"I don't think we'll be leaving anytime soon," Lamberta replied to her muttered question with a confused look, slumping on the communal lunchroom's bench.
Margaret was the first to say she wasn't exactly a fan of the prideful, green-haired, arrogant girl, but she could emphasize somewhat with her predicament.
While initially slated to remain only long enough to learn the basics of Pure Casting from Lady Jean—which was an entire can of worms she wasn't ready to open yet, no matter what Lia said about not leaving boiling pots on the fire—Archmage Etinus had decreed they'd stay behind for an indefinite amount of time, apparently deep in discussion with Sir Leonard about something important.
Having been at her teacher's whims for longer than she could remember, Margaret was used to following an elder's mysterious decisions without receiving a shred of an explanation. Indeed, leaving Lamprey Port and coming to Treon had been sprung on her the evening before the move, and she had to spend a sleepless night carefully packing every reagent lest they have an alchemical explosion on the road.
"Do you think it has to do with the treaty? I heard it was going well. All surface-level stuff, mostly about trade, but Sir Leonard seemed pretty satisfied with it the last time I asked." Oliver added from the opposite side of the bench.
Sometimes the boy could be thick. No matter how the light caught his fiery curls and framed his face like a descending angel, his brain only held enough space for swords and his family.
Lamberta and Margaret looked at each other in commiseration. They might not particularly like each other, but shared suffering made for strange bedfellows.
"I'm pretty sure it has to do with the meeting with the Grand Marshal he went to. He came back looking like he had drunk an entire barrel of grog." The Branderi girl replied drily.
Margaret hid a smirk behind her glass of water, lifting an eyebrow once Oliver dared look in her direction for support. At least he had the good sense not to ask for clarification.
"Ah, you guys are here! And lunch hasn't even been served yet! Oh, that's wonderful!"
And there she was. The bane of Margaret's days and the one thing that managed to get her over the instinctive dislike for Lamberta.
"Oh, Lady Jean! Yes, please join us! We were just waiting for the cooks to start serving lunch," Oliver's besotted tone made her guts twist, but she managed to keep it from appearing in her expression. This wasn't a fight she could win by engaging directly, even though she really wanted to sock the arrogant mage in the face.
"I wouldn't want to impose," Jean demurred, though she made no attempt to leave.
As always, the people in the lunchroom didn't seem to notice that the youngest Archmage in history and a weapon of mass destruction in human form was among them. Her casual use of mind magic did nothing to endear her to Margaret.
An empty ring of seats quickly formed around them as the people sitting there suddenly remembered something essential they needed to do. Margaret watched them go with the same hidden disgust she always felt. She could understand the need for privacy, as Lady Jean was a member of the War Council, but that same position afforded her a private dining room where she could take her meal without disrupting the rush hour!
No, calm down. She obviously has her reasons for doing this. For all that she appears as a vapid girl with only magic theory in her brain, she's hailed as one of Haylich's greatest geniuses for a reason. I doubt she'd waste this much time coming to have lunch with us every day if she just wanted to become friends. She has to know this is a shipwreck in motion. Oliver might be almost blind to social cues, but even he knows this is a bit much, though he wouldn't dare say it to her face.
"Please, join us." Margaret finally replied with great aplomb. She wasn't Old Lia's apprentice without a reason. She could put on a pleasant appearance if it were necessary while she studied her enemy. And her instincts were quite sure Lady Jean was her enemy.
Not as in she's a traitor. Even a goblin can see she worships the ground Sir Leonard walks on, but there's something funny about her. She's just too nice. No one is that nice. Not even the Hero, and he's the Hero!
She saved orphans, gave up her position in high society to help the Revolution, dedicated her time and resources to furthering the army's knowledge and material needs, opened a magic school, and took in people from every walk of life. She was the very picture of a Saint. And yet, the Light didn't bless her like it did the Hero. No, her power came directly from her brain. She manipulated the currents of the world's power like she was born for it.
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Too much of a good thing, in Margaret's experience, was equally as dangerous as a bad thing. It might be that she was an Alchemist and thus used to weighing the worth of ingredients with a glance, but she had learned to trust her instincts.
Jean sat across from Margaret with a smile that was far too genuine for her liking, and lunch was served just as she settled into the seat. The table shimmered. A soft golden light sparkled in the air, and suddenly, a feast appeared before them. Platters of roasted meats, grilled river fish, fresh bread, steamed vegetables, and bowls of vibrant salads arranged themselves as if they had always been there.
"Isn't it neat?" Jean said, beaming. "It's just a simple switching spell I taught the cooks—a second-tier matrix that all Journeymen should be capable of casting. Makes getting lunch so much easier, don't you think? No need for the other workers to waste their time serving food this way!"
Lamberta, who had been poking at the food with mild curiosity, glanced up, carefully neutral. "Impressive. Is it based on Halley's space-time equation?"
"It is!" Jean enthusiastically replied, "I made it up years ago after learning how much time was used up organizing meals. It's a localized spellform, of course. Any open-ended attempt I made couldn't be lower than the fourth tier, but by picking an anchor—the tables, in this case—the matrix can be simplified enough that even a non-caster Blessing can learn it. It needs some memory work and practice to get the landing right, but once you do, it's like second nature."
"That's really cool," Oliver said with his mouth already full of roast duck, "Could it be reworked to call an item back to you? My sword has a return enchantment, but if we could make a spell easy enough that our Journeyman soldiers could learn it, they'd never lose their weapons."
And that was why Margaret still wasted her time behind Oliver, despite how frustrating their almost non-existent relationship was. He genuinely was quite clever, and his brain moved in ways most people couldn't understand, making logical leaps that would have taken long studies for anyone else.
As the young powerhouse started chattering with Oliver about the possible modifications such a spell would require and if adding it to the basic course was a good idea with how pressed for time they were, Margaret held her tongue, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the convenience, but Jean's casual display of power was just another reminder of how far removed she was from the rest of them. Even something as mundane as lunch was a chance for her to show off.
With a basic matrix plotted out, Jean blinked in surprise, as if suddenly remembering she was supposed to eat, and put it away, "I'll finish this later and get it back to you, but I think I should be able to simplify it enough if we add an anchor rune to the hilts. It shouldn't be too problematic since it's only three straight lines. I'll send for a quote from the armories. My new office is close enough that I can swing by after lunch." Oliver thanked her and returned to his meal with vigor.
She then began chattering about the construction of the new magic school, animatedly describing the plans in detail. "The old Magic Tower is being repurposed as an administrative center. We're almost done pulling the nearby buildings down for materials, and the new school will have a design inspired by an elven castle I saw in a painting at the Royal Court when I was a child. It'll be beautiful, with towers, ivy spires, and plenty of space for students to practice their magic safely."
"I saw that. You are going much quicker than I expected." Oliver replied, grabbing another leg of duck without looking.
"I may have sped up the timeline a bit by doing most of the repurposing of materials myself." Jean laughed, and Margaret had to hold back from rolling her eyes. "The army's stone mages are quite good, but they are better used prepping for the campaign's next phase. This way, I'm not using even more valuable resources. And Sir Leonard's been incredibly supportive, of course. He understands the importance of investing in education to keep an edge as we expand."
As the meal ended, Margaret watched Jean closely, noting every gesture and flicker of expression. Her pale hair fluttered with every movement, and her long, white eyelashes gave her a doe-like look. The girl was too perfect, too composed. It was as if she had stepped out of a storybook—except this storybook character had the power to reshape the world around her as she saw fit.
Margaret's attention was drawn away by Lamberta, who caught her eye with a subtle tilt of her head. The silent exchange that followed was one they had practiced often in the last few days—a conversation held entirely through micro-expressions.
This is weird, Lamberta's raised brow and slight frown said.
Obviously, Margaret replied with a faint twitch of her lips.
She's redirecting too many resources to this school. It's wasteful when there are perfectly fine manses available.
Margaret gave a barely perceptible nod. I know, but we can't accuse her of anything. She's doing everything by the book.
Lamberta's eyes flicked toward Jean, then back to Margaret. Doesn't mean we have to like it.
Agreed.
Oblivious to the silent exchange, or perhaps simply pretending not to notice, Jean continued her conversation with Oliver. "And the new classrooms will have the latest enchantments for protection and comfort. The students will be able to study in the best possible environment, and we've even set up a new Research Division to explore advanced magics in the Tower."
At this, Lamberta finally spoke up. "How's it going with the old Tower Master? I heard he wasn't too thrilled about the changes at first."
Jean's smile didn't falter, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that Margaret almost missed. "Oh, he's come around. He's become very involved in the Research Division, actually. It's taken up so much of his time that he's essentially given up his old position. He's far more valuable to us in research than administration."
Margaret couldn't help but notice how Jean said it—so casually and matter-of-factly. She had clearly orchestrated the Tower Master's new role with the same precision she applied to everything else. And while there was nothing outwardly wrong with what she had done—indeed, it could be considered a positive given that it removed power from a man whose loyalty wasn't assured— it only deepened her suspicions.
Oliver grinned obliviously. "That's great! Sounds like everything's working out perfectly."
"Indeed," Jean said, her smile never wavering. "Everything is progressing exactly as planned."
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"Girl, I don't care to know what you are plotting, but make sure it doesn't affect your production rate. The next offensive is starting soon, and the army's a thirsty beast. We'll need a lot more potions to get through Pollus. That old bastard is more stubborn than an ox and will fight to the last man rather than give us an easy victory. And that’s only if we don’t get attacked with our pants down from somewhere else. We can’t afford to slow down now.”
Margaret nodded with the appropriate amount of deference, showing she understood her mentor's words. Yes, she'd fulfill her duties, but nothing said that was where she needed to stop her efforts.