“The Green Hues are my favorite. Nothing beats the practicality inherent to the Red and the Orange. No one can truly argue about that. Even the Yellow has a wondrous capacity for reducing the effort put into every day life. I have a great deal of respect for those Hues. The Green though; I love the Green. The Wards. The capability to protect one’s self and others is a given gift for which I have thanked Soul a thousand times over.”

Her three students looked upon her in awe as they always did. Endra, Truni, and Valma had been brought on shortly after the beginning of this Regalia season. The experiences with her former pupils had been nothing short of unfortunate. All of them had been minor nobility with fancies of advancing their position rather than learning about the Arcane in earnest. Dismissing them had proven problematic for her house. Relationships with her pupils’ families would deteriorate soon after they were sent away. The Lady Violet had sent terse yet furious letters to Ivalee. They mattered not. She would be the Arch Mage and the Lady of House Brineheart. One might have the gall to disinherit the usual heir. Ivalee was anything but.

These three were good. They were commoners who all boasted a true thirst for knowledge. They waited on her well, listened well, learned well. They were eloquent in their speech where they used to be anything but, graceful in their strides where they used to only be better than a mule. They were genuine where most had not been. When she had spoken with the Arch Mage earlier in the year, they had talked of using the Indigo Hues during their interview process. Using the Hues allowed one to understand the intent of another, to empathize with them in ways which did not involve much communication. Jarald had sat by and observed while they used the power. Aegimar generally outlawed the use of this Hue, but the Arch Mage had been successful in getting her a permit for its use. In the end, she had her choice of three genuine, young women. Where she normally took one apprentice, she took all of them.

Truni raised her hand. She was the most inquisitive of the bunch, though her understanding of what she had learned thus far was top notch. Ivalee nodded to her.

“My lady. I saw in the reading that the Green Hues are very similar to the Violet Hues, the Hues of Constructs, in that the wards can be shaped in ways that suit the need. I specifically read of a man who used the wards to create makeshift, etheric shackles in order to restrict a foe.”

Good. She read ahead.

“Yes, Truni. An excellent point. This is true! While the Violet is much more malleable in that you can change characteristics such as heat, sharpness, hardness, and more, the Green Wards are the training grounds for the greatest of our Hues. I will not focus too much on the Violet. You have only just begun your work with the Arcane. I have been training since I was a lass and I still cannot call upon the Violet. It is well and good to be educated, but to spend time on a power currently unavailable to you would be a waste of resources. Nonetheless, great point. The Green Hues can have their shape changed in order to match your needs.”

The women wrote away as Ivalee explained the intricacies of the Green Hues. Where Truni had plenty of questions, Valma and Endra were quiet. Despite their short time together, Ivalee had no doubt they were all soaking in the knowledge at a rate most teachers could only envy. Ivalee continued. She spoke of the most effective places to place the wards depending on the situation. She lectured on famous uses of the wards throughout history. She explained how they were useless as a weapon in a fight to the death, though they were most excellent in cases where subjugation was preferred. She could have taught and taught and taught had the report not come in. She could have continued thinking that the kingdom was not heading into a storm of piss. An older man in leathers dyed green and cream, like a lazy attempt at copying the color of a child’s shit, approached on horseback. The Golden Crown of House Mara could be seen on the chest of his leathers. A cap held his hair from his face. One of Alexander Brightwing’s rangers.

“A report from the High Ranger, my lady.”

“Ah. What does the High Ranger have to say?”

“Says we’re approaching the Queen’s Teats, my lady. Getting closer to the coast, we are. Says if there was a clash between the Fjallborn and the Nightseers, it’ll likely be there.”

Gods above.

“The Queen’s Teats, good sir?”

“Not a sir, my lady. Just a ranger. Not a knight.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“I’m aware,” she said dryly, holding a silence that would unnerve the surest of men.

The older ranger sat uncomfortably on his mount for a moment before continuing. “Aye, then. The Queen’s Teats. The mountain peaks half a day ahead.”

Is he speaking of Samaryn’s Peaks?!

“Surely the High Ranger is not referring to Samaryn’s mountain as such.”

“Most everyone calls ‘em that, my lady. The High Ranger is just-“

“The High Ranger was raised better than that, despite his birth. Thank you for the report, ranger. Does he have anything else to share?”

“No, ma’am. Told me to get out of here if you get mad, which I plan on doing if I could have your leave.”

Shite stain.

“You may.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

With that, the ranger turned his horse around and was off toward his leader. Ivalee looked to her own subordinates, conjuring a smile as she met their confused gazes.

“Take the rest of the day to tend to your studies. I’d like you to share something you learn this afternoon when we meet next. Do not practice the Green until we have done some work together. I will likely meet with the High Ranger at nightfall. Maybe even for dinner. I expect you three to be there. Understood?”

“Yes, my lady,” all three of them said in unison. She only had four years on their fourteen. The respected her as though she were an elder.

“Off with you lot, then.” They all sauntered off with the pride only high ladies and scholars could muster. They would never be high ladies, though that was the beauty of the Arcane. Women like them could be treated as such should they work hard enough. They were the light in this ridiculous situation.

She walked atop their floating platform, heading for her private tent. Though she could not see it from here, there were a multitude of mages below using Red Hues to keep the massive, Arcwood platform in the air for the sake of travel. Alex had complained at the wasted manpower, but Ivalee and Jarald had both insisted on the necessity. She could not teach her pupils if they were stuck on horseback all day. Jarald was growing older and the saddle did him more harm than good these days. The platform was enough for her, her pupils, Jarald, their horses, and their tents to exist comfortably. The ranger and his horse had would have been helped up onto the platform with some Red Hues while being assisted off of it with them as well. The platform only floated six or so feet in the air, though one could not be expected to jump onto it if they knew neither the Red Hues or Prominence Kova.

She reached the tent. Gray and made of durable fibers, the thing was ugly. It served its purpose though, and she did not complain as she moved the flap and entered her temporary home. She kept the place as plain as she could. A wooden chair and desk, a cot, and a pillow to sit upon when she was feeling contemplative. Now was one of those times. She sat down on the cushion and closed her eyes, exhaling her stresses into the air as she began to collect her thoughts.

It had not been right of her to unleash a bit of her welling anxiety on the ranger. She could have waited until Alexander returned in the evening. Him throwing a knife at Danforth Reagan was one of the reasons they had been placed in this mess. He had thrown the knife. The child-lord, near his majority though he was, required placation. With rumors of a clash between the remaining Fjallborn and Laerna Brakos coming from the northeastern coast of the Regalian province, the High King needed someone to check in on the area. All of those factors contributed to the result, which involved sending Alexander away from the capital.

Both Ivalee and her master had been dragged into the mess with him. As they were the top Arcanic minds of Mithrock, and thus the top minds regarding Embers in general, they were sent along. She was sure there would be no Nightseers. The Lightbearers of old had destroyed their Armaments alongside those of the Sageweavers. One could not derive power from a god who no longer existed. Laerna had been an excellent mage before killing her family and Regis Pryde. While it was fun, in a macabre manner, to think she might be using Nightseer magics to blow buildings away and raise the dead, it was infinitely more likely that she was a master of the Red whose followers loved creating their own eerie reputation.

Even if there were no Nightseers, a clash between the Fjallborn and Laerna Brakos did warrant an investigation. Ivalee simply did not understand why she had to be here; especially with all of the political posturing occurring in Regalia. The very social Rosamunds had gone entirely dark. No one had seen Melara or Eldric in weeks. The bastards who served the Hand of the King, Elias Stormrite, had been acting problematically. Cocky. Insubordinate. Haughty. Like nobility. Tension was building between the Convocation of Baseborn and the present nobility. Conflict was likely. Reports from her spies around the capital held all sorts of conflicting information, as though someone had been working to specifically keep Ivalee out of the loop. All of this confusion and the High King had not only sent her on this mission, but also the Arch Mage. She had tried to argue, tried to make Haryn see sense. He would not have it. He trusted very few individuals. She understood that. He had seen Alastor Alden’s betrayal first hand. He had watched as Eustace burned his father, and many of Aryn’s supporters, to ash. His paranoia was understandable. Natural, even. It would get him killed one day. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

There’s nothing I can do. I must continue as I am by trying to make a positive impact on those around me. Maybe I’ll get that cunt to listen to me tonight.