Firebrand

Entanglement

"Morcaster has many wonders. In architecture. My favourite is the Basilica."

Only as Master Basil said the name of the temple did Martel realise the similarity to his teacher's name. The novice considered whether that had influenced the earthmage's choice of favourite, or if perhaps his parents naming him thus had influenced him towards earth magic.

"The stones were hewn and raised with magic. But the towers rest. On their own foundation. Else they might be vulnerable. If someone threw gold at them." Master Basil gave a coughing sound. "If you can imagine someone doing that."

Martel realised that his teacher did not have a problem with his breathing, but instead he was laughing.

They stood at the Basilica square, another trip into the city to demonstrate the uses of earth magic. Given their walking speed, Martel estimated that they would have to leave in a few moments to make it back to the Lyceum in time for next bell.

"The stone comes from a quarry. Two hundred miles away. Mages dig and shape them. Before transport. Oxen handle that, not mages." Another round of raspy sounds from Master Basil. "Let us turn back."

They began walking south towards the Lyceum. The ragged preacher was present again, and he had ordinary people, servants, some nobles, and a few members of the clergy all gathered to hear him.

"Too much sun." Master Basil glanced towards the preacher and his crowd as they slowly passed by. "Lovely baths made from good stone nearby. He should go in the shade. And also wash."

~

As they drove towards the Imperial palace for the second time, Martel felt less anxious. Nothing had been required of him other than being present, and seeing the palace, including the Dome of Stars, had been an experience to treasure. Seeing the emperor, even if from afar, had also been interesting. Martel still found it hard to grasp how much magic he had witnessed, whether it be enchanted objects, buildings, or mageknights. The Lyceum might boast of the same, but being the seat of magic in Aster, that was to be expected.

The difference lay in subtlety, perhaps. At the Lyceum, magic seemed almost dormant, waiting for its residents to use it. Or it was hidden in the walls, used for mundane purposes, such as cleansing and transporting water. Not like the palace, where magic was on display to impress and overwhelm the visitor.

Once they arrived, they gathered in a different hall than last. While curious to see more of the palace, Martel was a little disappointed not to see the Dome of Stars again. While still beautiful and filled with ornaments, the new location looked more like the halls he had seen in the homes of the nobility, except perhaps on a grander scale. In one end stood a throne, and Martel wondered how many the emperor had – one for every room?

After a certain amount of waiting, the man in question made his entrance like yesterday, surrounded by praetorians. Martel noticed that he wore different clothes, but they had the same shimmer of magic as the other set. He thought about the wealth implied in owning so many enchanted garments.

Several musicians entered as well, taking position in the middle of the hall. As they began playing, Martel speculated whether their instruments were also enchanted; the sound carried easily over the noise of people whispering and rustling, and the music was divine. He hoped that he might dream of it tonight, just so he could experience it again.

Caught up in the performance, Martel did not notice when Maximilian left his side. He even closed his eyes for a little while, just to better concentrate on the music. As he opened them again, he quickly had to step backwards to avoid the dancing couples now taking up the inner part of the hall. Almost pressed against the wall, Martel had to compose himself. He felt foolish, though nobody seemed to have noticed; none looked in his direction. Just as he preferred. If the rest of the evening went with music and dance, allowing Martel to stand back and enjoy it all, he would consider forgiving Maximilian for dragging him along.

Eventually, the round of dancing ended, and the mageknight returned to his side. "Surely you do not intend to remain by the wall the entire evening?"

"That is exactly what I intend."

"Martel," his friend said in reproach, "now is your chance to show your graces! Prove that you are more than just a mage. You might even entice some of the lesser nobility to consider you worthy of their daughter."

Martel gave him an incredulous look. "Max, I am sixteen. I have no such thoughts."

The mageknight slowly shook his head. "What a sweet and carefree life you lead, my friend. Regardless, you should consider making the most of this opportunity, as I believe the next dance is the Aquilan step. The very one that Eleanor spent the other night teaching you."

As Maximilian left to seek out a dance partner of his own, Martel looked around. Etiquette dictated that as the man, he made the first move to invite someone. But rank mattered, as Maximilian had explained to him. The son of a count might ask the daughter of a duke, but only the audacious offspring of a baron would dare to do the same. If in doubt, he should stick to those of untitled families, patricians and the like.

Of course, that presumed Martel knew how to tell the difference. Everyone wore insignia explaining their house, but the novice could not recognise any except the few belonging to his friends, and it probably would not work asking Maximilian for a dance. He was the son of a count, after all, far above Martel's station.

Still looking around, he saw the only other insignia he might reliably recognise. He had not noticed Eleanor yesterday, as he had ended up far back in the hall during the audience, crowded by other attendants of lower rank, which had also suited him fine. But he suddenly, for reasons unknown, felt a little guilty that Eleanor had spent an evening helping him if he would not make use of it. His next emotion was annoyance that he did feel guilty. Maximilian had requested her help, not him, and she had decided to end their friendship, not him; Martel did not see why he owed her anything.

But she was the daughter of a legate from a patrician family. And wearing a red dress that flowed around her form, with soft curls to frame her face, she seemed a vision. Clearly, others thought as well; Martel saw more than one person moving in her direction while the musicians indicated that the next song was about to play.

With a bit of empowered speed in his step, Martel wove through several people to reach Eleanor first. Suddenly unsure about the etiquette and feeling nervous, he gave a bow. "May I dance with you?" he asked.

Eleanor's usual companions, the other girls from the mageknight class, looked at him with scant respect. As for the daughter of Fontaine, she inclined her head. "You may."

Relieved, Martel offered his hand, which she took. He let her onto the floor just in time for the music to begin. Holding his nerve, he waited until the beat arrived and moved his feet. In unison, she moved with him.

"You dance well," she remarked.

"I have a good teacher."

Her expression cracked a little to show the vague shape of a smile. Moving around with confidence, the sound of music filling his ears and Eleanor's touch against his, Martel began to feel grateful that he might experience a night such as this.

~

Once the music stopped, and Martel had thanked his partner for the dance, he retreated back to the edge of the hall. One round was enough for him, especially as he would not know any of the next dances. In the break, while the musicians announced what came next, Maximilian came over.

"Not bad, Nordmark!"

"Thanks. I had my doubts when you invited me, but it looks like you knew what you were doing."

"Of course I do! I am only a little insulted that it took you dancing with the prettiest girl here to understand this fact," Maximilian said with mock indignation.

Martel laughed, simply glad that everything had gone well.

The mageknight leaned closer. "Can I entrust you with a secret?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"My father is keeping it quiet until our positions are secure. That I am guaranteed a place in the Praetorian Guard," Maximilian said in a low voice. "But he has decided to accept a union between me and Eleanor."

It took Martel a moment to understand. "Oh. Congratulations. You're very lucky."

"I certainly could do worse! Ah, the musicians are about to start again!" Maximilian hastened away to find a partner for the next dance, leaving Martel on his own.