She woke the next morning to an adult maid, a vaguely familiar woman who bowed respectfully and brought her water to cleanse her face while she set about brushing and plaiting her hair. Bette glanced around surreptitiously, but there was not a trace of Tibitha anywhere. She had not returned the night before, evidently, and hadn’t returned in time to handle Lisbette’s toilette.
Worry pricked at her breast, but she forced herself to remain calm. Lycrarose had assured her that the task of punishing her maid fell to her. Tibitha’s absence was not evidence of her dismissal. She was likely receiving instructions, or perhaps had to visit her family for some purpose.
The woman was brusque but not unprofessional. Bette didn’t ask for any adornment for her hair and the maid offered none. She helped her mistress’s child into a child’s dress, though it was silk brocade as expected of her position. A pattern of lilies in snow played across the bodice, and a small azure pendant was clasped around her neck. The maid laced a pair of shoes reminiscent of ballet flats up her calves and secured them to a garter.
It was all surprisingly quick and efficient with none of the fighting or fumbling she’d come to associate with mornings. Bette scowled. She didn’t like it. How was she supposed to work herself up to face the day if she didn’t have Tibby winding her key! She never thought she’d miss saying “no” so often, but things had been decidedly strange as of late.
The maid stood back while Bette examined her handiwork in the mirror.
“Acceptable. Thank the seamstresses for another beautiful dress.” She always told Tibby to do this, though whether the girl actually did it, Bette didn’t know. Flighty, forgetful Tibby might never have managed to make it to that step.
“As you wish, Princess,” the woman acknowledged. “Your uncle, Lord Lysander, is awaiting you in the library for your lessons.”
Already? Lycrarose certainly wasted no time.
“I understand,” she said, straightening her back and nodding to herself. “I will leave at once.”
“Very good, my Lady. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
Bette thought for a moment.
“Please have the butler deliver a message to my royal mother for me.”
Bette carefully scribed a small note on the official letterhead of the House. This would tell her mother that the request was made as the crown heir, rather than as her daughter. Bette had never received responses to unofficial messages.
She folded the paper into an envelope and handed it to the maid, who placed it carefully in the breast pocket of her apron.
“It shall be done.”
With that, Lisbette left the maid to her duties and began the walk to the auxiliary library within her wing of the palace.
Bette, as a child who had yet to enter society, did not often leave her wing. She didn’t know if this was simply the practice of the North, or of all noble families, but her contact with others was limited to those who directly cared for her, and to her parents and their trusted staff. Because the palace was a place of government, this meant that her life took place solely in one wing of the castle—the so-called children’s wing.
It was a stifling existence. While she held parties in which other noble daughters her age were invited, they were short and formal affairs more for the benefit of the parents than the children. Bette had never minded the distance, but the part of her that now knew Liz ached for the friends she had known.
I don’t have friends, she told herself, and even if I did have friends, it wouldn’t be the same as with you and Kaz.
Liz was this strange, formless entity within her, full of emotions and knowledge and experience, but held apart. Though Bette remembered being her, she was not her. It helped to make a distinction, to draw that bright line between herself and the woman.
You can be part of me, but not all of me. I am Lisbette Drakuhl, first and foremost.
She passed guards occasionally, more than she’d ever seen at one time in the children’s wing. She wondered if the uptick was due to the incident with her magic surge, or if it was because Lysander was visiting. He was the captain of the royal guard, after all. It made sense to have some of his guard with him.
She found him waiting for her at one of the tables in the center of her library. He might have just come from morning drills, dressed in his simple breeches and riding boots. His guardsman’s coat was draped over the back of his chair, and the belt with the attached sword and sheath were hanging beside it. It could have been intimidating, but the lines of his body were open and eager. He looked up as she approached and flashed her a broad smile.
Lysander was as different from Lycrarose as day was from night. The Duchess bore all the hallmark traits of the North, and the Drakuhl line, in particular. In contrast, Lysander was shorter and broader, with sun-blond hair and mischievous green eyes that always reminded Bette of a cat whenever she saw him. Although they shared the same father, he was born to the former Duke’s third wife whom he married after retiring and passing his title to his daughter. As such, they were separated by nearly two decades, and they acted more like familiar cousins than true siblings.
There had never been any doubt that Lycrarose would inherit the title.
It was perhaps because of this that his bearing was so different from his sister, and from any of the nobles Bette had met (admittedly a small sample, what with her interactions being mostly children still in the midst of their training). He had been born with no expectations over his head; he had the freedom to choose what he wanted to study and how he wanted to live his life.
It made him more impressive in her eyes, the fact that his accomplishments were due entirely to his own drive. He had achieved the titles of Master Mage and Captain of the Royal Guard, not because it was expected of him, but because he wanted to become those things. Bette wanted to know what it was like to have that kind of passion for something. She was not sorry to say that she was a bit fascinated by him.
“Betsy!” Lysander swept her up into a hug as soon as she came near, squeezing the air from her lungs. “I heard you had an accident! That must’ve been scary, huh?”
Lisbette bore this treatment with all the dignity she could muster.
“I was not afraid,” she told him stiffly.
He laughed, bright and clear like a bell.
“Well, that’s good! Wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Princess!”
He twirled her around once, seemingly for his own satisfaction, then set her safely back on the ground. Beside each other, it was hard to believe they were niece and uncle. Bette took after her mother, with straight black hair and a naturally serious expression. She looked like a tiny, stern little doll of Lycrarose at his side.
He pet her hair once, then pulled a chair out for her and graciously helped her into it.
“Let’s get started, shall we? Betsy, what do you know about magic?”
That was a broad question. She thought for a moment. It was so deceptively simple she immediately smelled a trick, and she tried to puzzle out what the hitch was. What kind of answer did Lysander want?
“It’s… a kind of power that humans have–“
“Just humans?” He interrupted.
She scowled. “No, not just humans. Elves and dwarves and other semi-humans have magic as well.”
“Do we all have the same kind?”
Was this how the lessons were going to proceed? Lysander would ask her a question and then not let her finish the answer? She bit her tongue and forced herself to think about it.
“No. Elves have forest magic, I believe, and dwarves make magic artifacts but… I don’t think they use magic like we do.” She wasn’t entirely certain about that. While semi-humans occasionally mingled with human settlements, most of those types lived in their own ways across the sea from Mansland or deep in the uncharted wilderness of the continent.
“That‘s right,” he confirmed, grinning at her and reaching out to ruffle her hair.
Bette dodged his hand, saving the maid’s hard work from unwarranted destruction.
He gave her a mulish pout, but continued: “Yes, those we call semi-humans— though I think they don’t like that term— are capable of magic as well. Can you think of anything else that uses magic?”
She stared at him. The definition of a semi-human was a humanlike creature that was capable of magic. It definitely covered the other magic-using races, so she struggled to think of anything else that used magic. Unless he was talking about magical constructs, but that didn’t seem to fit.
“It’s something of which we in the North have to be especially aware,” he hinted.
Oh.
“The mythic beasts!”
Those creatures that now dwelt beyond the Horizon were magical beings; it was what made the mythic beasts what they were.
“There you go!”
She nodded, satisfied with herself.
“So, magic is something we use,” he reiterated. “But what is it?”
“Magic is the energy of creation,” she recited.
He hummed, tucking a hand under his chin. “What makes you describe it like that?”
She blinked. Aside from being the first thing the Temple taught?
“It’s in everything, everywhere,” she said simply. It was true. Mana was in the water she drank, the food she ate, and the air she breathed. While there were places that had less mana, she didn’t think there was anywhere that completely lacked it.
“Hmm,” he considered her briefly.
Then, he walked away to briefly disappear behind the bookcases. When he returned, he carried a long roll of paper and a cup of pencils. He laid them out before her.
Instead of taking the seat across from her as she expected, he pulled the one beside her chair closer.
“I’ll say you’re half right,” he told her.
Bette frowned down at the paper. That was what she’d been taught, though.
He took a pencil from the cup and began sketching. It was easier to follow the motion of his hands than to look him in the eyes, and she found herself grateful for the distraction. As he sketched, he spoke: “Mana is the energy that circulates through reality. Philosophers believe it is the most basic form of the universe from which all matter is made.”
She bristled. “How is that different from what I said?”
He smiled at her. “Ah, but mana and magic are two different things! Magic refers to the way we manipulate mana, not the mana itself.”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“That’s splitting hairs,” she huffed.
“Most people would agree with you,” he admitted, “but I think it is vitally important to understand this difference.”
She was unwillingly intrigued. “How so?”
He just offered her that mysterious smile again. The art beneath his hands was taking shape—though a bit crude, it was definitely a world tree: the ancient image of the world developed before modern geography and astronomy, in which each race had its own branch of the tree. The roots of the tree dipped into a mana pool, while mana flowed freely from the heavens above.
She lightly touched the branch for the mythic beasts, and wondered how those ancient philosophers would envision the world with the beasts locked above the Horizon. Was the magic line like a saw removing a diseased branch?
“You recognize it?”
“From my history studies,” she murmured.
He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were already in Temple lessons. Aren’t you a little young for history?”
“‘We must face our pasts to understand the world we live in today’,” she quoted.
“That sounds like something Lycrarose would say,” he remarked, pulling a face.
“Yes.”
“That’s just like her. Leave it to Lycrarose to put her six year old in ancient history courses with priests.” He shook his head. “Anyway, do you know the story of the gods, then?”
She nodded, closed her eyes, and began to recite the passage from her book:
> “The world was once as the dunes of the desert: shifting, changing, building into mountains that disintegrated quickly into nothing. It was the playground of the gods who shape reality from chaos, then wipe it away. This was good for a time, but the gods became frustrated with impermanence.
>
> “They asked: ‘what is the use in building, if that which we create crumbles the instant we complete it? What use is creating when nothing stays?’
>
> One god proposed: ‘We should become energy and become one with the world—we will stabilize creation with our beings, and the creations will survive.’
>
> ‘But how will we enjoy it,’ Others asked, ‘if we cannot change or move within it?’
>
> ‘We will build a grand masterpiece, intricate and beautiful, so that our energy will forever flow to and fro, so we can see everything.’
>
> ‘Do not fear stagnation,’ another spoke up. ‘Even we are not enough to dissuade change. It is the nature of things. We will slow it to a crawl, however, so we can appreciate the beauty of every moment.’
>
> The gods were in agreement about this plan. They began to design a glorious working, using the best things they’d built before, each adding their own special touch. When it was done, they were awed by what they had created, and agreed that such a working should last. They opened their veins and flowed into the world, infusing everything with their energy, and reality came to be.”
He patted her on the head when she had finished. “You even did voices!”
She flushed. She hadn’t meant to!
“Not everyone believes mana is a religious thing, but it’s an interesting story, don’t you think?”
Some blessed the spirits and thanked the gods every time they used magic and most ritual chants included these traditional entreaties. However, it wasn’t necessary to do so. Praising the creators did not seem to make the creation any more likely to obey.
“Do you believe in the gods?” She asked, looking up into his green eyes.
“I think it's more of an allegory,” he admitted. “It certainly contains interesting philosophies about the existence of life. What is our purpose? Why does death exist? It proposes the meaning of life is the enjoyment of it, and enjoyment comes from change. Change is inevitable, so death is, too.”
She didn’t really care about philosophy, but she nodded anyway.
“What does this have to do with why the distinction between magic and mana is important?”
He chuckled. “You’re straight to the point, huh? I think it’s important for the same reason it's important to recognize the difference between drinking water and the substance we know as water. We may not be able to see it, but mana has its own cycles and tendencies. Just like water, it comes in different forms under different conditions, and not all of them are safe or accessible to us. I think understanding the way mana behaves naturally is the best way to improve mana use in magic. We know surprisingly little about its properties.”
“But… we can feel mana, can’t we?” She asked, confused.
“We can feel the mana in our bodies, and some can feel affinity-resonant mana in enough concentration, but there’s more mana out there than just what you can feel.”
But… she could feel mana, all around her. If she focused, she could feel the way it moved through the world, the way it swayed and flowed, pooling in some areas and running off in others. If it was just mana affinity, did she have multiple affinities?
She vaguely knew about affinities. It had been a feature of the Young Blades game, and it was fairly standard for RPGs. Characters had “affinities” for certain kinds of magic, like fire or wind magic, and could only perform spells from that designation. It was part of what had been so frustrating, mechanics-wise, about the new games as opposed to the original. Blades of Jor hadn’t had the affinity system; magic was about casting style in that game.
Lysander went on to outline the major affinities people could have and where that mana was generally found in nature, but she was stuck on the contradiction. What was behind the difference between magic in Blades of Jor and Young Blades? She couldn’t chalk it up to new designers, because Jor was a real place that she lived in. So there had to be a reason for the difference, right?
‘Magic and mana are different’.
There was something important in that distinction.
Lysander left her with ‘homework’ to do for next time. She was to read a book on mana affinities and write a report on their key features. He left the roll of paper and cup of pencils with her and departed, presumably to return to his duties as head of security at the castle.
She stared at the drawing of the world tree.
Well, if anyone asked… she was just studying, right?
She picked up the pencil, pulled the roll closer, and settled in to work.
----------------------------------------
Defeated and dispirited, Lisbette trudged back to her chambers. She had opted to bring the paper scroll with her, since it was full of notes that to others would be incomprehensible at best or signs of madness at worst.
She made good use of the library while searching for more context for the strange memories that now plagued her. Sadly, her research brought her no closer to solving the inconsistencies between the two (three, if you considered her present reality) world-states she knew. She could not reconcile the mechanical differences between the games set in the world of Jor, let alone form a workable hypothesis for how they reflected on the real world.
It came down to simply not knowing enough. The books in the children’s library were suitable for youthful studies—topics that could be naturally covered in a growing child’s curriculum. The influence of the centuries of her family line was present in the esoteric volumes, the fictional novels, and the collections of fairy tales, but even the Drakuhl spawn didn’t study magical theory this young. The tomes were as helpful as her own cobbled together, six-year-old knowledge.
She almost wanted to apologize to the librarian for making so much work with so little results. She just knew too little about mana and magic styles to form a believable hypothesis. In the end, she had only managed to unsettle herself.
Can it be that I have no affinity because my soul is not from this world? The thought made her feel sick and disconnected—like she wasn’t real and never had been.
Her displeasure must have shown on her face. Maids and manservants scurried out of her way, bowing low as she passed. They were charged with the upkeep of the castle by the Duchess. Their presence here was simply luck of the draw. They were no more familiar to her than any of the other servants. They were not her people.
Her hackles were up so far by the time she reached her doors that she almost couldn’t go in. It was only the promise of her soft, warm comforters that forced her hand.
The moment she opened the door she was assaulted. Almost knocked clear off her feet, she was saved only by the agility of her assailant, who caught her up in the tightest hug she’d ever experienced. Paradoxically, her muscles loosened. A smile found her face.
Tibby twirled her little mistress about the room, dancing in delight.
“My Lady, I’m s-so relieved to see you walking around,” she wailed. “You don’t know how scared I was, with you lying there pale as death!”
As comforting as her maid’s antics were, it was uncouth.
“Tibitha, unhand me,” Lisbette said, voice was muffled by the thick fabric of Tibitha’s apron.
At once, Bette was deposited safely on the ground, and Tibby collapsed into a heap at her feet, dress pooling around her. With her dusty brown hair tied up in two messy tails, she resembled nothing so much as a floppy, happy dog.
Tibitha Camerie Carroll was an oddball. She was the youngest daughter of Durand’s second sister, and though she nominally had status as a noble, she’d chosen to work as a chambermaid in the Duchess’s house. She was a little flighty and ill-mannered, but she was as loyal as a hunting hound.
Because they were both nobles and family, Lisbette could share a certain camaraderie with her that she wouldn’t have with a common-born maid. She was the first person to ever truly see Lisbette as her own person. She had decided that Bette was worth working for her. The members of the Carroll County had an eye for people. Being her choice of mistress meant something. For that, Tibby would always be the first and best of Bette’s inner circle.
“Where have you been?” Bette asked.
Tibitha heaved a long, put-upon sigh. “I was being scolded by uncle and the head maid.”
Bette patted her head in sympathy. Of course, that meant the head maid had lectured Tibby mercilessly while Durand looked on like an impassive wall. He might have even frowned a bit at her.
“Uncle Lysander is going to be teaching me magic.” She offered in consolation.
Tibitha perked up, eyes sparkling at the mention of magic. Or maybe Uncle Lysander. It was hard to tell: all of the maids seemed to have a crush on him, but Tibitha had always been enthralled by magic despite possessing no talent for it.
“That’s so wonderful! Oh, I’m so glad you weren’t punished, my lady.”
Bette hummed neutrally. She might yet be punished, if she didn’t prove herself to her mother. Tibitha didn’t understand things like that, though, so Bette just told her: “Get up and get me ready for bed, Tibs.”
“Yes, my Lady!”
As Tibitha prepared her bath, Bette reviewed her notes.
In the shaky (but improving!) calligraphy of a six year old, she’d penned what she could remember of the timeline of the Young Blades of the Rose game. Though she didn’t know details or route-specific events, she knew enough about the universal story for the arc of the narrative to be clear.
She’d written:
> FC intro - some kind of accident (runaway horse/carriage?) → reveals magic to heal [Friend? Bystander? Unclear]
>
> Temple exposition + magic tutorial
>
> 1st encounter w villainess on lightning rail + social mechanic tutorial
>
> Arrival at Academy + main gameplay
>
> classes, assignments, parties. High grades = XP (?)
>
> Finals → Last Dance → ballroom battle → end
The amount of uncertainty in even this rough sketch was agonizing.
It's not my fault that I didn't like the game, she pouted. If she’d known it would be so important later she would have played more thoroughly! She knew she was forgetting some things, if not most of the story.
She was of course more familiar with the original Blades of Jor but that wasn't necessarily of use in this situation. The open-ended RPG, though it likely took place in the same area, had to be separated by centuries from her present time. At most, her knowledge of the creatures in the game could help with schoolwork and defending the Horizon. While that was great for her future at the head of the Duchy, she didn’t know if it would help her survive the storyline of YBoR.
“Your highness,” Tibitha sing-singed from the entrance to Bette’s en-suite, “the water is nice and warm now!”
She closed the scroll and hopped down from her chair, allowing Tibby to disrobe and disentangle her from the day’s accessories. Her attendant held her hand as she descended into the recessed tub and helped lower her to the stair.
“It’s not too hot?” Tibby asked.
Bette shook her head.
The water in the palace was magically heated. She didn’t know the specifics, but she could feel the way the magic shaped the mana in her water. It lapped at her skin and clung where the vapor settled on her hair. If she focused, she thought she could feel the mana sinking into her; though whether it really was or it was simply the heat of the bath she felt, she didn’t know.
“Should I clean your hair, my Lady?” Tibitha asked, reaching for a bottle of the fragrant oils she used to treat her hair.
“It’ll get greasy if you use that too often,” Bette scolded.
Tibby pouted.
“You can comb my hair,” she relented. “But nothing more than soap.”
“Yes, Princess.”
Tibby was still too rough with the knots, but once she’d worked through the worst of it, Bette could relax and allow herself to enjoy the loving caresses that her cousin gave her.
Lysander had pet her hair too. Was that how family usually showed affection? She tried to remember if the Duke or Duchess had ever combed her hair, but she couldn’t recall any occasions.
“Tibby,” she began, the question in the tip of her tongue.
“Yes, your Highness?” Tibby hummed.
She couldn’t say it; asking if Tibitha remembered something like that felt more embarrassing than wanting it.
“Did the other maid pass my message to Her Grace?”
“Miss Mandy, you mean?” Tibby paused, wracking her brain. “Oh yeah, she did tell me to let you know!”
And if she hadn’t asked, she never would. It made Bette snicker despite herself.
“What? What was it? Was it a prank?”
Bette coughed. “Certainly not. It was a letter to my mother!”
Tibby huffed. “It still could have been one.”
The idea of pranking Duchess Lycrarose Drakuhl should have struck horror into her heart, but Tibitha was otherworldly-made. She even seemed to think the idea was fun.
Once she finished washing, Tibby helped her mistress towel off and slip into her dressing gown. She gathered the strands in one long tail and wrapped them in a sheathe of supple leather to protect them through the night.
“Did a reply come with that message?” She asked over her shoulder as Tibby tied the ribbons and lace of her nightdress.
“Was there supposed to be one?”
“No,” Bette said. She had hoped, but it was unlikely she’d get permission so soon. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Do you want to read before you retire, my Lady?”
She glanced sideways at her assigned book and, more dreadful, the scroll she’d begun recording notes within about her past self’s knowledge. Something in her felt she should be focusing and planning for the future, but fatigue made her eyes droop and her mouth open wide in a yawn. The bath hadn’t helped matters; she was clean and warm and wrapped in soft bedclothes. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and bury herself in blankets.
I’m only six, she thought, boggling.
How strange to think when just a short while ago it had been I’m already six. She’d felt so big and grown two days prior, and now the ornate furniture felt big and foreign, designed for longer bodies. Even her little desk, made specifically for her and engraved with the dragons head from the family emblem, felt like a reminder of her youth in contrast.
“Tibby,” she murmured into her cousins shoulder, as the girl hefted her up and into her massive bed.
“Yes, Princess?”
“Am I… doing alright?”
She cocked her head quizzically.
Bette gripped the sheets her maid pulled up around her.
“Is it enough? Am I,” she stopped. Tibitha was not the type to dwell on abstract questions. Even if she could somehow convey the question, one she couldn’t quite construct for herself, she couldn’t expect Tibby to have the answer.
When she didn’t continue, Tibby smoothed the hair back from Bette’s forehead. She smiled down at her.
“I think you’re doing great,” she whispered. “Sleep well, Princess.”
“I… will try, Tibitha.”
With that, Tibby turned the shade on the magelight and bowed out of the room.