As a gigantic ball of flame heralded Maggie’s success, Mei slipped out of the Grand Ballroom to continue her hunt for Delma. She’d assumed that Delma and the other dancers would join the rest of the Ball’s guests to watch the Offerings, but after searching the crowd of people standing in front of the stage, it was clear that none of them had. To catch Delma’s trail, Mei would have to start at the last place she’d seen her.

As she made her way back to the entrance hall, Mei passed a bunch of guards securing the Gray Tower, more guarding the Privy Council Room, and a dozen patrolling the corridors. Unusually, it wasn’t just the silver and lavender surcotes of the Palace guards; there were also the strange mottled armors of the Southern Line Garrison and the white sleeveless surcotes and black trousers of a group that she only half recognized. All three sets - guards, soldiers, weirdly dressed - were well represented in the contingent that blocked the way to the east wing of the palace and in the squad covering the Throne Room doors.

Mei ignored these guards and the few servants left in the entrance hall as she scanned the room. Her efforts uncovered a small door just to the left of the giant Throne Room doors, perfect for slipping out after a flashy performance, and she made a beeline for it, using it to step out of the Palace and into a small park, where a host of tents had been set up on a field of perfectly green grass, a little fabric village lit with sputtering torches and enveloped by the Palace’s stone and glass. Under its canopies, dancers removed makeup, disassembled costumes, talked, laughed, smoked as Bradford’s drizzle drifted down. Not minding how the wet settled into her dress, Mei kept out of the light as she searched for her quarry, eliminating tent until the last one left was a lavish plum colored tent that was closed up, light still reaching out from between folds in the fabric.

Mei dithered. Without Charlie’s authority as a scrytive, barging in seemed less than prudent. However, with all those guards making sure that people either went into the Grand Ballroom or left the Palace entirely, that tent was the only place Delma could be. Mei would have to wait.

“We are not doing this next year,” drawled Delma as she stepped out of the tent in a light yellow gown and black soft soled shoes. “We cannot compete with the Mage’s Offering even when they’re not trying to bring the place down.”

Glad, this wouldn’t be drawn out, Mei stepped out of the shadows. “Delma Lo Duca.”

Delma froze. “Wha- Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Despite the dancer’s attempts to hide it, her hesitation was borne of recognition, not indignation, a sign that she knew Mei on sight. Still that wasn’t enough to declare the hunt over. She’d have to follow Charlie’s example to do that. “I am Mei, and I am Head Guard of the Royal Sorcerer’s Office. I have some questions for you.”

“Good for you,” Delma crossed her arms, “but I don’t see why I have to answer them. Good evening, Mei, Head Guard of the Royal Sorcerer’s Office.”

She moved to reenter her tent, but two steps later, Mei’s arm blocked her way. “Were you at Sanford last week?”

“I’ve never been near Sanford,” replied Delma smoothly. “The Lo Duca don’t perform at mere estates. Why do you ask?”

So she knew it was an estate, but maybe Sanford was more famous than Mei knew. “It was attacked by three people in masks. One of them was a wind Qe. They landed in the courtyard just like you and your dancers do.”

“I don’t know anything about any attack.” Delma sniffed. “Besides, lots of dancers train under my parents and not all of them are good enough to actually perform with us. Finally, I couldn’t have been there. I was drinking with my friends that night.”

Mei tilted her head. “Which night?”

“Five…” Delma glared at Mei. “This conversation is over. Gi!”

“What?” A shirtless young man, his face still streaked with green face paint, pushed through Mei’s arm to emerge from the tent. “You’re not ready, Del? We still have to-”

Delma pointed at Mei. “Make her go away.”

“Make who go away?” Giona looked down and saw Mei. “Who is she?”

“Mei, Head Guard of the Royal Sorcerer’s Office.”

His eyes widened. “Mei? Mei the Axesnapper? Matts talks about you all the time.”

Delma scowled at her brother. “He does not.”

“He does so.” Giona smirked. “It’s very nearly all he talks about after you leave rehearsal.” He glanced at Mei. “Aren’t you investigating a murder?”

This was her chance. “Did you have rehearsal five nights ago?”

“Yeah,” answered Giona to his sister’s obvious dismay. “How’d you know?”

“I-” Sudden foreboding pulled Mei away from the dancers and out of range of the hand Kay would have placed on her shoulder.

Turning the action into a flourish, Kay answered, “She knows because her brother Huan told her.” His white surcote and black trousers took up position between Mei and Delma. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be dancing?”

Mei’s hand slid to the sheathed dagger on her sleeve. “What are you doing here?”

“Working.” Kay put all his weight forward, kept both hands free. “Our patron has a task for us, Delma.”

Delma frowned at Kay’s back. “She does?”

Kay glanced at her over his shoulder. “Yes, she does.”

“Patron?” Giona looked between his sister and Kay. “What patron? Del still has-”

“Our patron,” interrupted Delma, “convinced the Throne to hire us for tonight. I should go show our appreciation. As for her…” She leaned over to whisper in her brother’s ear.

His expression darkened. “I understand.”

“Thank you.” Delma smiled. “I’ll see you and Matts later tonight.” She took Kay’s arm, breaking his fighting stance. “Come along, Cailean.”

As they left, Giona stepped up to Mei, a determined glint in his eye. “So, what are we going to do with you?”

Behind him, the two murderers, Mei was sure of that now, disappeared into the entrance hall. While she could leave things as they were and report back to Charlie and Dwayne, Kay had specifically come out here to collect Delma, and Mei had to find out why.

After dispatching Giona with a firm elbow and a well-placed foot, she raced after them, but her hesitation had somehow given Delma and Kay enough time to exit the entrance hall, either outside to the drawbridge or into the west wing. It was unlikely that they left - Delma was dressed too lightly and Kay had implied that he’d come straight from their “patron” - “unlikely” didn’t mean “definitely not”, and Mei did not have time to be wrong. Either she could choose and hope or… she could do what Charlie would do.

The defenders of the east wing of the Palace stiffened when she approached them, but Mei ignored the Palace Guards and the weirdly dressed and went straight up to the commander of the soldiers in the mottled armor.

Sending a quick mental thank you to Maggie for the lectures on rank insignia, she bowed. “Hello, Sergeant.”

“Hello.” The sergeant’s return salute was hesitant. “What can I do for you today, Miss…” His eyes widened. “Mei? Mei the Axesnapper?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was invited.”

“Oi, Boots! You’re not supposed to talk to the guests!” shouted one of the ones in white.

“Can it, Sandals!” As his subordinates snickered, the sergeant turned back to Mei. “Sorry about that. Sandals, I mean, Sen Jerome monks get awful touchy around foreigners. What’s your question?”

Mei hadn’t noticed their footwear. That made Kay and his fellows even weirder. “Did you see one of them go by here with a wind dancer?”

The sergeant went very still. “No… I didn’t.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“Oh.” Time to choose at random. “Thank you.” She turned to go.

“Wait a sec, Miss,” the sergeant’s hand landed on her shoulder, “I’d like you to review what we’re doing here, in case you have any tips.”

Mei frowned. “I’m not sure I can-”

“Gersten, get over here!”

Another soldier joined them. “Sir?”

“Please recite our directives in full,” ordered the sergeant.

“Yes, sir!” Gersten came to full attention. “Directive one-”

“Nice and loud, private!”

“Directive one,” Gersten shouted, “obey the commands of your superiors!”

As Gersten continued, her sergeant muttered, “I saw them go into the West Wing.”

“Directive three: do not accept any solicitations or propositions from the guests! Directive four: do-”

“That’s enough, Gersten. Very impressive memory. Back into position.” The sergeant saluted. “That should give you the general gist, Miss Ma! What do you think?”

“It’s good.” Mei bowed. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you!”

Mei raced down the west wing corridor and reached the junction between the Ballroom and the Gray Tower in short order, where she stopped to consider her next steps. There was no way that they’d gone into the Ballroom as it was full of people like Maggie and her father and Dwayne who would stop them. Besides, Delma wasn’t dressed for it. They had to have gone for the Gray Tower. Kay was a monk - he’d insisted he wasn’t a soldier after all - and they seemed to have some authority over the others. Too bad she didn’t.

“Mei, I’ve been looking all over for you.” Charlie walked up to her, a half empty drink in hand. “Jens is waiting for us, full plates at the ready.” His eyebrows drew together. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I found the murderers.” As he stared at her, Mei looked Charlie over. A scrytive might be able to get in, but he didn’t look like one now. “They went into the Gray Tower.”

“Did they?” Charlie finished his drink and set the goblet on a nearby ledge. “Well, it’s lucky that I always have my badge of office with me.” He pulled it out of somewhere, Mei wasn’t sure if she should look. “Let’s see what they’re up to.”

***

“Good show!”

"Thank you!” Magdala’s face strained to hold her smile. “I’m glad you liked it.”

As the last lauder melted back into the crowd, Magdala dropped her smile like it weighed two tons, and then found a bit of wall to lean against. “Cups, this is hard.”

Colin raised an eyebrow. “You think that receiving praise is hard? How about seeing your partner choke on stage?”

“Personally, I think it was brilliant to restart like that.” Francesca stretched her arms. “And I bet no one remembers the beginning anyway.”

“My mother will.” Magdala rolled one of the small magical cores between her fingers. “That’ll be all she remembers.”

Francesca gave her a look. “What your lady mother may or may not remember thinks can’t be why you’re like this right now.”

Colin gestured upwards. “We did blow up the ceiling.”

Francesca scoffed. “Only a little. It’s already fixed.”

“Last time I blew things up,” Magdala peered into the magic core, her mind blank, “I got suspended.”

“Okay, no.” Colin glared at her. “Even I know, that’s not going to happen.”

“We’re far more likely to get a Royal Commendation.” Francesca peered at Magdala. “Seriously, what’s wrong? Why are you playing with that?”

“Nothing.” Magdala’s hand closed over the core. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

While that weak explanation clearly didn’t convince her roommate, Colin announced, “Well, so am I. It’s been a long night and I’m going to bed.”

“No, you’re not.” Francesca took Colin by the arm. “Mr. Fletcher, you are going to dance.”

“I am?” Colin paled. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

As Colin’s protestations failed to prevent Francesca from dragging him over to a gaggle of eligible Qe mages, Magdala’s attention returned the core in her hand. They’d tried a lot of different configurations and timings while attempting to increase the success rate of creating Qe cores, and most had had total failure rates, but one configuration had involved having Magdala cast Qe instead of Francesca and after a dozen tries, this had been the only success. She couldn’t think of why she’d brought it tonight.

Maybe she should just go. With Francesca distracted, Mei busy and her mother actively avoiding her and no Mei or Francesca to keep her here, now was the time to escape.

“Gallus?”

“El- I mean, Canale.” Magdala shoved the core into her bodice. “Did you want something?”

“That was some performance up there.” Eleonora Canale smiled over a gown whose cerulean waves perfectly complimented the pale sapphires in her dark brown hair. “To think that just a few months ago, you were suspended.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

Why was Canale talking to her? When she heard the music start up, Magdala felt her stomach clench. No. No, she wouldn’t.

“Apologies,” Eleonora’s lips formed a pout, “I should have known that was a sore spot. However, I’m being honest when I say that you did an excellent job up there. May…” She fluttered her eyelashes. “May I have the next dance?”

As a child of an old mage family, Magdala knew the right answer. The Canales were old magic and had far more members than the functionally derelict Kalan family. Dancing with their daughter would open the door the preambles of a courtship that, because Magdala was also noble and nobles required children, would require some furtive arrangement, but the Canales had cousins and brothers suitable to the task. One dance with Eleonora Canale would erase the months Magdala had spent suspended and give her a step back into normal life.

As such, Magdala’s answer was obvious. “No, thank you.”

Canale’s smile stiffened. “Ah, then thank you for your time.”

Francesca rejoined Magdala as Canale marched away. “What was that about?”

“She asked me to dance.”

“What?” Francesca’s eyes back to Canale. “Oh, you said no. Good.”

Magdala blinked. “How do you know that?”

“Because,” Francesca rolled her eyes as she handed Magdala a glass of sparkling wine, “she’s not over there preening herself like a satisfied cat? It’s what she did when you got together.”

“She did not.”

“She did so. And she reminded everyone of it. Constantly. While flirting with me sometimes.”

Which wasn’t unusual. Everyone flirted with Francesca. “I thought you liked her.”

Francesca didn’t answer as she swirled her own drink in its glass.

“What?” asked Magdala.

“I didn’t want to say, but,” Francesca sighed, “she wasn’t good for you.”

Magdala’s eyebrows lifted. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that someone who gives you the silent treatment every time you do something she doesn’t like can’t be good for you.”

“She didn’t-”

“When you took her horse riding instead of out to eat, she didn’t talk to you for a whole day. When you wanted to study instead of go to that soiree at Lashbrooke’s, she didn’t talk to you for a week. Each and every time, you’d mope and dwell on what you did wrong and how to get her to talk to you again and looking wistful as you…” Francesca’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

Magdala tensed. “Oh, what?”

“Young Gallus, Miss Lucchesi,” Dean Laurence swept up to them, her dark green dress rippling blue in the chemical lights, “your Offering was quite striking. I’m glad I was able to be of some assistance in its conception.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Magdala just barely managed to assemble a pleasant facade. “You should praise Mr. Fletcher when you get the chance.”

“Oh, he’ll be busy for some time yet.” The dean gestured to the dance floor, where Colin was already on his second partner. “Looks like he’s finally reaping the benefits of being a boy at the Academy. He’ll need to work on those steps of his though.” She chuckled. “So, where did you get the idea for that experiment?”

“Dwayne and I were working together,” Magdala felt a blush form on her cheeks, “chaperoned of course, and he showed me something out of the Terminal Tome.”

The dean’s eyes twinkled. “Was it Nithercott?”

“Maybe?” Magdala summoned the memory. “Yes. Dwayne had already replicated the results,” and then didn’t even bother to show up for the Offering, “while I came up with the idea to try it on Qe…”

Wait, was she disappointed? Why?

“Well,” Laurence patted Magdala on the shoulder, “good show, you two. Keep up the good work, and make sure to get some dances in before the night is out.”

When the dean was gone, Francesca leaned close. “What’s wrong?”

“He wasn’t there.”

“Do you mean Dwayne?” Francesca frowned. “Didn’t he whoop?”

“That wasn’t him.” Magdala’s heart shrank in her chest. “And he hasn’t even come to congratulate me.”

“Why do you care?”

Magdala stared at her roommate. “What?”

“Why do you care?” Francesca gestured to the ballroom floor. “This is your night. You’ve impressed your classmates, the dean of nQe, even Her Majesty, so why do you care that an apprentice of a uncle your never see isn’t here?”

“Because I…” Magdala groped for a reason. “Because it’s his project. He should be here to see it through.”

“Mag,” Francesca’s eyes looked through Magdala, “I’m not going to let you avoid the question. Why do you care?”

“He should-”

“This isn’t about him. It’s about you.” Francesca took Magdala’s hands. “Answer my question, truly, honestly, and in exchange, I will tell you how to feel better.”

Magdala’s exhaustion weighed heavy in her mind, immovable and unsettling, but hope still stirred beneath it. “How?”

“First, my question.” Francesca took a deep breath. “Why do you care?”

Magdala turned aside the polite and easy answers and focused inward on the source of her exhaustion. Why wasn’t she happy to receive all that praise? Why had she turned down Canale? Why was she disappointed that he wasn’t here? Of course she’d expected him to be there when she came down from the stage, his wide grateful grin given her the opportunity to hand him the core currently in her bodice and finally ask him to…

Oh.

“Now,” Francesca’s eyes had never left Magdala’s face, “say it.”

“I…” Magdala’s face burned. “I want to ask him to dance.”

Francesca’s eyes closed.

“What?” asked Magdala.

“Nothing. It’s a start.” Her roommate sighed. “Mag, I have to ask, when two young people spend day after day together while being chaperoned, what do you think is happening?”

“Research?”

“Ha!” Francesca put her arm through Magdala. “Why did I bother asking? Let’s get you over to Dwayne so we can get this ball rolling.”

“What, now?” Magdala tried stepped free. “But you said you knew how to make me feel better.”

“This will make you feel better.”

“But-”

“No, we’re skipping the you-doubting-yourself part.” Francesca had already towed her to the edge of the dance floor. “Just trust me. Where is he?”

“Ahem.” As the two mages jumped, Rodion dipped into a flawless bow. “Are you perhaps looking for Young Kalan? If so, he’s currently in the North Garden.”

“The garden?” Magdala looked out the window. “In this rain?”

“He required some air.”

“Is that why he missed the Offering?”

“My lady,” Rodion’s tone and expression were nothing but open and helpful, “all I can say is that he most certainly did not miss your Offering.”

Magdala would have asked for clarification, but her roommate had already pushed her towards the door. “Well, then, I’ll, uh, go and see for myself.”