The interrogation cell was small, the darkness kept at bay by a single flickering candle on the table between Shaya and the Inquisitor. They were within arms reach of each other, and despite being apprehended rather brusquely, Shaya wasn’t bound in any way, shape, or form. She couldn’t help but wonder how many Inquisitors died thinking their suspects would never dare assault them, or just how many suspects died thinking they could take their captor.

Shaya had hoped never to encounter the short, wiry Inquisitor Valanar again, ever since their initial meeting when Valanar had enchanted her to be unable to speak of her initial encounter with the apostate on the boat to Arcadia. The woman’s damn esper was already invoked, countless cold eyes peering at her from the shadows of the wall. The young, frustrated, and pained warmage-to-be was proud of keeping her anger in check, as she had to go over her deployment yet again.

“I’m sorry,” Inquisitor Valanar said without sympathy, “do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“No Inquisitor,” Shaya waved a hand dismissively, “I was just hoping to eat another large meal to help me recover and get to studying. My first exam is tomorrow and it’s slated to take twelve hours.”

“A twelve-hour exam?” Valanar cocked her head, “That sounds like torture – what class is this for?”

“Professor Zaal has arranged for the final exam of Game Theory to be a tournament for its ‘practical’ component,” Shaya explained, happy to change the topic from endless repetition, “so after two hours of writing, we launch into ten hours of aggressively timed gameplay.”

“Ah, Zaal,” Valanar gave a small smile with just a hint of warmth behind it, “That would explain it.”

“You’re familiar with Professor Zaal? Did you take any of his classes when you attended the Academy?”

“Oh, I never attended the Academy,” the Inquisitor replied, “but I’m familiar with his work and style.”

Shaya filed that away as she leaned back, wishing she could crack her neck without paralyzing herself. She settled on rolling her wrists until they gave satisfying popping noises. Not her preferred nervous tick, but it would have to do.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Inquisitor?” Shaya asked as the silence grew between them, “I’m sure you have more important work to do than check in on my studies.”

“There is,” Valanar replied, a hint of tension returning to her poise as she answered both of Shaya’s questions at once.

The door behind Shaya opened and a robed servant entered, depositing a long wooden box on the table before departing again, the door locking shut with an ominous ka-chunk.

Shaya took a deep breath to calm herself, focusing on the pain in her ribs to root herself in reality. Her mind was a whirlwind of anxious thoughts, but she let them rush over her, letting them go whenever they tried to occupy her. If the Inquisitor wished her harm, there would be little she could do about it; while unbound, she didn’t attend her debrief armed or armoured, especially because of her injuries.

Valanar watched her expression with interest, and seemed to nod with respect at Shaya’s control. “Don’t worry, the business we’re about to discuss, and the contents of this box, are not related to my profession.”

“What do you mean?” Shaya said, feeling more worried now that the Inquisitor had explained.

“I dislike this part of my job,” Valanar continued, mouth twisting with distate, “so I’ll be brief. You have a duel with Azreon in six days, I’m here to offer you a simple deal. Fight to the best of your ability, but make sure you lose. If you throw the fight in a convincing manner – and no one learns of this – then you get the contents of the box.”

Shaya blinked.

What a piece of spit, not even confident enough to win his own gods damned duels-

Shaya’s thoughts trailed off as Valanar unlocked the box and lifted the lid.

Shaya stared into the box, eyes wide. Her fingers reached out to gently caress the clear, crystalline blade of her mother’s sword. The weapon was huge, easily a bastard sword to a normal human. Even to Shaya, the blade was a bit too long to be a simple straight sword and strangely broad, but she remembered how responsive the weapon was to transmutation. Memories flashed before her eyes of her mom shifting its shape to whatever she needed: spear, axe, shield, or even whip. She could feel its power calling to her, wishing to be wielded again by someone driven to do good, someone willing to stand against corruption.

“And just why,” Shaya said through gritted teeth, “do you feel that I need to earn a possession that should be mine by inheritance?”

“As part of being elevated to sainthood,” Valanar explained, “the artifacts belonging to your mother were given to the Church of Astoria to utilize as we saw fit. So no, technically this does not belong to you. But it could.”

Shaya wished she had studied theology or law enough to know if that was a bald lie.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dedicated to justice?” Shaya asked, failing to keep her mouth shut but managing to keep most of the bite from her words.

“Justice is not a simple concept,” Valanar countered, “there’s a reason Astoria was also God of Strategy and War, while concepts such as Honour and Glory were passed down to Her children.”

“And yet Law was never part of Her portfolio,” Shaya said, eyes narrowing, “funny how the two could be dissociated, but I guess we see why.”

“I’m not here to banter with you,” Valanar sighed, “do you accept the terms of the offered agreement?”

Shaya looked back down to her mother’s sword, letting a storm of emotions rage through her for ten heartbeats. Then she quelled it with a deep breath, switching to her analytical mind.

“May a I invoke my esper and hold the sword, please?” Shaya asked, turning back to Valanar. At Valanar’s amused expression, she added, “I promise I won’t do anything untoward. I hope by now, at least, you know I’m not going to betray the Empire or do anything stupid.”

“This level of arrogance is disconcerting so early in an Amber mage’s career,” Valanar shook her head, “To think that I’m remotely afraid of your actions in my stronghold?”

“Well, if you don’t mind...” Shaya reached for the sword.

Valanar snapped the lid closed. “You can handle the sword all you like once your part of the bargain is fulfilled. Assuming that you are willing and capable of doing so?”

It’s not like I had a high chance of winning anyway, Shaya thought, no one seems to think I can do it, why not get something for the bother?

It’s not like they’re going to let me say no anyway.

“Of course,” Shaya replied, “my pride is a small price to pay for an item of this quality. Will you deliver it to me personally after the duel, or do you at least get to delegate that task to someone beneath you?”

Valanar’s eyes narrowed at the barb.

Maybe don’t antagonize inquisitors, you dumb ass.

“Apologies,” Shaya added, “I’m not accustomed to politicking or having my sainted mom’s possessions lorded over me for small favours involving squabbling children.”

Nailed it.

“You accepted the deal more easily than I expected,” Valanar leaned back, steepling her fingers, “I expected Phaedra to raise a daughter with greater conviction.”

“Maybe I’d be different if she had the chance to raise me,” Shaya snapped back, “but, unfortunately, she was only allowed to get half the job done, and my other mom didn’t get a chance to pick up where she left off. Which is probably a good thing, given who I’m speaking to.”

“Indeed,” Valanar replied, eyes unsympathetic, “and you swear to throw your duel against Azreon?”

Shaya laughed, “Gods, I hope you’re at least half as relentless when pursuing the Empire’s enemies. Yes, I swear it. I don’t know who put you up to this, but they have a skewed view of reality – no one else I’ve spoken to, my mentors included, have suggested I ever had a chance of beating Azreon in the first place. So why not get something for my troubles?”

“Then we’re done speaking,” Valanar nodded, seeming pleased at their meeting’s conclusion, “Have a good evening, Shaya, and don’t mention this to anyone.”

+++++

Shaya and her usual study group sat around their dining room table, books, notes, quills and inkwells occupying every available space on it. It was getting late, but each of them was driven to work harder and longer to do their utmost best on their upcoming finals. The rest of her lancemates were out of the apartment at the time, preparing for exams in their own ways.

“Shaya, are you sure you’re alright?” Bri asked for the hundredth time that evening, clearly concerned, “They kept you much longer than the rest of us.”

“I’m fine,” Shaya sighed, but she couldn’t conceal her fuming. “It’s nothing, I promise. Just lost time I wanted to spend recuperating and studying.”

“Alright,” Bri said, looking doubtful, “if you need to talk, you know I’m here for you...”

“I know,” Shaya said, reaching across the table and giving her girlfriend’s hand a reassuring squeeze, “but don’t worry about it.”

“Aw, you two are so cute,” Apricot smiled, chin resting on her hands as she watched them, “I’m still trying to get Oraeus to open up more.”

“I think you’re doing fairly well,” Samorn added, looking up from her books, “Slowly but surely, he appears to be finding comfort around people. As are you, to be frank.”

Apricot’s nose scrunched up at Samorn’s comment, “Yeah, but I don’t want to be slow about it – I just wish we were already social butterflies, flitting from conversation to conversation and stunning people with our eloquence and wit.”

“Everything is a skill,” Shaya added with a smile, “keep working at it and you’ll get there before you know it. It just takes focus and concentration, like magic.”

“But my time is already spoken for by magic,” Apricot whined dramatically, leaning her head against her book, “where will I find more time to suddenly be good at everything I fantasize about once or twice?”

“I think you need to take a break,” Samorn suggested, “studying for finals is clearly getting to you. I wouldn’t want to beat you on account of simple folly.”

“You’re good Samorn,” Apricot said, smiling as she pulled her head out of her books, “but I’m not letting you win that easily.”

“Are we not even in the running?” Bri muttered to Shaya.

“Nope,” Samorn replied with a thin smile.

“A break’s a good idea though,” Apricot admitted, sliding her text books away and pulling out one of her personal notebooks and a musty tome.

“You’re going to take a break from studying... to study something else?” Bri asked, eyebrow quirked at the elven woman.

“Reading about your theology and history is pretty fun, actually,” Apricot said, just a little defensively, “I find it relaxing compared to studying theory and re-tracing the same spells over and over again.

“Besides, it’s not like I can play with Quill, since we had to study somewhere Shaya could lean forward to read.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Shaya said, face scrunching up with annoyance, “believe me, I wish I was more mobile...”

“Do you think you’ll heal in time for your duel with Azreon this weekend?” Bri asked, even more concern written on her face.

“Bari says she’s willing to see me before my endless exam tomorrow for additional healing,” Shaya explained, giving Bri a reassuring smile, “She’ll make the call then, but she’s optimistic as long as I can pack in enough food.”

“Can you?” Samorn asked, “You looked sick after dinner earlier.”

Shaya shuddered, “Yeah, I’ve never felt starved and painfully full at the same time before, my mind had no idea how to cope with the sensations.”

“I’d be happy to see you get out of your duel with Azreon, honestly,” Bri added.

It stung Shaya that no one believed she could win this fight, though she consoled herself that they meant well and didn’t want to see her get hurt. She had no idea what the enchantments on the Five Rings were capable of, or how lax they could become should Azreon wish it as challenger.

Maybe I did make the right call in accepting Valanar’s offer, she thought, her own despair and sense of helplessness making her blood simmer, maybe I’ll even honour the arrangement... but that’s easy enough to decide during the duel.