Sir Edwin dipped his quill in ink and took Hesperus’s account.

The story had been told. A trio of friends: the man who is now His Majesty the King, the man who is now dead – Tristram –, and him – Hesperus of the blue flames.

They’d been inseparable during the Battle of Eirene, all three hundred days of it. They’d been inseparable, because he’d been assigned to Tristram, been ordered to protect Tristram’s safety. After all, Tristram was a necessity for the peace that must be brokered after the battle, and their enemy, Duke Lyoness, knew that too.

That was his job. Master Keating was the one who got it for him. Lots of room for progression. That sort of thing. He was thankful, and he did his job. Did what they asked of him.

Once it was over, he kept his steed, got his manor and lived his life.

Tristram went back to Taur and lived his own life.

Occasionally, they exchanged letters. They were short. Talked about the weather. Talked about their horses. About feeding Valour the carrots from his vegetable garden. About apple cider vinegar as a fly repellent. That sort of thing.

‘Hang on, are you just going to gloss over everything that happened during the Battle of Eirene?’ cried Sir Edwin, setting down his quill. The ink made a dark splotch on the grey brick wall.

Hesperus shrugged. ‘I explained what happened.’

‘But I’m trying to take your account. I need you to give me a good indication of his character and yours. Anyone could have said, “He lived his life.”’

‘And anyone could tell you about our deeds during the Battle of Eirene. There is nothing more to tell.’

‘Anyone could have regurgitated the facts, yes, but only you can tell me what he was to you. You know what. How about you tell me this. Was he as valiant as they say on the front lines?’

‘He fought. He had to. But Tristram never found himself on the front lines willingly. That’s why His Majesty was often with us. The only one from a ducal house who was foolish enough to join those formations again and again was Lady Oriana… though she survived physically unscathed, so it was perhaps not so foolish of her,’ he said, and fell silent once more, staring at his hands.

‘And…?’

‘And?’

‘You must have more to share…’

Hesperus shrugged.

‘You’re supposed to give your account, but I feel like I’ve done more of the talking than you have. Is that it? Is that all you have to say about a friend?’

‘Was he?’

‘I don’t know. Was he? You spent a lot of time, perhaps even every day, together.’

‘I spent every day with Tristram for less than a year. I spent every day with Lady Claribel for… How many years were we at the Academy together, my lady?’

Ari fumbled for a number that had never been mentioned in the book.

‘Five years, until we went our separate ways at sixteen. You were apprenticed to Master Keating, and I was placed into the care of Master Reece. Is there a rumour going around, claiming that I have lost my faculties? It is not difficult to arrive at five when we entered the Academy at eleven and left at sixteen,’ said Claribel, pressing back on his suspicions until he tore away his piercing gaze. ‘But I do agree with his sentiment,’ added Ari. ‘Despite spending every day together, we hardly knew each other, and the time that we’ve spent apart has turned us close to strangers. I see no reason for Tristram to be any different. Proximity does not always breed familiarity.’

‘But… they fought back-to-back,’ said Sir Edwin.

‘How did you expect us to fight? Front-to-front?’

‘I… Moving on… Tell me what happened when Tristram came to Eirene for the tournament.’

Hesperus resumed his account.

Tristram came looking for shelter.

Although his house had no separate room to host guests, he was willing enough to share a space near the hearth, if it was suitable enough for a duke and his old nanny.

Tristram and Nanny Jesse stayed, until Tristram left one morning, and never came back.

Hesperus looked at Sir Edwin. Sir Edwin looked back.

‘And I suppose that’s all you have to say about that as well.’

‘What do you want me to say? Tell you about what he was wearing when he left?’

‘I wasn’t expecting you to, but yes, that’d be a help, considering the circumstances he was found in. It might help us locate his clothing, for one. What was he wearing?’

‘Clothing, I presume. Beyond that, I can’t remember.’

‘Are you doing this on purpose?’

‘Are you often praised for your sharp wit when observing the living, sir coroner?’

‘Is that you saying… what exactly?’

‘Then without turning around, tell me, what is Master Keating wearing right now?’

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

‘I… don’t remember.’

‘Precisely.’

Sir Edwin set down his quill once more and rubbed his temples. ‘Fine! Fine. Then tell me this. What was your relationship with Lord Selvan.’

Hesperus’s fingers dug into the crannies in the wall. ‘What,’ he said, voice dropping even lower, ‘does that have to do with Tristram’s death?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

‘Tristram had never met Lord Selvan.’

‘But both knew you. I believe you were friends with Lord Selvan, or do you wish to say you merely knew each other from the Academy as well? Do you wish to claim that he was merely another stranger?’

‘No.’ Hesperus hung his head. ‘No, he was a dear friend. But with all due respect, Lord Selvan’s disappearance has nothing to do with Tristram’s death.’

Ari frowned, yet Sir Edwin homed in on a different aspect of Hesperus’s statement. ‘And you would know because…?’

Shaking his head, Hesperus said, ‘If you must know, I will give you my account.’

Friends.

First day at the Royal Academy of Magic. He had to make some. This was his fresh start. This was a place where no one knew that the name ‘Hesperus’ meant a boy to be mocked.

Even his father thought his true self was worth hiding for his family to make it. Worth a new pair of leather turn-shoes. He’d cobbled it together himself, but his father had gifted him the leather scraps and the egg and salt to taw them in. Stitch by stitch, he’d sewn them to a pattern larger than his feet, leaving room for his feet to grow.

It was the shoes they’d laughed at first.

The toes weren’t pointy enough. The soles were birch, not even alder, much less aspen. And don’t even get them started on the quality of the leather.

Have you counted how many seams there are on those shoes?

How did someone like that make it into the Royal Academy?

Didn’t you know? He’s the charity case. A full scholarship as long as he stays at the top of the class.

Imagine what would happen if one of us bested him.

Ha! Imagine that. He’d be thrown out straight away. Back to the back alley he came from.

He took his meals alone. Same old, same old. He didn’t mind though. The meals here were good. Venison, wild boar, pheasant. Salt-a-plenty. Spices fit for lords and ladies, because that was what most of them were.

It took his stomach some getting used to, but he felt the flame inside grow. It had already been powerful, burning on next-to-nothing, but now?

He watched the other fire mages struggle to light the char cloth in the palms of their hands. He watched his flames turn from orange, to white, to blue. He watched the horseshoe in his hands drip onto the floor, leaving him unscathed.

Yes. Now, now he was invincible.

And the others kept their distance.

‘Hey, uhhh… Whoever you are again. I’m talking to you. No, not you, but you. Oh, Fated One have mercy, I’m going to lose it. Hey you! Stop walking and… Arghhh… Why are you so fast on your feet?! Mages are supposed to make sure they don’t physically overexert themselves, so… Ugh. You with the… hair. Ugh. Describing people is not my forte.’

Poor boy.

He turned to see who might be using the existence of hair to describe a person.

The boy had a lot of hair himself, cascading in a mass of brown curls that seemed to catch the wind, even when he was standing still on a windless day. His shoes were pointed and jewelled. His signet ring was gold and engraved with twin rabbits, running.

‘Finally! Yes, you! What’s your name?’

There was no one else around now. That was when he realised the boy could be talking to him. He might not have respectable shoes, but he did have hair.

‘Hesperus,’ he said.

‘Hesperus? Ooh, that’s a name fit for a lord. Your parents must have… aspirations. Do you know who I am?’

‘A wind mage?’

‘That’s what I’m supposed to be, yes. It’s amazing that you’ve figured it out, considering I’ve completed zero feats of magic so far. I was hoping you’d be able to help me. How do I perform magic?’

He gaped at the boy. It had to be a joke, but the boy wasn’t smiling. ‘If you are not a mage, how did you get into the Academy?’

‘I’m the fourth son. It was warrior, mage, or priest. Look at me. These arms aren’t going to make me a worthy warrior. My father chose mage after hearing that Lady Claribel is attending the Academy this year. Unfortunately, every other lord worth their salt has had the same thought. Now there’s no chance for me to stand out unless I can actually perform some impressive wind magic. Can you teach me?’

Lady Claribel… from the Duchy of Aquilon. He’d seen her rip sails from the top of poles and slice the poles in half. He’d seen her struggle to tie rope with her wind. All power, no finesse. And he’d seen the other wind mages in their year do… nothing.

‘Are you saying that most of the other students in our year are not mages? That they are merely here to gain Lady Claribel’s favour?’

‘She’s the only actual wind mage. That I can tell you.’

His world turned sideways. There had been a horse race, and he thought he was winning, eating up the mile, ahead of the pack. Turns out, it was a melee, and he wasn’t even in the running.

What little pride he’d built for himself crumbled.

‘Teach me, please?’

‘Ask one of the Masters. Master Keating is a great teacher.’

‘They hate me. They hate most of us. I don’t think they’ve ever dealt with a less talented year. Please, you’re as powerful as the Masters. I’ve seen you melt steel. How did you do that?’

By living on a full stomach.

But the boy looked at him with glistening eyes, expectant, as if he was worth something. In a moment of weakness, he nodded.

‘Great! I’m Selvan, by the way. Let’s be friends!’

So he taught Selvan how to wield the wind, enough to blow out candles with a flick of his fingers. Nothing impressive. Nothing that’d crumble Selvan’s teeth and bones, drawing from a power source the boy didn’t possess.

Mornings. Mealtimes. Meaningless conversations about the brightness of the evening star, wandering through the sky at night, brushing past the star that burned red, staring up at nights grown late from discussing the books they’d pilfered from the library. Tales of the great hero Susu and her journey to Lake Una. Ideas from the wise men in Jumont and the mystics in the Tasrine Empire. Poems about slaying monsters and crossing worlds.

So Selvan wielded the name of Marquis Valery, enough to silence the comments about his shoes, now that they were what they were.

Friends.

Sir Edwin soaked in the silence at the end of Hesperus’s account.

It was Claribel who spoke first. ‘I’m sorry I did nothing for all those years.’

Hesperus frowned. ‘Nothing?’

‘I should have helped.’

‘Do you remember the demonstrations we had to do at the end of our third year? The ones that would determine our rankings for that year?’

‘Third year?’

‘I had a fever. My flames spluttered every time I coughed. When you saw me, you… You don’t remember. Of course you don’t, especially if you are still you. It didn’t mean anything to you. You were ranked second that year.’

‘Oh, I didn’t really pay any attention to the rankings. Sometimes I was second, sometimes I was third. What really mattered was improving my own skills.’

‘You were always second, my lady. Always. To tell you the truth, if either one of us owes the other an apology, then it should be me apologising to you. I resented you for your kindness, for your pity. I gave an honest account to sir coroner there. Not once did I consider what it was like to attend an academy to pursue knowledge, only to find yourself pursued by suitors. I helped Lord Selvan disturb your peace. For that, I am sorry.’

‘No need, no need. He never bothered me much. I turned down his invitations two or three times, and he left me alone. He is a good man. Lady Mona makes him very happy, I hear? I hope they are very happy together right now, somewhere on a pilgrimage, perhaps.’

On a whim, Ari asked,

~There were a few young lords… but I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead. The Battle of Eirene did not treat them kindly, and sent them into the arms of the Fated One.~

Along with Tristram, who’d also bothered Claribel once upon a time. We are not in a work of fiction. Real life does throw us coincidences. Claribel’s words from another time. But where was the line here? When would it become one too many?