When she met Fran at the riverfront, Mei asked her, “Where’s Maggie?”

“Late. Something about only being thirty-seven percent done on her college project? I don’t know.” Fran turned to the little shop, which was sandwiched between a wine-seller and an accountant’s office. “Is this the place?”

Mei took a deep breath of fresh bread, aged cheese, cut onions and ripe tomatoes and smiled. “Yes.”

“Okay…” Fran made no motion to enter. “How did you find it? We’re pretty far from Sanford, let alone the Tower.”

“My brother, he…” Mei turned away from Fran, and got her nerves back under control before finishing with, “It was on the way.”

“On the way. Right. And how is Huan?” Fran was fiddling with her cloak clasp. “I saw him come to meet you the other day.”

Mei tensed. “You saw?”

“Well, I had to know why you were suddenly in a rush to get back to your post.” Fran nudged Mei with her elbow. “I know you don’t like guard duty. So, what did he want?”

“Nothing.” When Fran’s eyes narrowed, Mei tried to smile away her concern. “He wanted me to meet a friend of his.”

“A friend.” Mei’s smile seemed to discomfit Fran more. “What sort of friend?”

Luckily, Mei spotted her rescuer before she had to try and talk her way out of that unwelcome conversation. “Maggie’s here.”

“Mei, wait, you-“

But Mei was already waving. “Maggie!”

“Sorry, I’m late.” The red-haired mage rushed to join them. “We’re just so behind on this project because someone can barely manage to make one cup of powder an hour.” She frowned at the wine-seller. “Is that where we’re eating? Mei, you know they don’t sell food, right?”

“Mag, darling.” Fran pointed her roommate in the right direction. “That’s where we’re eating.”

Maggie’s ears turned red. “Oh, of course. That makes more sense.”

“Let’s go in.” Mei pushed her friends into the restaurant before Fran could remember what they had been talking about.

The inside of the restaurant barely had enough room for two tables and six chairs. The rest of it was inhabited by a massive brick oven.

“Welcome!” The owner emerged from behind the oven as they sat down, a wide happy grin on her face. “What would you like, dear guests?”

Maggie looked at Fran.

Fran looked at Mei.

Mei stared at the Fran. “What?”

“Mei,” Fran’s voice was sweet, “what do they make here?”

“I don’t know. It just smells good.”

The owner’s good humor faded. “You don’t know what you want to order, dear guests?”

“It seems that,” Fran turned her charm up to full, “my friend here was just so captivated by the amazing scents coming out of this place that brought us here to found out what you have on offer. Shall we start with your favorite dish?”

The owner grinned. “Yes, of course, right away. Matteo, we’re doing our special.”

As the owner disappeared behind the oven, Maggie sighed. “I can’t believe I’m in college, doing basic lab work.”

“You have to start somewhere.” Fran’s eyes slid to Mei. “It’s not like you were suddenly called elsewhere.”

No, they weren’t going to talk about Huan. “What lab work?” asked Mei.

“The boring kind.” Maggie put her head on the table. “We’re trying to aerosolize a liquid, or a powder, of unknown density and consistency for some undefined purpose. I’ve been working up and down these ranges every spare moment for the past two days, and I’m only halfway through my part and Fletcher is less than a quarter of the way done.”

Mei didn’t bother to ask Maggie to explain further, the slapping and chopping happening behind the oven was far more interesting, but she had to keep this line of conversation going. “Isn’t that what you were doing with Dwayne?”

“Oh, well, that’s…” Maggie answer was mostly to the table. “That’s different.”

“Because of the work,” Fran leaned in, “or because of who you’re doing it with?”

“Neither. It just is.” Maggie sat up. “Mei, how is he? I haven’t even seen him since the Session.”

In truth, Mei hadn’t either. By the time she’d reached Sanford for breakfast, he was already gone. “Busy.”

There was a pause as all three girls watched a strange disk rise up from behind the oven and then fall.

“What are they making?” asked Maggie.

“No idea.” Fran turned to Mei. “So has your brother been helping out more with Kalan so busy?”

That’s what Mei got for letting the conversation die. “I think so.”

“Really? Because that reprobate- ow!” Maggie glared at her roommate. “Why’d you kick me?” Then she saw Mei’s face and winced. “Oh, cups. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Mei let her spike of frustration pass. It had been less about what Maggie had said and more about how it echoed Mei’s own doubts.

The smell of melting cheese and cooking vegetables wafted over to the table.

“Whatever it is. It smells good.” Maggie cleared her throat. “So, Mei, what have you been up to?”

“Hunting a murderer.”

Maggie perked up. “Really? Who got killed?”

“Isn’t that the purview of the scrytives?” asked Fran. “Why are you investigating?”

Because Huan didn’t do it. “Because Charlie asked me to,” answered Mei.

“Charlie?” Maggie’s eyebrows creased. “Charlie… The scrytive the Judiciary sent to dinner?”

“So,” Fran rested her elbows on the table, “you’re just doing them a favor?”

“And it’s my job,” said Mei. “I’m Head Guard.” That sounded like a good solid reason.

“Did Dwayne tell you that?”

“We agreed.”

Maggie grinned. “Then that case is as good as solved. Mei is great at things like this. Fran, you should have seen her down in-”

“-in Walton. I know, you’ve told me a dozen and a half times.” Fran sighed. “It’s just… so appalling that a murder happened here. Any idea who did it?”

Mei nodded. “A Wind Qe.”

Both mages gasped.

“No. No mage would stoop to that,” said Fran.

“It did use to happen all the time thought.” Maggie’s eyes were on the table. “Windsong messengers were killed because they were often spies.”

“Which is why the license system is in place. Mei,” Fran lowered her voice, “Why do you think it was a Wind Qe?”

Wishing it hadn’t taken murder to distract them from her brother, Mei told her friends about what she knew, her theory on how the windsong had died, and what had happened with the roofrunner.

Fran looked pale. “That’s horrid.”

“It’s strange.” Maggie crossed her arms. “Why was Huan even there?”

Oh, no. “He drinks there,” answered Mei.

“I get that, but-“

“Please enjoy, dear guests.” The owner placed a layered confection of vegetables, cheese, sauce and baked dough sitting on a flat circular stone onto the table. Whatever it was, it was the reason why Mei’s mouth had watered when she’d passed by here.

After the owner had sliced the confection into eight equal pieces, Mei pulled one off the stone, took a bite, and moaned.

The owner looked alarmed. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Moaning is her highest compliment.” Magdala took a piece and bit into it. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Some water and napkins please?” asked Fran.

The owner bowed. “Of course, dear guest, right away.”

Fran eyed the food. “That seems very messy.”

It did take effort to keep the cheese from ending up in Mei’s lap. “It’s very good.”

“I believe you. Thank you.” Fran waited for napkins to be distributed before using one to pick up her own piece. She bit into it. “Oh. Oh, this is very good. My compliments to you and your staff.”

“Thank you, dear guest.” The owner bowed. “I shall let him know.”

Fran saw Maggie giving her a look. “Yes, this was worth the hassle of getting an off-campus pass. And I’ll never doubt Mei’s ability to find good food ever again. Satisfied?”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Yes.” Maggie turned to Mei. “She didn’t believe me about all the good food you found in Walton.”

“At any rate, I’m wondering how your brother knows this roofrunner?”

Apparently, even good food wasn’t enough to stop this conversation. “He likes to talk to people,” explained Mei. “Like you.”

“Right. Like me.” Francesca ate another bite. “You said that he mentioned two windsong. If they’re begging for work, I bet they aren’t licensed.”

They’d mentioned that before. Mei swallowed her latest bite. “Licensed?”

“In order to do public work, all mages have to be licensed through the Royal Sorcerer’s office.” Maggie scowled at her second piece. “That’s another thing my lord uncle hasn’t been doing.”

“Thank Cueller that he left the position.” Fran finished her first piece. “Because of him, we have a massive shortage of licensed windsong, earthhoists, dousers, everything.”

“Huh.” Maggie put down her water. “Then how did your sisters get licenses?”

“The day my eldest sister was born Mama grabbed five of them, which is a good thing because we needed all five of them to keep our fleet on the Illyon Sea. Without any Water Qe licenses to give out, we’ve had to ask a couple of the diVida cousins for help piloting our ships in the harbor.”

“Your mother must have hated that.”

“She did.” Francesca leaned in close to Mei. “The diVidas like to think they’ve got sailing licked with their little boat inns, but they’re riverfolk and they know it.”

Mei accepted this easily, but before she began to nibble at her third piece, she asked, “What does a license look like?”

“They’re gold metal plates,” answered Maggie through another bite of food. “They look a lot like your passport.”

“They all have symbols like this.” Fran sketched a shape in her notebook and showed it to Mei.

She’d had drawn a thin oval with two pairs of wings, one large, one small.

“Is it a faefly?” asked Mei.

Fran shrugged. “It’s said the Saints saw something like this when they made their Wish. No one knows why it’s on the licenses.”

“So they have records?”

“Probably.”

“Then I can ask Dwayne to look for them.” With any luck, Mei would have the victim’s name and she’d have something for Charlie.

“Isn’t he busy?” Maggie coughed. “Doesn’t he have a new Royal Sorcerer to find?”

“He’d be less busy if he actually stuck to the open canon in his practicals.” Fran wiped her lips. “I swear I’ve never seen him use the same spell twice.”

“Ah ha, well,” Maggie tried to smile, but ended up grimacing, “he studied under my weird lord uncle so he was bound to learn some odd spells.”

Maggie’s lie failed to convince Fran, who raised an eyebrow. “Your lord uncle had a way with mountains, but he still used canon spells.” She swirled water around in her cup. “This doesn’t have anything to do with those mysterious experiments you two are running, does it?”

“No.” Maggie’s face went pink. “Those were for proving Resonance Theory.”

“Surely, by now you have enough to write a paper? It’s been weeks since you got back from suspension.”

“Well, yes, we have but… but…”

“Dwayne wants perfect,” offered Mei.

“Yes, he’s a perfectionist.” Maggie grimaced a smile. “Which is good, because when we’re done the Magisterium will have no reason but to accept the truth.”

“Uh, huh.” Fran took another a bite and moaned. “This is so good. We should come back here, to celebrate my getting a position at the Exchequer’s Office.”

“Oh?” Maggie blinked. “You got in?”

“Not yet.” Fran flashed her eyebrows. “But soon.”

“What’s a Eschekar?” asked Mei.

“The Exchequer manages Her Majesty’s purse.” Maggie beamed at her roommate. “And Fran wants to be the first mage accountant they’ve ever hired.”

“It’s ridiculous that it hasn’t happened before now,” said Fran. “I’m as good with numbers as any lay person, and yet they act like I’ll carry the one and summon a storm.”

Mei smiled into her cup. Ambition like that was why Fran and Maggie were best friends. They both wanted to be an “and”: Maggie wanted to be mage and soldier, Fran mage and accountant.

“So,” Maggie nudged Fran, “who are you leaning on?”

“One of Mama’s friends at the Exchange.” Fran folded up her napkin. “She’s going to get me a probationary apprenticeship.”

“Have you told your mother?”

“Oh, she knows.” Fran sighed. “I think she’s just waiting to see if I can do this alone.”

“You can.” Mei took the last slice. “You’re good at everything.” Which was why it was hard to hide things from her.

Fran grinned. “Thank you.” She burped. “Oh, excuse me.”

In the distance, church bells rang the afternoon hour.

“Oh, cups,” Maggie jumped to her feet, “I have to get back, but before I go,” she handed Mei an envelope, “this is from Saundra.”

Mei took the letter. “How is she?”

“She’s good.” Maggie’s eyes glittered. “You’ll have to read it to find out more though. See you two at lunch tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course,” said Fran.

Mei nodded.

As the door closed behind Maggie, the owner approached the table. “Did you enjoy the food, dear guests?”

“Yes,” answered Mei.

“Yes, very much so. Here.” Fran placed two coins into the owner’s hands. “Don’t worry about the change.”

The owner stared at the money. “This is…this is too much, milady.”

“Are the denominations too large? I can have someone come by with smaller coin.”

The owner shook her head. “No, no, that’s… This is very generous. You don’t have to do that.”

Fran placed a hands on the owner’s arm. “It’s no trouble to me. Would you prefer smaller coin?”

After a moment’s hesitation, the owner nodded.

“Very well, I’ll have someone by to make change. Thank you very much for the meal.”

As Fran got to her feet, Mei did so too. She bowed. “Thank you for the food.”

When they reached the street, Fran raised a hand to summon a carriage. “You’ll let me know if Saundra is doing anything interesting, yes?”

“I will.” It would be good practice to see how much Mei could memorize for Fran, who thought anything about Saundra was interesting.

As a carriage stopped, Fran took Mei’s hand and squeezed. “Remember we’re your friends and you can trust us.”

Despite all her efforts to keep Fran away from the topic of Huan, Mei squeezed back and said, “I know.”

When Fran was gone, Mei returned to her real job: proving her brother wasn’t a murderer.

***

Sen Wallace Cathedral seemed empty.

As he crossed the cathedral grounds, Dwayne tried to figure out why that was the first thought that had come to mind. There were people around, worshipers of varying class, clerics and priests in their metallic robes, enough that Dwayne was sure that the whole city would also hear of this unusual outing, so it wasn’t actually empty. However, it did lack a mob recently incited by a hostile bishop, who Magdala had had to knock out, so maybe his past experience was coloring his expectations. That said, while he didn’t want to face down a mob, doing so hadn’t given him a splitting headache like Ziegler’s class and Corn’s practicals had and it was hard not to prefer the risk of stoning.

After entering a small building to the right of the nave, Dwayne found himself in a corridor that was blocked by a wide wooden desk manned by a bare-headed portly man in dull gray robes. The similarity between this and Dwayne’s recent trial at the Gray Tower couldn’t be missed.

“Good afternoon.” Dwayne bowed. “My name is-”

“Nevermind your name.” The man had only glanced at Dwayne. “What’s the name of your master? And do they have an appointment?”

When Dwayne finally got the Royal Sorcerer’s Office fully operational, he’d make a point of hiring nice people to man the reception’s desk. “My name is Dwayne Kalan, Head Clerk of the Royal Sorcerer’s Office.” He placed his fists on the desk and waited for the secretary to look him in the eye. “And I’m here to take the Rite of Attestation.”

Dwayne’s feature and name finally clicked in the man’s memory. “Oh. Oh, I… Ahem. The next scheduled Rite is in the spring.”

“That’s very interesting. Please inform Bishop Bergmann that I’m here to take it regardless of the season.” After Mei had done her exploration, Dwayne had given himself a crash course on the big names in Bradford, and the Bishop’s name had come up. “Tell her it has to do with my royal orders.”

“I’m sorry, but Her Excellency isn’t available at the moment.”

“That’s also very interesting.” Dwayne straightened up to his full height and waited.

Some people found the weight of Dwayne’s title bearable. This man was not one of them. “Understood, milord.”

As the man shuffled off into the corridor behind his desk, Dwayne found a chair and sat in it to rub his temples. His headache made it easy to play the arrogant noble, but it seemed to be growing worse by the hour. The smell of incense, which drifted in from under the door to the nave, was not helping either. He was grateful that Cueller’s houses of worship lacked the incessant murmuring that was the background noise in every Church of Phons, although Dwayne had never actually attended a service. Maybe it was something they saved till then.

A chorus of creaks and slams accompanied the opening of many doors, which disgorged silver enrobed priests. They began an impromptu conference, their glances and gestures only occasionally aimed in Dwayne’s direction. While they spoke Old Yani to try to hide what they were saying, Dwayne had been forced to take a course at the Magisterium and had found that the language was very similar to modern Vanurian, and as a result, he learned that the priests were of two minds about him. Some put great stock in Dwayne’s royal order and believed that the Queen would come down on them hard if they refused his request. Other believed that he should be shown his place. Dwayne didn’t care, except it was weirdly soothing to hear softly muttered Old Yani, and he did not want to fall asleep, not until the bishop had made one decision or another.

“Enough.” That single Souran word quelled the priests. “Back to work.” As her subordinates drifted back into their offices, the triangular hatted, gold-clothed Bishop Bergmann stepped up to the desk and made the symbol of the cup. “Young Kalan?”

“Dwayne stood up and bowed. “Yes?”

She pointed to the door at the far end of the corridor. “Shall we speak in my office?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

After following the bishop down the corridor and past the still muttering priests, Dwayne was guided into a chair, one of two that sat in front of a plain wooden desk upon which sat an old copy of the Book of Cueller.

The bishop sat behind her desk. “I have been informed,” her voice was bored, monotone, “that you are requesting a Rite of Attestation out of season?”

“Yes, I am.” Dwayne didn’t mistake that monotone for lack of interest. “If-When I pass it, I believe that it’ll build trust in me and in the Office of the Royal Sorcerer.”

“So,” the bishop sat back in her chair, “this is not a challenge to the authority of the Church?”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s no record of you having not attended a single service, either here or in Walton. Bishop Hansson claimed that you demonstrated a lack of respect for the rituals and authority of the Church.”

Dwayne’s fist tightened in his lap. “Bishop Hansson tried to incite a riot that would have ended in a massacre and created corpses for a Vanurian mage to use against the people of Walton. I have no respect for anything that Bishop Hansson has to say.”

“I see.” Warmth finally entered the bishop’s voice. “I’m glad that that’s the reason why you did what you did. I wish it were the reason why the Bishop’s Synod concluded that a condemnation of you and young Gallus’s actions was not necessary, but they are more cowed by titles than driven by what is right.” She bowed her head, deeply. “In their place, allow me to thank you for what you did in Walton.”

Dwayne looked for some sort of trap and found none. “Oh, uh, your welcome?”

“As for your request,” the bishop raised her head, “the same questions of legitimacy that demand you take the Rite also stand in the way of giving you said Rite. To confirm, you’ve truly never attended services in our church?”

“No.” If they were anything like the services in a Phons church, he never would.

“Which means that you’ve never been baptized or confirmed. Normally, this would not be a concern, Out west, there are many who hesitate to recognize out authority on religious and spiritual matters, but the fact that there is no record of your birth in any Souran estate, town or church presents a problem.”

“Because you can’t prove I’m Souran?”

“Because we don’t know who your mother is.”

A face, warm, inviting, vague swam in Dwayne’s memory, but he didn’t want to admit that he didn’t know who his mother was either. “I don’t see how that matters.”

“Qe magic is inherited by a child from her mother, and our Saints were, shall we say, enthusiastic in birthing the next generation of mages. With how poor records our records were at the time, we rely on memory to assess children for their likelihood of becoming a mage.”

“I thought that every child took the Rite of Attestation.”

“Every child does.” Bishop Bergmann rubbed her chin. “The Rite is for surprises.”

The implication being that the Church usually knew the results of the Rite by the time it was administered. “I don’t see how that concerns me.”

“It concerns the Magisterium, who would prefer not to have taught a charlatan.” The bishop lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anyone else, but I suspect that they feel cut out of the whole process. Usually, the next Royal Sorcerer is known months in advance.”

To Dwayne, that sounded like a dream. “How do we deal with their concerns?”

“I assemble a panel of mage notables, who will perform an examination of you.” The bishop leaned back in her seat. “That will give the Magisterium an opportunity to feel involved in the process and their recommendation will bolster support for your Rite.”

“Will it be a physical examination?” If it was, there was no way Dwayne was going to be able to hide that he was Ri.

“It’s not a replacement for the Rite, so no.”

That somehow wasn’t reassuring. “When will this take place?” He’d have to send a message to Thadden about this.

“With all the interest in you, I do not expect assembling a proctored panel of three mages of sufficient standing to take longer than a week.”

“Understood.” Dwayne stood up. “Thank you for your time, Your Excellency.”

The bishop held out her hand as if offering a chalice. “May you walk under the blessings of Cueller, young Kalan.”

* * *