescue Prildor after cheering herself hoarse; a certain Grand Duke had come riding across the border, baying for blood. And everyone else was so in uproar over Menisi that Vernoue was alone, despite the mana clash that worried Venoriat so.

A rare moment of inattention—

A Thronebearer slammed into the ground, dead asleep, and Vernoue changed her mind. She saw someone appear before her eyes. Not with any effects, like shimmering into focus or popping into being. One moment she wasn’t there; the next, you noticed her, as if she’d always been there all along. A true [Invisibility] spell.

The half-Elf with her silvery hair was inspecting a growing Prelon, hanging from the bushy little tree over the stone planter’s ledge where her feet dangled. The round, red fruit was ripening before Vernoue’s eyes, turning yellow and developing the fuzzy rind that made it so iconic.

Effortless magic. It floated down and peeled itself, and the half-Elf ate a piece of the fruit, chewing thoughtfully. She had no vast aura of magic around her that Vernoue could see. But her fame…Vernoue saw that like a winding trail stretching back thousands of years, a long journey of triumphs and setbacks. This royal garden was but one stop on the road.

Magus Tserre glanced down at Vernoue, and for a moment, the wind blew at her hair, and she seemed to be that great [Mage] of stories from the books Vernoue had read as a child. Then she glanced up and glared, and the wind died down. When she spoke next, her voice was acerbic and ordinary, deliberately so, Vernoue thought,. As if she were trying to hide the ringing words she could speak unguarded, concealing the great deeds that lay in her eyes with petty annoyance.

“I’m sure you think yourself clever. But if it had been anyone other than me, you would be dead. What possessed you of such idiocy?”

Tserre rose from her seat as Vernoue peered up at her. She hobbled forwards on her cane as Vernoue panted.

“I would have stopped from melting myself if you didn’t do anything. But you did—so I realized you were stopping me.”

“Where did you learn that trick? You will kill yourself with it.”

“A potion that let me see the future.”

“Hmph.”

The half-Elf planted the walking stick and stood there back straight, head held high. She was unimpressed with everything about Vernoue. The filthy [Princess] panting at the end of her rope mentally and physically…the half-Elf spoke.

“Everyone wants to learn magic, girl. I’ve taught hundreds of apprentices. Literally hundreds. I’m tired of it. A thousand years ago, I was sick to death of weeping my heart out over them, and the world has grown only more dangerous for me since then. The future…what did it promise you?”

Vernoue’s throat was dry, and she croaked.

“Th-that I would become, could become, if I tried hard enough, an [Archmage].”

She met those imperious eyes framed by rimless glasses and saw a flash of amusement from within the depths. And that image of the great [Mage] looking back at her.

“Only an [Archmage]?”

Vernoue’s mouth fell open, and Tserre laughed at her. She drifted backwards, her feet never touching the ground, and sat in the air.

“I’m not letting you out of that cage. Go find another tutor. Take your levels and go to Wistram or that new academy in Izril someone mentioned to me.”

“I will. I won’t give up.”

“Well…good.”

Tserre seemed to lose track of what she wanted to say next. She glared down at Vernoue.

“Now you’ll stop levelling. It only works when we’re antagonists. Well done and all that. Magic…I wish I could say magic is its own reward or fully worth it. But whatever you find on your long journey—I’d choose it again.”

She tilted her head back to the sky and gazed into the horizon. Vernoue whispered.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Are both you sisters into the elderly?”

Tserre drew back, and Vernoue shouted.

“No! I can almost see—you’re so famous, and no one knows you! You’ve done so much for magic, and I’d never heard your name until last week! It’s a crime! I love magic. I’ve always wanted to really cast it. I felt what it was like…I’m going to do it for real. I swear on magic’s name!”

She cried out, standing, and Tserre tugged down a pointed hat over her head as she turned. They were seemingly alone, save for passed-out Thronebearers in the Royal Gardens, and she had a ship to catch.

A desperate [Princess] whose face shone with more passion than anyone had seen of her in their lives. And a half-Elf who hesitated, as if recalling something. Tserre twirled in the air, facing away from Vernoue.

No one could break that spell lock. Not a Dragon in this vanishing moment, nor a Djinni. Even the Death of Magic would have asked for an hour. Tserre nodded at Vernoue.

A perfect defeat.

“Any braggart can talk. A true [Mage] keeps her promises. Well…goodbye. It’s time for me to go. You lose. No second chances.”

She lifted a hand, and Vernoue sighed as the magical cage vanished.

It was done. She hung her head and wept on the ground, then laughed, and Tserre ignored her as she drifted away, still levitating over the ground.

The half-Elf was almost at the door to the royal gardens when she slowed. She paused in that way people did when they realized something was wrong.

As the foolish vagrants challenging the [Blademaster] did—a smile sliding off her face, expression shifting to alarm. Vernoue had heard it too.

“Huh?”

The words. No second chances.

Why did it sound so…Vernoue had lost. She definitely had. But something had—

The half-Elf swung around, then peeked right, then left. Warily. And a figure stepped out of the shadows, twirling an object around like a knife.

It was just a quill. But in the hands of the right person, a pen could cut like a sword.

Ielane du Marquin sighed as she nodded to Tserre.

“What—did you do?”

Vernoue’s face rose, and Ielane offered Tserre a smile as the wary half-Elf felt at herself and lifted a wand.

“[Royal Will: Annul Contract]. One would never sully the integrity of your test against a Princess of Calanfer, Magus Tserre. I merely request a second trial.”

“You can’t…that Skill. I’ve never seen it used like—that was a verbal agreement!”

“A contract takes all forms. Of course, you needn’t agree to take Vernoue with you. A second trial she might well fail. However you’d like to prepare it, she will answer the challenge.”

“I’m not giving her a second trial! I don’t have time for this!”

Tserre snapped. The Queen of Calanfer raised her brows.

“Surely the King of Myths may spare an appropriate amount of time to allow my daughter to test herself against Archmagus Tserre herself. She is close to reaching Level 30. It is an affair of Calanfer’s honor.”

“To hell with Calanfer’s honor!”

Tserre snapped again. She began to fly away, but slowly, and Vernoue got the impression she was listening in. Ielane turned to Vernoue.

“Your things are packed for the ship. I expect that upon your second failure, Magus Tserre will see fit to drop you back at Calanfer. Or perhaps Wistram. Or Izril?”

“She’s not coming on the ship.”

Ielane ignored Tserre as the half-Elf reappeared. She spoke to the air over Vernoue’s head as her daughter just peered at her, breathing out and in.

“His Majesty loves stories. He also owes Calanfer some boon after the impropriety of his citizen, Prildor, against Menisi. I expect you to be Level 30 by the time you reach any shore.”

“Mother…”

Ielane turned.

“Following one’s dreams made Calanfer entirely weak in Reclis’ parents’ time. Aside from marrying me. But his siblings’ dreams were so utterly selfish and banal. Except for his sister, who wished to wed in Baleros. They assassinated the Lizardman. I always thought that was the most selfish and cruel thing the former crown did. I’ve never assassinated any of my children’s loved ones. Wash your face before you go, Vernoue.”

 

——

 

That was the last thing she said—before Vernoue threw her arms around Ielane. Tserre was shouting complaints, then flying to find King Nuvityn, and Ielane du Marquin strode back into the palace. Then sat and had a smoke as she watched a frantic girl tearing towards a coach headed straight for the coast.

She felt oddly tired. After a while, the Queen of Calanfer spoke to the side.

“I can hear you breathing, Reclis.”

“Really? Damn.”

He took the Cloak of Balshadow off and reappeared, somewhat shamefaced. He pulled out a chair next to hers and signalled for a cup of wine.

“I thought we’d debrief after a day like ours, eh?”

“Of course, dear.”

Ielane’s eyes never left the girl now riding pell-mell after the flying half-Elf, followed by a gaggle of servants. Then a carriage rolled past her, and three [Princesses] were waving at Vernoue, trying to get her inside. The odds any one could fall out and break their necks…remote with a Thronebearer and their tiaras, except in Aielef’s case. But it was there.

Reclis merely spared an affectionate look for the scrying orb. He took a deep gulp of wine, then exhaled, marshaling his thoughts.

“So how was my performance this evening? I thought it was rather good, if I do say so myself.”

Ielane was the better of the two at acting and noticing body language and cues; she often gave him pointers before and after meetings with heads of state. She raised her brows.

“You forgot your spectacles. Normally, you’d be wearing them in private. Menisi might have noticed, but she’s been absent long enough that it’s unlikely.”

“—Ah.”

He deflated slightly. After a few more minutes of silence, Reclis laced his fingers together and shot Ielane a speculative glance.

“Well, aside from that small mistake, I rather thought I set you up well. Every child of ours was on Vernoue’s side, and it wouldn’t do, truly, to have them rift with us. Or both of us, rather. Even so, you changed your mind. What possessed you?”

He wore a small frown, genuinely surprised. Reclis had assumed that Ielane wouldn’t back down, even with his intervention, and that he’d be showing solidarity with the children and commiserate with them. He’d even put in an order at a bakery for a cake—and he’d had to have them redo the frosting.

The Queen of Calanfer was a while in responding again, which suited the King, who used the time to think about his changing nation and world. When she did speak, it was softly.

“I suppose I saw the value in letting Vernoue level and become a public figure, even by association. Like Lyonette. It may have been a moment of weakness, Reclis. I may be tired…of playing the villain.”

He patted her hand and gave her a sympathetic smile.

“It’s hardly a true setback in the grand scheme of things, Ielane. Admittedly, the idea to have Vernoue taught by Ailendamus’ House Shoel was a long shot. Vernoue, like Lyonette, is almost better in an uncertain state given the flux in the world right now. If I might pontificate on the larger state of affairs for a moment…”

Here, even Queen Ielane, blessed by the Eternal Throne to have the courage of Marquin the First, Defender of Calanfer, and so on and so forth—even she had a small part of her that went ‘now? Please, no.’

But the rest of her adored Reclis, so weary as she was, she half-smiled as he began to speak.

“—Placement, geographically, matters more than ensuring the old walls are standing. I’m foreseeing the potential for continental war again, which really is a damned nuisance. Calanfer should be forging ties abroad. Lyonette, Vernoue, and Lothen are finding roles that level and empower them, which is for the best especially as the former are unwed. I know there’s your comments about eligibility of [Princesses], but higher-levels will be more respected in this coming age. Lyonette having that delightful Gnoll child…fascinating. You know, the odds of a great Gnollish leader arising aren’t low either. Not that we have high odds of making a match, but the sympathy of having a Gnollish child in the royal line…we’ll have to work around that for a marriage, of course—”

“I can handle that, Reclis. What did you think of Lyonette? Did she look well?”

“Well?”

He thought about the question, surprised to be taken out of his line of thought.

“Certainly more mature. She didn’t use ‘peon’ once in our conversation. Well…I suppose so. She seemed nervous I’d order her back, but if you have her in hand, I’ll continue being the good parent.”

The Queen had a lot of things she could say, but she only murmured…

“I will continue working with her.”

“Excellent. Then her independent streak is for the better. I truly am not upset at how this Vernoue incident played out, Ielane. We may have lost, temporarily, another [Princess], but the goodwill of Erribathe and a potentially higher-level spellcaster is a worthwhile gamble. Besides—”

He wore a genuine smile.

“—our long-lost [Princess], Menisi, has returned to us. Lose a piece to be promoted, gain back an old one. Is that a good chess analogy? Drat the game, it’s too simple compared to real life. Lyonette. Do let me know when she’s stagnating in Izril, Ielane. Bringing her back will be a trial in and of itself, but that will lead to at least a few levels, I imagine.”

“Once she stops levelling, I shall, Reclis.”

He nodded, happy, and then kept speaking, thinking his way out across the vast board in which Calanfer was the only piece he desired to protect against the waves of the future. A noble goal. A kingly goal.

It was Ielane who grew distracted, taking her eyes off the prize for a moment, and watched as Princess Vernoue rode, sticking her head out of a carriage window, waving and laughing at the people passing by.

Desperate, unruly, pushed to her very limit, and unkindly used—or was that Menisi, Aielef, Ellet? All of them? Ielane had indeed never locked them in any rooms without food—well, not for the purposes of dieting.

“Slightly better.”

She whispered. Could it have been even kinder? She pictured that for a moment, trying to imagine herself acting like Reclis’ own parents. Then put the notion out of her head, because introspection would collapse one with doubts. The Queen of Calanfer sat straighter at her desk and got back to work.

 

[Class Change: Magic-loving Princess → Archmage’s Apprentice-Princess!]

[Archmage’s Apprentice-Princess Level 28!]

[Skill – Overcharge Spell Obtained!]

[Skill – Combine Spells (Tier 1-2) Obtained!]

[Spell – Tserre’s Polite Inquiry Learned!]

 

 

[Queen of Intrigue and Contracts Level 44!]

[Skill – Servants of the Crown: Invisibility obtained!]

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Ah, it’s time for my monthly break. Or rather, it should be, but I have an idea for next chapter I want to try. Now would be the time I put up my usual monthly poll, but I’ll save it for the next chapter…which will be a mix of stories you can read to see which ones you want to pursue. It’s an interesting idea, and this arc was made out of a mini-chapter that grew, as they do.

I hope you enjoyed it. I have the luxury of chasing any story I find particularly interesting, which is what’s great about the medium. Of course, there are chapters I should write due to the need, even if they’re less fun…well, it’s a good pace so far.

Two things. If you haven’t checked out Selkie’s Kickstarter, I encourage you to do that! A fellow author finishing a web serial is a huge thing, and it makes me wonder how The Wandering Inn will finish…that day might be a while in coming, but it will happen someday, and I hope it’s well-received when it is.

Second, Great Plains Sing. It’s an amazing rendition brought to life by so many talented readers. It makes the song so much better than I could imagine, and I have to call it out. I’ve listened to it at least a dozen times, and it’s so great.

That’s all from me at the moment. It’s hot.

It’s really hot.

It’s so hot I sort of suspect my air conditioning unit isn’t working properly, so I’m trying to have someone come out to look at it. Also, I think my washing machine belt just broke. Things in the real world are trying to stop me from writing, but I hope you wish me luck! Thanks for reading, and see you next chapter.

PS: I just caught a cold.

 

 

Beware of Chicken Crossover art by Alicelle Yamada, commissioned by CasualFarmer!

 

Ceria Skating by Yura, commissioned by Robin!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/yurariria

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/yuraria.bsky.social

 

Lyonette Fashion and Erin vs the GDI by Chalyon!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/chalyon

 

Ice Squirrel by Phosu!

 

Horns Family Dinner, Erin and Rags, and Boxhead Barmaid Stab by Dalin!

 

Drake and Skeleton Barmaid by Anito!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/anito

 

Lyonette Disgust by Bobo Plushie!

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Bobo_Snofo

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/boboplushie

 

Slaaneshi Tom by DeeDee!

 

Erin and Ulvama Dolls by Spooky!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/spookyspookyowl

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/spookyowl.bsky.social

Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookyowlart

 

Erin and Mrsha by Wagacliff!

 

Toren by Kazah!

 

Silver Swords Expedition in the New Lands by Miguel!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/cmarguel

Twitter: https://twitter.com/cmarguel

 

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