Hangovers

Martel went to sleep the moment he returned from the Imperial palace. When he woke the next day, he felt better; apart from a strange soreness throughout his body, his symptoms from last night seemed gone. Most importantly, as he summoned a flame in his hand, it came willingly and without any nausea or the like.

Master Alastair greeted him as usual in the Hall of Elements. "You look a bit more worn than normal. Did you stay late at the feast?"

Martel shook his head. "I exhausted myself last night, for the first time. Not a pleasant experience."

"I daresay. What happened that forced you to deplete your magic to such a degree?"

"I met the prince, together with Maximilian. He demanded a demonstration of my powers, and my first attempts did not impress him."

The Master of Elements looked at him intently. "What did you do?"

"I made use of the thunderstorm. I called down a bolt of lightning to hit the rod on a nearby building."

His teacher stared at him with mixed emotions. "Martel, that was dangerous. You are not ready to wield such power, as evidenced by your exhaustion. Not to mention, if you had lost control, the lightning might easily have chosen you as its conduit and struck you dead, or someone else."

None of that had occurred to Martel last night. "Oh."

"You endangered yourself, your friend, and the prince. Even if I have no particular feelings towards him, I doubt the praetorians would be as calm about it."

"He wore gold," Martel defended himself. "It was just me and the others in danger." He could hear how that did not sound like the most convincing argument.

"Regardless, you must exercise far greater caution in the future. Never leap in this manner from minor spellwork to something requiring such great amounts of power, do you understand?"

"Of course, master. I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"Very well. I assume you felt rather poorly after exhausting yourself."

"I really did."

"That'll suffice to help you remember. I think we will let any spells related to fire rest and focus on your water magic. You'll want to impress Mistress Vana at your examination."

"She'll be present?"

"She will. So let's make sure you impress her."

~

Before he left the class, Master Alastair told him that Mistress Juliana wished to speak with him at his convenience. As ever, Martel could not help but feel worried about the reasons why; even if he felt that things have gone well at the Imperial palace, he had begun to realise that in the end, his own actions only mattered to a certain extent. As she had warned him, to the members of the imperial court, he was simply a piece to move around, whatever fitted their plans.

So following his usual strategy, he went straight from the Hall of Elements to Mistress Juliana's chamber.

"Enter."

Martel went inside and took the same seat as always. Pushing some papers away from another chair, Mistress Juliana sat down opposite him. "How was your meeting with the prince?"

"It went well… I think. Maybe."

"How about you tell me what happened."

Martel cleared his throat, not keen on getting chastised a second time for his reckless use of magic. Perhaps he could downplay that part of the story. "Me and Maximilian –"

"Maximilian and I."

"… Maximilian and I went to see the prince, and he wanted us to show how good we were at magic. Else he didn't believe we had taken down a berserker."

She looked at him patiently. "And what did you do?"

Even if her gaze felt almost benign, Martel still felt uncomfortable subjected to her scrutinising eyes. "There was already a thunderstorm, so I called down a small bolt of lightning. Against a lightning rod, nothing damaged."

"And how did the prince react?"

"Hard to tell. He did not seem satisfied, nor displeased. He just dismissed us."

She drummed her fingers against her knee, looking pensive. "He learned from an early age to keep his cards close to the vest. As I have heard nothing else, I expect you got through this no worse for wear."

Martel relaxed his shoulders, releasing tension he was not even aware of. "So it's done? I won't have to worry about any of this again?"

"That depends. If you continue to stay in the background from now on, avoid any further attention from these nobles, they may forget about you, and you may pursue your choice of a quieter career with weather or such."

"That sounds good."

"And if you spurn Duke Cheval's offer of employment, that may indeed be your only recourse. As he leads the strongest faction at court, refusing him closes many other doors," Mistress Juliana warned him. "As for the other of the large factions, led by the Duchess of Trior, you will not find employment from them."

Martel tried to remember what he knew about them, which was not a lot. "The ones that want reforms? What do they have against me?"

"One such reform they seek would implement strict control over mages hailing from the outer provinces. Any place beyond the former borders of the old Aquilan empire, such as Nordmark. They would never employ a mage of Tyrian descent at any court, whether the Imperial or their own."

Martel stared at her, dumbfounded. "Why not?"

She returned his gaze with an expression he could not read. "I fear that would be a lesson unto itself to explain. Suffice to say, your ambition to become a weathermage far up in Nordmark suits them fine."

Strange, but at least they would not be a hindrance to him. "Alright, I guess we'll stay out of each other's way."

"That would be my advice. Avoid attention, finish your studies." She gave him a final look. "And do better on the first point than you have so far, where you got into a fight with a berserker three months after your arrival."

Martel sighed. He was never going to live that down.