“There’s a prince for every pauper and a priest for every pervert in this hells-touched shithole.”

-King Gradlon Barbebleu of Ys on the topic of Reynes at a diplomatic dinner hosted by la Duchesse Roselle Bonnefleur in Couronne, Reynes.

***

Alvanue’s first week at St. Gilrin’s was a whirlwind. To be perfectly honest, she hardly remembered most of it.

Dean Felwyck hadn’t been lying during orientation, her professors got straight to business on the very first day. Herbology and Mana Manipulation weren't too difficult but History and Channeling were wearing away at her sanity. That, and the school's system was a completely foreign concept to her. When she’d spoken to her father about the school, she hadn’t been aware that instead of two semesters, the school year would be divided into quarters. Instead of the more sedate pace she was used to, her professors were moving through their curriculums at break-neck speeds, and she was falling behind.

Luckily, she had help.

“I still don’t get it,” Alvanue groaned, head in her hands.

“Shh!”

Vivienne waved apologetically at one of the angry librarians that always seemed to be patrolling the library’s study hall, no matter the time of day or night. Vivienne, Alvanue, Thisby and Snowball had managed to lay claim to a table by a pair of windows overlooking the campus and the sea beyond.

The four of them were bathed in the golden light of a late massday evening, sharing sips from a flask of some heavy ale Thisby had smuggled out of the dining hall. The air around them was aglow with swirling motes of dust from the ancient grimoires and spell tomes the school’s magical studies library protected. It was a scene out of a fairytale.

Alvanue just wished she were in a better mood to enjoy it.

“How are you still having trouble with this?” Vivienne asked her, eyeing the retreating form of the librarian. “You’re saying you can cast Visandri’s Lightning Bolt, but you have trouble with a channeling exercise I learned when I was nine?”

Thisby cut in before Alvanue could defend herself.

“Have you tried the breathing technique I recommended? What about meditation, do you meditate at least once a day?”

The three had been meeting up regularly throughout the week: before the morning bell, during lunch, after class. The human and dwarf duo were currently helping her work through a practical assignment from her channeling class. As she understood it, she was supposed to focus on the mana flowing through her body. Through relaxation and concentration, she was then supposed to redirect the mana from its natural pathways and into a simple closed circuit around a wound. If she did it correctly, the mana should heal the injury it was redirected around, except the small cut she’d scratched into the back of her hand was still there, a testament to her failure.

“Yes and yes.” She was still doing the exercises that Uruigith had drilled into her. Apparently, they were the same ones children in Albion learned alongside their abcs and basic mathematics. ”I never really spent time on channeling back home, just spells and stuff. With casting, you just have to understand the underlying concept of whatever spell you’re doing, mix that with some of your mana and tada! You’ve got lightning!”

She waggled her fingers to imitate lightning. Thisby and Vivienne shared a not-so-discrete look.

“You say that like it’s easy,” Thisby said. Looking around surreptitiously to make sure the area was clear of librarians, she took a swig from her smuggled flask.

Alvanue leaned back in her chair and sighed. Snowball was a comfortable weight in her lap, the not-so-little troll snoring softly. She dug her fingers in Snowball’s thick fur and spoke.

“It is easy. You don’t have to be a genius to understand what natural conditions allow for lightning, or ice or fire. Study for a bit, memorize a key word or phrase and you’re set. Getting good at channeling, though? That takes tons of time and even more practice.”

With casting a spell, there was immediate gratification, an instant and visible result. When Alvanue cast Visandri’s Lightning Bolt, she could be sure something was about to go zap. With channeling, however, it took a long time to see any real results. Over time, those who honed their ability to channel mana saw increased healing, superhuman stamina and strength as well as a whole host of other physical benefits.

“Alright, let’s try this again,” Vivienne said. “Close your eyes, clear your mind, and focus on your mana.”

“Remember the breathing technique,” Thisby whispered. “Five seconds in, five seconds out.”

Alvanue tried to follow their advice, breathing and focusing and thinking hard about nothing in particular.

She could feel her mana flowing in intricate pathways through her body. It was hard to ignore, like a hive of angry bees she could feel it buzzing under her skin. Even though she could detect it, it was impossible to interact with her mana while it was still cycling through her flesh and bones. Every time she tried to nudge it in any direction other than the way it was already going, it felt like wading through molasses. She scrunched her forehead up, concentrating until sweat beaded on her furrowed brow but her mana kept swirling in its natural pattern.

If I nudge here, and push there, maybe...

She concentrated on the flowing mana with all her might. Thirty seconds turned into a minute, one minute turned into five and then ten.

Alvanue opened her eyes and shook her head dejectedly.

“Nope. Nothing.”

Both Vivienne and Thisby made twin sounds of frustration.

“I just- I don’t get it.” Vivienne said, perplexed. “This is all really basic stuff. How did your teachers skip over channeling and go straight to spell theory? That’s like, I don’t even know what to compare it to, like-”

“Like teaching a journeyman machinist how to properly care for the mana reactor on a Ozhuuk Warden without first showing her how to disengage the blast-warded exoskeleton,” Thisby supplied helpfully.

It was Alvanue’s turn to share a look with Vivienne.

“Sure. Like that.”

Alvanue shrugged.

“I’ve never had any teachers. Well, one, I guess if you count that old fart, but aside from him it was just my parents who taught me. What I learned relied on what they were interested in or what they had time for.”

Vivienne swallowed a mouthful of ale and passed the flask back to Thisby.

“But you obviously come from a good family. Why didn’t they hire more tutors for you?”

“Oh, they probably would have when I got a little older. Elf children don’t really start their education until, like, way late in life. We’re born with enough basic knowledge that we can get by pretty well without it.”

Vivienne cocked her head.

“Shelving that last part, how old are you? I’d peg you for 16, maybe 18?”

“I’m 34.”

Thisby, having been unfortunately in the middle of taking another covert swig, sprayed foamy ale out of her nose and onto the table. Cursing in Reynish, Vivienne began wiping up the spilled liquid with a monogrammed handkerchief off the very expensive and very wet wood as the dwarf coughed up the remainder of her drink.

Recovering enough to take a breath, Thisby looked up at Alvanue and scrubberd her damp face with a furry arm.

“Bits and bobs, you’re as old as one of my moms.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Vivienne said. “I knew elves aged slowly but still...Regardless, if you’re in your thirties you have no excuse to not be at the very least proficient at channeling. It’s one of the building blocks of a mage’s education.”

“But it’s so boring,” Alvanue whined.

“Well, boring or not, if you can’t even manage this simple exercise by the end of the month, you can be sure Professor Taizin’s going to flunk you. And that means you’ll have to take the class all over again next quarter,” the human girl said.

Alvanue groaned again.

Taizin.

When Vivienne had called her a snake, Alvanue thought she was joking. She wasn't. The ophidian woman was just as brutal as she'd been warned and twice as mean as that bastard Uruigith, if not as physically abusive. Not directly, anyway. She taught Basic Channeling, a class all students in the Mage Program had to take their first year, but she ran it like a speed course for veteran channelers. She wasn’t afraid to let her pupils know when they had failed to meet her impossible standards, loudly, in front of their fellow classmates nor aggressively correct them in the middle of an exercise. Even though she had a tail instead of legs and the hooded head of some venomous snake instead of, well, an actual head, something about the serpentine woman reminded Alvanue of her dam Sildathlene.

Maybe it’s the eyes. Or the superiority complex. Or both.

“Here,” Thisby said, hoisting a book nearly as big as she was from a neat stack by her chair up on to the table. “Read this. It helped me a lot when I was just starting off back home. Erasmus can drone on something awful, but he knows his stuff. Plus, somehow he got his hands on one of Yisendril’s manuscripts and cites it pretty heavily throughout.”

Vivienne sniffed.

“My father says it wasn’t an original. In Reynes it’s said that Erasmus lied about sourcing one just to promote his theories on channeling.”

Thisby rolled her eyes.

“Puh-lease, like les Reynois are complete strangers to a little academic dishonesty. Remind me, Vee, what was the name of that Reynish lord who bragged about finding gnomish runestones that held ‘the secret to the philosopher’s stone’ but when they got translated it turned out it was just a 12,000-year-old recipe for lamb stew? A Duc Corgane or something like that, right? C'mon, Vee, help me out here. What was his name?”

Vivienne, cheeks flushed a flattering pink, slid down in her seat.

“Great Uncle Guillaume wasn't known for his academics, it’s true,” she said in a small voice. “But the stew is actually rather good,”

Thisby turned an impish grin on Alvanue.

“Sorry, but what are you guys talking about?” she asked.

“Yisendril. You have heard about her before, right?” Thisby asked.

Vivienne sat up a bit, getting over her embarrassment, and leaned forward.

“I’d be surprised if you haven’t. She came from Endrillond like you, I’m pretty sure. She’s one of the most prolific magical scholars in history,” Vivienne said. “It’s just a shame most of her works have been lost to time.”

Thisby nodded in agreement.

“Copies are super rare. I heard some enchantment in the paper keeps them from being transcribed, so if you want to read one you have to buy an original. My granny told me one of the Guild Mistresses in Thuumgoz has one, but she won’t let anyone near it.”

Vivienne sighed.

“An ancestor of mine had one of her books on spirit binding, but he lost it in the War of Falstead. He remembered enough to teach his children parts of it and the mages of House Gorgagne have been summoners ever since.”

Thisby’s ears wiggled with jealousy.

“Lucky,” she said. “All my matriarchs ever passed down to their descendants was a knack for enchanting and alcoholism.”

“Hold on,” Alvanue started digging around in her bag. “Is this what you guys are talking about?”

Thisby and Vivienne sat stunned, staring at the book Alvanue pulled out, one of the number that Uruigith had gifted her. Despite its age, the volume was still in good condition, the title and author’s name printed in neat, legible elvish script on the cover: ‘General Elements of Magic, a Treatise’ by Yisendril Firstborn.

“Is that-” Vivienne began, her throat clicking as she swallowed.

“-what I think it is?” Thisby finished with a shaking voice.

Alvanue nodded.

“Yup,” she said and let the book plop down onto the tabletop. “This is a first edition by none other than the big lady herself.”

There was a brief stillness as Vivienne and Thisby sat with dazed looks on their faces before they burst into action.

“Mine!” the two shouted in unison and dove across the table, thumping skulls in the process.

A librarian popped their head around the corner and shushed them again but Thisby and Vivienne were too busy wrestling over the book to pay them any mind.

With a grunt, Vivienne managed to push the dwarf away with a rough swipe of her arm and sent her friend toppling off the edge of the table.

The human girl’s triumphant laugh as she held the book high in the air quickly turned into a squawk of outrage when Thisby yanked on her long hair, climbing her dark curls like a rope ladder. The dwarf balanced on Vivienne’s shoulders before launching her small body at the book, grappling it in a full-body hug and flipping through the air. She hit the floor rolling and popped up, grinning.

“Like I said. Mine.”

Alvanue hadn’t realized how quick dwarves could be, as within the span of a second, Thisby was disappearing between two bookshelves in a full on sprint for the door.

“Thesibarzol Kaamghan, you get back here this instant!” Vivienne shrieked, running after her evilly cackling friend. An irate librarian followed quickly behind, jowls wobbling in consternation.

“Guess it’s just you and me, Snowball,” she said, looking down at the troll. “Have any advice on how to channel properly?”

The troll snorted, rolling over in her lap, and let out a sleepy burp.

“Yeah. I thought so.”

***

The trio had been promptly kicked out of the study hall after the scene Vivienne and Thisby had made, and ended up wandering around campus for a bit. Alvanue had been able to place the channeling guide Thisby had recommended on hold for future study, but the library was keeping it to check for damages.

“Ok, ok, I borrow the book this week, then you get it next week. Deal?”

“Next week? Why do I have to wait til then to read it? Let’s just trade off day by day,”

“Guys?” Alvanue asked.

“No way! How do you expect me to get through even a chapter in a day? I need time to study it, absorb the information, then-”

“Hey, guys?” Alvanue tried again.

“-now how about this, I get mornings and you get evenings. That works with both our schedules and spilts the time evenly between us without-”

“Absolutely not. How is half a day any better than a full day? Now, I think the best plan is to go through it together. We can bribe a fourth year into letting us use their private study-”

Alvanue stopped walking, putting her hands on her hips and took a deep breath.

“Guys!”

Vivienne and Thisby froze in the middle of playing an intense if somewhat lopsided game of tug-o-war with Alvanue’s book. They glanced at each other then back at the elf.

“What?” Thisby asked.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Alvanue asked with a pointed look at the focus of their tug-o-war.

Vivienne coughed and let go of the book.

“Oh. Right.”

Thisby held it up to Alvanue.

“Sorry. Guess we kinda got carried away there,” she said.

Alvanue just shook her head, slipping the ancient treatise back in her book bag next to Snowball. The troll was almost too big to fit but seemed to like sitting in there more than walking, so she let it be.

“Can you guys even read elvish?”

“Um, not well-”

“But we can learn!” Thisby interrupted Vivienne, slapping her friend’s arm with a quick shake of her head.

Alvanue couldn’t help but laugh.

“Look, you guys are free to read the book if you want, and I’ll even help you learn elvish, but I’m not super comfortable lending it out. Uruigith would probably kill me if I lost it. What if you guys came by the embassy once in a while? We can study there.”

Alvanue’s two companions paused awkwardly.

“Won’t, uh, Edhalan be there?” Thisby whispered his name as if he were lurking around the corner.

Shit.

She’d forgotten to talk to Edhalan about Adair. The whole thing had slipped her mind, in all honesty. Edhalan had been attacked by some marauding group of pick-pockets her first day of classes. That, as well as the excitement of her first week at St. Gildrin’s and she’d forgotten all about the fight at the Hangman.

“He’s really not that bad,” she reassured them. “Yeah, he can be a bit prickly around strangers-" mortals, "-and that stuff with Adair was pretty uncool, but it’s not like he’s going to attack you guys for no reason. Probably.”

The parts of Thisby not covered in curly brown fur paled.

“That’s not very reassuring,” Vivienne said.

Alvanue pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, how about this- he should be waiting for me at the front gate right about now. Why don’t we all go over and talk it out?”

The mage lights were winking to life on the pathway they were walking down, lighting up the deep evening shadows that grew as night approached.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that-”

“Let’s go.” Thisby said. “If it means I get unlimited time to go through that book of yours, Alvanue, I’m in.”

“Thisby!”

“What? Don’t give me that look. Ok, so he kinda terrifies me and he kinda maimed our friend, but only a little bit! He can’t be all bad, right?”

Vivienne looked hesitant.

“Still.”

“Come on, Vee,” Thisby huffed. “When’s the next time you’re going to get the chance to read an original Yisendril, huh? I don’t care if it’s an illustrated guide on how to milk a chimera, I’m reading it cover to cover.”

Vivienne opened her mouth to reply when a rustling coming from one of the nearby hedges cut her off.

“What was that?”

The rustling continued, growing louder.

The hour had grown late without Alvanue or the others noticing and evening had given way to night. Fog from the harbor had climbed the many tiers and levels of Avalon and spilled over the edges of St. Gildrin’s high walls, veiling its ancient halls and quiet gardens in a deep gloom. The campus was empty, their fellow students busy with dinner or preparing for next week’s classes and so the three of them were utterly alone.

“I’m gonna take a closer look,” Thisby said.

Vivienne shivered and drew her cloak tighter around her thin frame.

“Be careful, it could be a wild animal or something,” she cautioned.

The dwarf snorted.

“Like anything dangerous could get through the vermin wards. It’s probably another one of Professor Thaas’s parrots. They always find a way to sneak out of the green house.”

Having said her piece, Thisby shuffled closer, picking a pebble off the cobblestone path and hefting it in her child-sized hand. Closing one eye and sticking out her tongue, she aimed for the part of the bushes with the most commotion. Just as she was raising her arm to toss the small rock, a sliver of starlight made metal thrust out from the foliage.

The pebble dropped from her hand, Thisby’s head tilting up to stare at a scowling elf as he cut his way out of the manicured hedge with his wickedly sharp blade. Vivienne let out a screech of fright.

Speak of the devil, thought Alvanue wearily.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over campus for you,” Edhalan huffed, combing a leaf out of his dark hair with his fingers as he sheathed his sword. He hopped nimbly over the severed branches in his way and onto the cobblestone path. “Elders take it, this place is a maze.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked as Thisby shook off her surprise and went over to check on her startled friend. “I thought we were supposed to meet at the front.”

His frown deepened.

“Yeah, we were. An hour ago.”

“Oh.”

I guess time flies when you can’t figure out how to finish your damn homework.

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” he said. “Now come on, the ambassador’s back from abroad and he wants to talk to you.”

He started walking towards the gate and motioned for her to follow but she reached out to tug on his cape.

“The Ambassador? Wait, hold that thought,” she said switching back to Common. “While we’re all here, is there anything you want to say to Vivienne and Thisby?”

Edhalan turned back and fixed her with a flat stare.

“Not really.”

“Eddie!”

He crossed his arms tight across his chest and let his head fall back.

“You’re not going to let this go until I agree, are you?”he asked.

Alvanue shook her head.

“Fine. Human, dwarf, I regret if my actions at the Hangman Inn caused you any emotional distress. However,” he said, hand falling softly to the pommel of his saber. “I refuse to apologize for what happened to your friend. He’s lucky he fought me instead of a different elf; one less restrained than I might not have been as...lenient.”

Vivienne gulped audibly.

“Good enough for me!” Thisby said cheerfully. “Forgive and forget, that’s what my moms always told me. Vee?”

The group turned to Vivienne, who looked distinctly uncomfortable to be the center of attention.

“I- well, Adair really shouldn’t have said those things, but...”

“Vee! C’mon!” Thisby stage whispered and pointed indiscreetly at Alvanue’s book bag.

“Oh, very well. Edhalan, I accept your apology,” Vivienne said reluctantly.

“I didn’t apologize. And it’s sir,” the elf in question muttered under his breath. Alvanue wacked his arm. “Are you happy? Can we go now?”

Alvanue took a deep breath and resisted the urge to wack him again.

“Alright, see you guys later. Come by tomorrow and we’ll start the elvish lessons?”

“Definitely,” Thisby elbowed Vivienne, her arm reaching as high as her friend’s thigh. “Vee?”

“O-of course. See you then, Alvanue...Edhalan.”

***

Ambassador Olome was not what Alvanue had imagined. A member of the famously pompous High Elves, and appointed to his post by Queen Yanarisil herself, she’d pictured him as the officious or imperious type when she thought of him at all.

That mental image couldn’t have been further from reality.

Standing tall, with golden eyes and darkly beautiful features, he looked like a typical Risillondi, but that was where his similarity with most High Elves ended. His black hair was cut short in a human style, his clothes were those of a popular Lyonessean fashion rather than traditional robes and, most surprisingly, he was unreserved in his emotions.

He beamed at her as she walked into his office, a bright smile spreading across his dark face.

“Lady Alvanue! Come in, come in. I apologize for not being there to welcome you when you first arrived, but I was detained longer than expected up north," he said as she shuffled in. "I trust the staff have helped you settle in nicely? Please, take a seat.”

“Yes, thank you, everybody’s been really welcoming,” she said, sinking into a richly padded chair.

Damn, this is comfy, she thought, wiggling deeper into the chair’s thick cushions. Why doesn’t dad have chairs like these in his study?

The truth was she’d barely interacted with any of the other elves at the embassy aside from Edhalan, spending most of her day at school. Aside from the carriage ride with Londalis, the most time she’d spent in their company was during her quick breakfasts before class and few elves were chatty so early in the morning.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” he said. “Well, I suppose I should introduce myself properly. I am Olome Aldarase, Ambassador to Lyonesse and Chief Concordian Diplomat to the United Kingdoms of Albion. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, my lady.”

The golden-eyed elf stood up and sketched a bow over his enormous desk with a flourish. He straightened and gave her a self-deprecating grin such that she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Nice to meet you too, Ambassador.”

Sitting back down, he scooted his chair in and folded his hands gracefully on top of his desk.

“Now, introductions out of the way, I wanted to have a quick chat as to your role here at the embassy.”

“I’m sorry? My da- my sire said my role was ‘largely ceremonial.”

Ambassador Olome chuckled.

“Yes, indeed, ‘ceremonial’ is an apt description, but that doesn’t mean you’re quite free of responsibilities young lady!”

Crap.

She should have known there was a catch when her sire had first told her about St. Gildrin's.

“So what are my, uh, ‘responsibilities’?”

“Oh, don’t look so worried! It’s nothing too taxing for a young elf such as yourself,” he said, pulling out a thick sheaf of papers from a drawer.

Double crap.

She’d seen more paperwork in the last week than she had in both her lifetimes combined.

“Now let’s see. Firstly,” Olome began reading from the papers. “You are required to uphold the embassy’s reputation during your time in Lyonesse. That just means don’t rob a bank or anything while you’re technically a junior diplomat here. They don't look too kindly on that. Secondly, you are required to share any information concerning events that could potentially impact the Concord with a senior diplomat, which in this case would be me. Thirdly, you are required to keep any and all information that could potentially harm the Concord safe from those who act against our interests. I’m sure you have enough sense not to spread any state secrets you might know, but you’d be surprised how many young elves have to be told that last bit.”

To Alvanue’s relief, he flipped briefly through the stack before stuffing them back in the drawer and clapped his hands together.

“I think we can skip the rest, hmm? To summarize, don’t do anything stupid, keep your ear to the ground and make sure our secrets stay secret. Failure to meet these standards could lead to your enrollement at St. Gildrin's being rescinded, criminal proceedings, yadda yadda, you know the rest. Think you can do that?”

She nodded slowly.

“Yeah, I thinl so.”

He winked at her.

“I knew you could. Now, last but not least, as a ‘ceremonial’ junior diplomat, you are also required to attend diplomatic functions, barring those which interfere with your class schedule, of course,” he paused, flipping open a small planner. “And speaking of diplomatic functions, it just so happens that one’s in the books.”

“What is it?” she asked warily, warning bells going off in her head.

“A state dinner at the royal palace, this moonday next. It's one of those Saint's Feasts, though for the life of me I can't remember which one. Must be a dozen of the things. Anyway, make sure to mark it on your calander, double booking is always a nuisance.”

“I- at the palace? Do I have to?”

I don’t have time to schmooze Lyonessean nobility, I need to practice my channeling so I can pass Taizin’s stupid class!

Olome held his hands out, face serious.

“Well, I suppose you could refuse to go. However, that might reflect rather poorly on House Silthondrim after the amount of work your sire went through to get you into St. Gildrin’s. King Loholt is as good a man as they come, but he suffers from an incurable illness shared by most royalty the world over: pride.”

Son of a thielesar.

“Well, I guess I’ll go if that’s the case," she said, trying not to sound like a sullen hatchling.

The Ambassador’s smile came back with full force.

“Excellent! As I said, mark the date, moonday next.”