Seyari had taught me basic spellwork, Tren had expanded upon that with theory, and Seyari had returned with practical application. Even Tania had given me a few pointers. Lilly as well, while never having given me a formal lesson, had taught me the application of magic in combat.

All that’s to say, pretty displays were something I wasn’t particularly used to. Still, I remembered pages from Tren’s favorite book, encouraging words from my wife, and focused it around the idea that I was performing for my daughter.

And that made everything come together.

A display of ornate crimson flames, held aloft by wind magic and shimmering faintly green against the sunset outside; I created beauty from my wrath. My frustrations and my fury let out like a hissing leak from a stoppered bottle—just a glimpse, and a production. Allegories in the form of vistas and animals I’d seen danced throughout the hall, venturing even outside the circle cleared for me to swoop over heads and cast flickering shadows across the crowd.

The band stopped playing; the people stopped dancing; conversation ceased; and the knight watching me from above let slip the only sound: a quiet swear.

Buried in my performance, I paid the utterance no mind and continued on—through the shimmering northern oceans; through Navanaea, Northeastern Ordia, and the coast and Lockmoth; through nameless villages hidden in hills of burning snow; through Gedon, where fury yet smoldered; and down, across hellish mountains to the castle of Astrye, broken yet eager.

My journey home; my new concept of home: I laid out my story in a single minute of mesmerizing flames. And when it was done, I reflexively swept down into a low bow, breathing heavily and feeling mana depleted as though I’d just slain an army.

“Demon,” the word from above was almost whispered, and the silence in the wake of my performance fought back against it.

The shout came a moment later, fighting a losing battle against applause. I looked with smug satisfaction at a pale-faced Duke Reynard, and at a bewildered, dare-I-say wonderstruck Duchess Kapel. Up in the gallery, Countess Elstein clapped heartily, and I threw her an appreciative nod.

However, the calm was not to last. “Demon!” the paladin of Dhias shouted again, footsteps mingling with the crowd’s applause as he pushed his way forward. Above him, I could hear the others—spellcasters certainly—moving about, and I could make out motion from the rear of the crowd as well. “Her magic’s aura—she’s got to be a full demon!” He broke through the loosely-grouped nobles and I got my first good look at the man who was probably co-conspirator with the duke.

Why else would he be here? Although, the Duke wasn’t said to be a pious man.

The paladin in question was almost storybook—black hair, blue eyes, a lightly square jaw with a single dimple, and nice teeth. He was tall, like the duke, although he wore his hair down just past his ears, and I imagined him to have quite the physique under his armor.

“Duke Reynard, this woman is a demon!” the Paladin shouted again, and this time he was heard. A ripple of motion swept through the ball-goers, and I actually heard someone gasp.

From him, I sensed anger, as well as a flash from the duchess, but from the duke I sensed nothing. Interesting.

I rose from my bow. “That is a very serious accusation.” Of course, they could just check with Gelles Company records, but I’d bet King Carvalon’s taken steps to keep things locked up—with him holding the key. It would get out—was out—but it was an unbelievable rumor.

I looked at reactions: open surprise from Duchess Kapel and an unreadable gaze from Duke Reynard.

The latter spoke. “Are you certain, Paladin Warren? We’ve all heard the rumors, but I presumed them to be exaggerations of a prodigious martial aptitude.”

“Her magic’s aura, Duke Reynard.”

The duke’s lips set into a thin line, and he stepped forward. “Let’s all remain calm and level-headed. I’m certain you have an explanation, Marchioness Miller?”

“I do not believe I owe you one, but I do.”

“Please enlighten us. I’m certain this is all a misunderstanding.”

“Please excuse me for my incredulity, but why then the contingent from the Church of Dhias?”

Count Reynard frowned. “Distasteful, yes. But with credible reports of demons, and in the wake of the recent murders, kidnappings, and worse, I thought the request of Duchess Kapel pertinent.”

At that, the duchess in question raised an eyebrow. “Is that why they’re here then? And here I thought you were just acceding to my requirements such that I would attend.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The crowd behind them started to calm, but the music still wasn’t playing. Folks in church robes pushed through now, standing a silent, watchful vigil in the periphery. The paladin looked between the duke and duchess and me, neck tense and jaw held firm, unsure what to do.

“You would have attended anyway, Duchess, if only to see the new Marchioness.”

“My realm, the city of Gedon in particular, is dealing with its own problems, Duke Reynard. Successfully, I might add, but I acknowledge your northern roads are difficult this time of year, and the looming crisis has only made them more treacherous.”

“Difficult!”

I coughed, loudly, and both of them wheeled on me. “My apologies—a trout bone in my throat.”

Duke Reynard glowered at me, his neck seemingly surprised he had to look up to do so. “I assure you the trout was deboned!”

“Please,” the paladin said in a hissing whisper, the strained tone of which carried intent louder than volume, and gave the two high nobles pause. “This may be above my station, but this woman is a demon, likely a Greater Lust, and we are all in grave danger.”

“Do you concede the ‘demon’ has a point then, that we should talk about her?” the duke asked, putting heavy sarcasm on “demon.”

At this point, I wasn’t sure who was on what side.

“She could not be a demon, could she? Brutish as she may look, she has been nothing if not a pleasant conversation partner,” Duchess Kapel said.

“Please!” Paladin Warren repeated, more of a shout this time. “I do not presume, but I advise the premises be evacuated!”

“Paladin Gareth Warren,” Duke Reynard said, putting heavy emphasis on the first syllable, “I need more proof than a cursory inspection to declare a ‘demon’ and evacuate the ball.” I watched the diverse reactions among the crowd, keeping my eyes away from the gallery.

If I had told her, would I have made an ally, or had someone shouting me down from up there.

“Her magic is demonic, without doubt.” Paladin Warren’s hand, which had drifted toward his sheathed sword, tightened.

I basked in the fact that I wasn’t scared of—or of the others, but got mired down in the fact that I was scared for others.

“Marchioness Miller, is this true?” Duke Reynard asked.

Keeping my posture straight and tone neutral, I replied, “I fight demons. That they’ve granted me both strength and magical influence through their deaths should be an open secret.”

The duke seemed to consider my words.

“Her magic could almost certainly only come from a greater demon,” Warren repeated carefully.

“Almost certainly.” The duke caught his words.

Paladin Warren tensed, but didn’t make a move. With how slow a human was bound to be, I had no difficulty keeping myself relaxed—is what I desperately tried to tell myself. Around us, the crowd started to fray at the edges, and the pianist perked her head up, eyes unsure. I still didn’t dare a glance up to the gallery. A slightly skittish-looking servant came by the rim of the crowd with wine flutes, and Duchess Kapel snatched one.

The Duke passed politely, eyes on me the whole time, and I was starting to wonder if I’d been wrong in my assessment of him

“What of her aura?” Duchess Kapel asked after taking a sip, surprising both the duke and myself. “Could you not see that as well.”

“She’s hiding it,” Paladin Warren replied.

The duke glanced sideways at the duchess. “Can humans hide auras?”

“I have learned to hide it—demons hunt using aura sight.” None of this is technically a lie.

“They can,” the duchess agreed. “Really, I do not see how she could be such a vile abomination.”

“Demons are masters of mimicking human emotions,” Paladin Warren replied. “To catch one, you must either expose it physically, or through its actions.”

Duchess Kapel pursed her lips. “Demons act only in their self-interest; I am aware.”

Don’t think of them as insulting my daughter, don’t think of them as insulting my daughter, don’t think of them as insulting my daughter….

“What then…” Duke Reynard seemed to take a moment to prepare for his next words, “—do you propose, Paladin?”

Duchess Kapel replied first. “I have a sprig of nightsbane on me.”

“At my ball?”

“One can never be too careful, Duke Reynard. And for once, I do not mean that as a veiled insult. Demons are insidious creatures that poison the minds of the strongest men.”

The duke looked taken aback by the sideways compliment.

Duchess Kapel drained her glass, passed it off to another servant, and drew out a dried, white-flowered sprig from her sleeve. “Would this have turned, Paladin Warren? I was speaking with Marchioness Miller at length before we were so rudely interrupted.”

“It… is possible it would not have,” the paladin admitted.

“Here,” she held it out to him. “Give this to her then.”

Paladin Warren took the sprig and looked down at it for a moment.

“Give it here,” I gestured. “It’ll turn black when I hold it. I can conceal my aura, not my magic.”

The paladin gripped the flower tightly. “Then might I see your aura?”

“Would you be able to tell it apart from my magic? You saw the power I wield. Give me the sprig. It’ll turn black from my magic, but slowly.” I tried to channel the right amount of indignant impatience into my voice.

“Paladin Warren, do as the Marchioness requests,” Duke Reynard said slowly, glancing over at the duchess.

Hesitantly, Paladin Warren walked towards me.

All kinds of quips danced through my head, railing against the frame of my metaphorical mask and threatening to seep through the eyeholes just as this metaphor let loose and escaped its confines. I took the sprig and held it up in the light.

Slowly, it turned black.

More gasps from the crowd, and from the pianist an errant keystroke. Duchess Kapel paled rapidly.

“It is as I said, may I—”

Paladin Warren grabbed my arm quickly. I let him.

“If you are no demon, this will not hurt,” he said, and I felt a warm flow of holy magic from him into me, lighting up into an excessively visible glow

Expecting the heat to turn into a burn, I fought a wince. Instead, all I felt was a… very faint warmth.

“Paladin Warren!” Duke Reynard shouted. “Unhand the marchioness!”

For a moment, Paladin Warren froze, even as the duchess behind him paled further, swaying a little.

“How…” the paladin muttered. No anger. He released his arm slowly and turned to the crowd, voice loud. “My sincerest apologies, Duke Reynard and Duchess Kapel. It appears I was mistaken, although I would ordinarily wish to ensure that whatever corruption has afflicted the marchioness has not reached her mind.”

“Your superiors will hear of your mistake, Paladin Warren,” Duke Reynard said seriously, radiating none of the anger his voice held.

We all then looked at Duchess Kapel, who had gone even paler. She opened her mouth, and collapsed.