False Mage

The food was superb—tiny cakes dotted with blackberries and cream, towers of macarons in every color imaginable, cucumber-and-tripe sandwiches stabbed with olives. Too bad it all tasted like glue to Airi, who was busy trying to remember the manners Marianne had taught her and follow the ever-shifting conversation. She was seated to the left of Mildred, across from two chattering noblewomen. The king sat at the head of the table.

“I heard that you recently acquired a new carriage, Lady Arielle. How charming. You must show it to me when we next meet. Which horse shall you use to draw it? Your father’s?” said the noblewoman across from Airi, dressed in a tangerine gown.

The woman sitting beside her smoothed her emerald gown and said, “Lady Emmeline, you jest. I acquired a new horse with the carriage. A lovely white one, to match. Have you any ideas on what to name it?”

“Oh, ever so many! How about—”

The king’s voice cut through the chatter: “Where is Lord Aylesbury?”

Everyone’s eyes flew to one of the empty seats at the table. There were two in total. No one spoke.

“Have you all gone deaf?” the king said.

A butler rushed forward. “Your Majesty, Lord Aylesbury has allegedly... overslept, according to his retainers. They send their deepest apologies in his stead.”

The king let out a bark of laughter. The table had gone very quiet. “‘Overslept.’ Is my invitation no longer worthy of Lord Aylesbury’s time? Perhaps he does not deign to have tea with us, and our heroes. And what of Lady Hastings? Has she also overslept?” All eyes turned to the second empty seat at the table.

A maid rushed forward. “Your Majesty, Lord Hastings says that extreme efforts were made to wake her, and offers his profuse apologies.”

“Extreme efforts,” the king said slowly. “Profuse apologies. What infantile excuses are these? Does my word no longer carry weight in this kingdom?” He scanned the table. Wisely, the nobles ducked their eyes to their plates. “Would you prefer that the mages rule instead?” He bared his yellowed smile at Airi and Mildred. “Perhaps I should put the kingdom entirely in your hands and take to bed, hmm?”

“Impossible, Your Majesty,” Mildred murmured.

“Impossible,” the king repeated. “Yet the truly impossible task is to face off against a Calamity, and win.” His eyes landed on Airi’s bronze crest. “You are merely third-class. How did you defeat Gold?”

Mildred started to speak, but the king silenced her with a wave of his hand. “Silence. I am speaking to Mage Airi.”

Airi swallowed, aware that everyone was now looking at her. “Sir—I mean, Your Majesty, it was mostly Mildred. I was just there to support—”

“Do not attempt to deceive me,” the king rumbled. “Marianne does not send anyone without a very good reason to do so.”

Fear seized Airi, but she forced herself to smile. “I... I have no idea why she chose me.” That, at least, was true. She’d never really thought about why Marianne had sent her with Mildred. She could have easily sent anyone else to fetch Wendolyn.

The king considered her answer. “Very well. I expect a better answer by the next time we meet.”

Airi nodded. The king picked up his goblet, and the tension in the room seemed to dissolve.

“What kind of magic do you specialize in, Mage Airi?” Lady Emmaline asked, leaning across the table for a scone.

“Oh—uh...” Airi saw that the king was listening in. Should she say water magic, like Nestor? Or maybe wind magic, like Mildred? “I’m... more of a wind mage.”

“‘More of?’ I was under the impression that mages choose one subject to research,” Lady Arielle said.

“Perhaps you were mistaken,” said Lady Emmaline, smiling at her friend.

“She was not mistaken,” the king said. The table fell silent again. “Tell me, Mage Airi. What spells do you know, being ‘more of’ a wind mage?”

Airi’s left hand was sweating like crazy. Her right hand, of course, was the source of her stress. Even hidden under a glove, the crystal seemed to pulse with mana—mana that, for whatever reason, she couldn’t use to cast spells.

“Well, I’m... not really a...”

“A demonstration would be much appreciated,” the king said. “I’m sure we are all curious to know how you killed Gold.”

There were nods around the table. “Dreadful for jewelry prices,” said one noble.

Airi’s blood chilled, and she snuck a glance at Mildred. “I’m, uh, I don’t have my spellbook.”

“An unusual error for a mage,” the king said. “Fortunately, I happen to have Tale of Flight right here.” A maid placed a jeweled book in front of Airi. “I believe this is sufficiently basic that all mages are familiar with it.”

Was Mildred able to cast spells without looking at the book? Was there some way to show Mildred the words without making it obvious? Airi reached slowly for the spellbook, dreading every moment ahead. She could see it all: she would read the book, slowly and painstakingly, and nothing would happen.

Her hand stilled for a moment, remembering Marianne’s words: You’ll have to have all the fun in my place.

What was Airi doing? Playing by the king’s rules? Falling right into his hands? He wanted to see his suspicions confirmed, wanted to make her squirm. Perhaps he was even hoping to see her and Mildred executed by the end of this tea party. All this time in the palace, surrounded by the king’s men, had nearly made Airi forget who she was.

What did she know about the king so far? He clearly despised the mages. Why could that be? He had a son, didn’t he? Snow White, former crown prince. Exiled for a terrible crime. Could that have anything to do with it? Or perhaps... judging by his condescending tone, was he bitter that he had no mana?

All this flashed by in her mind, and she reached smoothly for the book. Its cover was thick with jewels.

Gripping it tightly in her right hand, she tore it cleanly in two, severing the solid gold cover. It was as easy as ripping a tissue.

Gasps rippled down the table. Mildred sucked in a sharp breath, as if she had forgotten how to speak.

Airi didn’t look at them. She kept her eyes trained on the king, watching his expression shift to stunned silence.

“Your Majesty. You asked me what kind of a mage I am. The truth is, I am a mage who does not use magic.”

The king blustered, “What nonsense is this?”

“Nonsense it may be, Your Majesty. But I defeated Gold, didn’t I? All without the use of a single spell.” Airi looked at Mildred, signaling her to play along. “Distinguished Mage, you witnessed it."

Mildred nodded. “It’s true; she didn’t use magic.” Her eyes pleaded, What are you doing?

Airi gave Mildred the tiniest of smiles and turned back to the king.

“I don’t understand,” the king said, straining to sound authoritative. “You... do not have mana.”

“I do. I just don’t use it.”

“Why?” the king demanded, though he didn’t sound particularly angry. “You can hardly claim that third-class crest. You are but a false mage.”

Airi gave the king a small, fierce grin. “If a false mage is what I am, then so be it, Your Majesty. I will prove that you do not need mana to be strong.”

She closed her mouth, praying that she’d said the right thing.

“Airi, was it? I hadn't heard your name until today.” The king studied her with dark eyes. “Then again, I hardly have the time or desire to learn the name of every little rat scurrying in my basement.”

The nobles tittered with laughter, all except the lilac-haired young man, who sipped his tea with a thoughtful expression.

“You’re dismissed,” the butler whispered.

Airi rose shakily to her feet. As they walked across the checkerboard floor, she stumbled. Mildred caught her by the arm, and they left the Throne Room, breaking into a run through the Upper Palace, laughing like crazy as butlers and maids chased after them.