James considered refusing for a heartbeat. Then he grinned. “Certainly.”

There was a murmur from the audience at that, which James guessed to mean that this woman was good enough that this promised to be an entertaining battle. He hoped so; there was no fun in an easy victory.

They agreed terms of combat: until surrender or incapacitation, no cutting-spells or fire magic (those were the most likely to lead to accidental injury), no deliberately causing serious injury. Nothing unexpected there, and nothing that would limit James’s options too much.

There was no reason to delay, so they stepped inside another set of containment wards, this one a little larger than the one he’d trapped the squares in. Just enough room for interesting manoeuvres without athleticism becoming as important as magical skill.

The man who’d asked whether James had designed the pane of light on the spot was assigned as referee by unspoken consensus. “Three,” he said, raising a hand with three fingers showing. “Two.” He lowered one finger. “One.” And another. “Begin.”

They began. James had decided to be cautious; if this woman was as good as the crowd’s reaction suggested then he didn’t want to take the chance she could hit him with something nasty before he had a chance to respond.

So he opened with an old classic, the General Counterspell. It was amazing how a spell so simple was still so effective. The woman wasn’t casting offensively, though; as she finished muttering an incantation the air shimmered in the unmistakeable way it did when a magical shield snapped into place.

Either she was so confident in her defence that she was prepared to sacrifice all attack and let him exhaust himself against it, or she was multi-School and a capable simultaneous caster to boot. The latter was far more likely, and would explain the crowd’s reaction: in almost any fight between two magicians of otherwise equivalent level, the simultaneous caster would win. The ability to shield and attack simultaneously was nearly impossible to counter.

James, though, was prepared to stake a few gold coins on the fact that she was not otherwise his equal. She looked young, almost certainly younger than him, and experience counted for an awful lot when it came to magical combat; besides that, he had faith in his own skill.

Time to attack, then. He fired off a chain of spells: shield-breaker, counterspell, shield-breaker, counterspell. The shield-breaker wasn’t the strongest he was capable of, but it was far quicker and easier to cast than others. And even a weak shield-breaker would be effective when it hit a dozen times in quick succession.

The shield held; there was no sign of the telltale flash of light that the shield-breakers would emit when successful. So she had high raw power reserves, then, or else that shield was specially designed to counter shield-breakers – but that sort of shield was far too complex to be cast in the seconds she’d had.

He fired off another spell-chain and then switched tactics. There was no rule preventing the use of weapons brought into the arena, and he always carried his sword with him. It was a simple enough task to levitate it and send it flying impossibly fast towards her shield.

But while he was casting the levitation-spell, he couldn’t keep up the barrage of counterspells, and that left him vulnerable. She took the opportunity to prove that she was in fact a simultaneous caster by casting something that reduced the friction on the ground beneath him, so that he slipped and tumbled inelegantly to the floor.

He wasn’t so much an amateur that he lost control of the levitation-spell over something as little as that, though it made little difference: she followed up immediately with a disruption that broke his impeded focus and sent the sword, too, clattering to the ground. It hadn’t made it through her shield.

James realised that he was probably going to lose this fight. She was at least close enough to his skill level that her second School gave her an edge he couldn’t hope to beat. He cast a frantic chain of five counterspells and then a purging-spell to remove whatever she’d done to the floor, then leapt to his feet –

And found himself unable to move his limbs. He swore under his breath. Casting directly against another magician was supposed to be near-impossible, never mind doing it while simultaneously maintaining a powerful shield in the seconds she’d had since his last counterspell.

She was better than him. Impossibly good.

“Do you yield?” she asked.

He had no hope of victory. But he could at least give her a better fight than this. “Make me,” he ground out.

James knew how to cast a self-purging purely mentally, no gestures or incantations. It was surprising how few people could do that when it was a basic survival technique, and it served him well here: he sprang back a pace the instant after speaking and fired off counterspell after counterspell. That was the extent of his strategy now; he couldn’t stop for a second without giving her an opening.

She didn’t bother waiting for one, though; she cast a simple levitation on his fallen sword and sent it soaring towards him. His attention was absorbed in casting, so he couldn’t dodge until it was too late and the tip of the blade pressed against his neck.

“Do you yield?” she repeated.

It was technically still possible to refuse, but it went against the spirit of the fight. If this was real, his choices would have been surrender or death; just because the latter option was no longer possible didn’t mean he could continue fighting. “Yes,” he said grudgingly.

She levitated his sword right back into its sheath in his belt. Show-off. Though she certainly had plenty of skill to show off. Now it was over he realised that hadn’t even been a fight for her; never once had he posed a threat to her defences.

Impossibly good. “That was… extraordinary,” he said. And then, because he was dedicated to becoming the best fighter he could possibly be and to stealing this woman’s secrets for Charles, “Can you teach me?”

She shook her head. “Not just anyone can learn to do what I can. You were good, though.”

He bristled for a second, because he wasn’t just anyone and he didn’t want her faint praise. Then he realised what she really meant: she was setting herself apart from everyone else. In a category all of her own, where mere mortals couldn’t hope to compete.

“Who are you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

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“My name is Theola,” she replied. “You wanted to meet me, I believe.”

“I…” James was rarely speechless, but this was definitely one of those rare occasions. She definitely wasn’t a complete fraud. She was definitely capable of things no mortal magician should be.

Immortality is a myth. She couldn’t be a Mage. She couldn’t be.

Because if she was… if she was chosen of the stars, here to exercise their will…

Then it was the will of the stars that Felix should be king.

Then he had been fighting for the wrong side for his entire adult life.

No. He’d sooner believe the stars themselves were wrong. Charles was the rightful king, and not even a Mage could change that.

“I startled you,” she said. “I apologise.”

Right. Yes. He wasn’t experiencing a crisis of faith. He wasn’t filled with a growing dread that she was really who she claimed to be. He was Jacob Winter, who practically worshipped her and wanted nothing more than to serve her and her cause.

It would have to be the performance of his life.

“No,” he said. “I apologise… my lady.” And he knelt, not smoothly as he was trained to but clumsy and awkward – it was hard to be deliberately so – because Jacob Winter knew nothing of court etiquette and had only his genuine feelings to work with. “I should not have – I didn’t – “

He couldn’t find the words, but that was all right: Jacob would have been unable to find words here.

“Rise,” said Theola – James decided to call her by the name she claimed until he knew whether it was her real one. “Walk with me.”

James took a moment to breathe, to be certain that this speechlessness belonged to Jacob and not to him, and then he rose and followed her out of the basement. “Forgive me if any of this is impertinent,” he said as they climbed the stairs. “But I have… many questions.”

“No doubt. There are many things I cannot tell you, but I shall answer what I can.”

There were so many questions competing in his mind, but he had to prioritise. He would be lucky to get another chance like this. He needed to work out whether she was really a Mage without compromising his cover.

“Are you really five hundred years old?” he asked. “Because you don’t look a day over twenty-four.”

They were just passing the desk in the building’s entrance hall as he said that. The woman he'd flirted with earlier shot him a disdainful look, which he hardly noticed.

Theola laughed a little, and James had to remind himself of who and what she was and the countless reasons that he should not be trying to flirt with her. “I am. The blessing of the stars is that I do not grow old and die as others do.”

Immortality. Not just a myth, if she was to be believed.

“Why – “ James began, and then stopped to hold the door open for her.

She thanked him and stepped outside. James followed, letting the door swing shut behind him, and then asked: “Why did you leave? Why not just… stay and rule over your Kingdom forever?”

Theola turned left and began to walk. He didn’t know where she was taking him, and he didn’t quite dare ask. “Our purpose is not to rule. It is to guide, to support, to help. Once there was a capable mortal ruler with the country’s best interests at heart, we were no longer needed.”

“And now there isn’t,” James said. “Because of the war. And that’s why you’ve come back.”

She nodded slowly, gracefully.

“The country has been at war with itself before now,” James said. “This is not the first civil war. Yet you did not return then.”

Theola smiled. “Didn’t we?”

“You mean – “ James said, thinking aloud, “you mean the Mages – you – never really left. That you’ve always been guiding and supporting your kingdom, just without our knowing it.” If true it was incredible. But very much plausible at the same time.

She nodded once more.

“Ardith and Cyrus,” he said. “They’re out there, then. Doing the same work as you, just without revealing themselves.”

“That is one of the matters I cannot tell you about.”

“I understand. Then will you tell me this: what is special about this moment that makes you reveal yourself?”

“This war has been drawn out too long already. It must come to an end, and the right side must be victorious; without my intervention it is likely that the wrong side would have won the Battle of the River Clirith, and potentially the whole war.”

It was like a shock of icy water, restoring him to his senses after a night’s drinking and dancing. He’d been entranced by her, her power and beauty, the legend of the Mages. He’d nearly forgotten what was most important. The wrong side. His side.

He and Theola were enemies. Even if she was a real Mage, that didn’t make her cause the right one. Maybe even the stars made mistakes sometimes.

But how was he supposed to fight her? He’d tried and lost miserably already.

“I find I also have questions about you, Jacob – may I call you Jacob?”

“Yes – yes, my lady. You may.” Sacred stars. Now of all times, he was not prepared to be interrogated.

“You’re Siaril, are you not? Yet the Winters are not one of the Siaril families I know of.”

“That would be because we’re not. My mother is a Winter and she was never a magician – my magic came from my father. I don’t know who he is.”

She tilted her head to one side as she walked, studying him. “You do have something of the look of the Wilde family about you.”

James had to force back the urge to run. She was observant – paid attention to subtle features – he hadn’t expected anyone to make that connection so quickly. And yet his cover story saved him; though she suspected him of being his father’s son, she thought he was cast out because of his illegitimacy rather than his loyalty to the rightful king. The irony, once the initial surge of panic had vanished, was delicious.

“I’m acquainted with Lord Wilde,” Theola continued. “I could make discreet enquiry, if you so wished.”

“No – no.” The last thing he wanted was a reunion with his long-lost father. Especially because, say what you might about him, he was faithful to his wife. James would be surprised if he had a bastard child, and if Theola found out that he did not… but he needed a reason for Jacob not to want to make contact.

“My father abandoned me,” he ground out, letting anger seep into his voice. “I want nothing from him. If he does not wish to know me, I do not wish to know him. I have all the family I need.”

“Very well. You have my word I shall keep your secret as long as you wish it kept.”

“Thank you,” said James, “thank you, my lady.”

“Where did you learn such magical skill, if you are not of one of the old families?”

“Truthfully, my lady, I am not particularly skilful. I had a cousin who was Rittome; he taught me a little. The rest I learnt either from books or by deriving the formulae myself.”

“Quite remarkable,” Theola said. Was he imagining the hint of suspicion in her tone? “What happened to your cousin?”

“I…” James said, confused.

“You used was.”

Had he? Yes, he had. He’d been thinking of his real cousin Thomas, who had of course been Siaril like him but had really taught him some magic. Thomas had left to marry a Thalian noblewoman, and they’d lost touch. But he couldn’t tell Theola that, not when the Winters were an ordinary family.

“He died,” James said instead, and then with a sudden flash of inspiration, “at Clirith. He fought for Charles.” That might have been one of his more stupid ideas; he was accustomed to having enough time to think through them and realise they were stupid before it was too late.

Theola flinched. It was the first time he’d seen her show any emotion other than curiosity or amusement. “I may have killed him,” she said tonelessly.

“You may have,” James agreed, since it was too late to back down now. “I don’t know. The death report offered no detail.”

“I am deeply sorry to you and your family if I did.”

James couldn’t help feeling a little guilty at that. He was effectively using a fictional cousin to trick her into thinking she owed him something. It was war, he reminded himself. She was the enemy. Even if she hadn’t killed his cousin, good men he’d fought beside had died because of her.

“And yet still you came to me. Why?”

The obvious question. James in Jacob’s position would have never done such a thing. He would have raged against the heavens themselves, sworn to fight for the cause his cousin had died for and die himself rather than see Felix and Theola victorious.

“Because you are a Mage,” he said. “Because your will is the will of the stars. Because it is right. I do not claim that you were right to kill my cousin, but even a Mage cannot wage a bloodless war.”

Theola stopped walking. James took in his surroundings; they were close to the Inner Ring now, on a street of shops that were doing a thriving trade despite the war.

“You must have sacrificed a great deal to be here.”

James narrowed his eyes, not quite grasping her meaning. “No more than any other soldier,” he tried.

“I thank you for it. I suppose you do not yet have a permanent assignment?”

“No,” said James, relieved to be on safer ground. “I don’t.”

“Would you like one?”