There were very few ways a six year old on her own could bolster her reputation, and under the shadow of the great House to which she was born and its even greater Legacy, it was unlikely anything she did would be more than a drop in the ocean.
Still, she considered some avenues as she picked at her plate.
Maybe she could start a business? There were some innovations the Empire hadn’t made yet that could make life more interesting or easy, ones she’d enjoyed in her previous life. But when she looked realistically at what she could replicate using available resources, she found that she lacked technical expertise in most areas.
She contemplated using her degree and employment experience to help a current brand gain more market share, but quickly nixed that idea. No one would want a child offering to sell their business to the people. At best, it would be seen as a joke, and at worst, it would ruin their image. As much as she wanted to say otherwise, she wasn’t in a position to help anyone else’s ‘brand’.
Jor wasn’t some primitive civilization; there were aspects of it that even outclassed the country she’d called home on Earth. Science was still in its infancy, but the study of natural phenomena and the pursuit of objectivity weren’t in direct conflict with the teachings of the dominant religion, so new discoveries were welcomed with open arms for the most part.
The study of magic was part and parcel of science, in Jor. Mana was part of the natural world, as common as carbon and just as essential a building block. There were many aspects of magic and mana that scholars readily admitted they didn’t understand and were still puzzling through, however. It was hardly weakness to admit that the great machine the gods had labored over was beyond the comprehension of mere mortals.
In her previous life, she’d been atheist; but in this life, she didn’t know if she believed in the gods or not. They were a nebulous force in the past and they had ceased before the universe had even come to be—believing in them felt as consequential as believing in dinosaurs. It didn’t matter if she believed or not, because no giant lizard was going to eat her today. Whether the gods existed was up for debate, but mana was a reality.
On that note, she had to consider that the things she ‘knew’ to be true—laws of gravity and thermodynamics and the like—might not be the same in this world. Everything seemed to function like normal, but there were feats of magic that she couldn’t account for with her own knowledge of physics. Maybe some well-learned nuclear physicist could, but she was just a marketer.
She couldn’t even rely on the knowledge she could gain through study! She knew that there was some flaw in understanding or use of magic that produced the differences between the magic system in the Young Blades game versus the original Blades of Jor. It was frustrating, to feel like she was working with only half the pieces of the puzzle. There was something floating on the edge of her vision, on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach.
Bette let herself glower at her lunch—little cucumber sandwiches, sausage, cheese, and yoghurt topped with fresh, seasonal berries—but eventually sighed, pushing herself up from the table.
She wasn’t going to solve the mysteries of the universe by glaring at her sausage.
“What’s next on the agenda?” She asked the room.
As expected, Tibby wasn’t the one to answer. Amanda, the maid who’d taken over when Tibby was being scolded, bowed her head and spoke, “Your Highness, your lessons continue after luncheon. Your next lesson is in swordplay with Dame Denever, in the garden court.”
That brightened her mood considerably.
“Tibby, hurry up,” Bette commanded, bouncing on her heels.
Tibitha looked down at the rolls she’d been piling onto her plate, expression the very picture of heartbreak.
“Bring them with you if you must,” she groaned.
Tibby grinned and began stuffing buttered rolls into her pockets. Bette shuddered in disgust. There was no telling what was in those pockets, and she just put them in there without any wrapping.
She’s lucky she’s not a laundry maid, Bette thought, scowling. I cannot imagine the horrors they endure.
The Duchess believed in well-rounded education, so Bette wasn’t new to physical lessons. She’d been tumbling and dancing since she was three. Swordfighting was new territory, however, and she was both nervous and determined. She had requested, and received, Dame Denever as her instructor after their trip into the city proper. If nothing else, she knew that the Dame did not believe she was the cursed child of Drakuhl; or if she did, she was very good at hiding it.
Once Tibby was ready, dress bulging with lumps of hot bread, the girls made a stop at Bette’s quarters to change her into the belted tunic she used for tumbling. Eventually she’d have a sword-fighting uniform, but the seamstress who’d answered her summons needed a couple more days to finish it. Once dressed for activity, she and Tibby made their way to the garden.
Denever was waiting for them in the terracotta courtyard, eyes closed and legs crossed, seemingly deep in meditation. As they approached, she stood to bow.
“My Lady, Your Highness,” she greeted.
“Hi Dame!” Tibby chirped.
“Thank you for agreeing to instruct me in swordplay, Dame Denever,” Bette said, curtsying. “I hope I will prove an adept student under your tutelage.”
“Thank you for requesting me, my liege,” the woman said with gravity, though there was a twinkle in her eye that said she found the whole situation amusing. “I hope you will not regret it too badly. I have been told I am a harsh teacher.”
Bette nodded firmly. “I will not falter.”
“I don’t doubt your determination, your Highness,” she said. With a wave, Denever beckoned them to the garden table where she’d laid out a set of leathers. “Let me show you how to buckle these, my Lady, and then we will start with stances.”
True to her word, Bette found herself moving through five defensive stances for the next four hours. By the time Denever called the practice, her arms were aching from hefting the wooden training sword up and down and side to side hundreds of times. Though her face was red and rolling with sweat, Bette didn’t allow herself to tear up or complain.
Denever looked somewhat apologetic as she wet a towel and wiped Bette’s face down.
“You did well, Princess,” she said gently. “I know it seems boring and difficult, but the most important part of training is the repetition. You need to carve it into your muscles until you can block an opponent’s sword strike before your mind even realizes what’s happening.”
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Bette knew that. With trembling arms, she bowed to her instructor.
“Th- thank you, Dame Denever.”
“Lord Lysander will meet you in the library, my Lady,” Denever told her, “After you take a bath.”
A bath sounded luxurious.
Bette wondered if it would look weak if she asked Tibby to carry her to her bathroom.
----------------------------------------
Freshly washed and scrubbed of the day’s dirt and sweat, Lisbette found her uncle again in the children’s library. She brought the scroll of notes with her, though she’d torn off the notes regarding what she remembered from the game’s narrative. It was nothing incriminating, but she didn’t want to lie if he asked her about what she’d written.
“Betsy! Denny didn’t gobble you up, I see,” Lysander chortled, sweeping her up into his arms. Bette suffered in his grasp for a moment, then struggled until he set her down in a chair at the table.
He sat in his customary seat at her side, turning a smile bright as magelight on her. “So, what did you think about the book? What did you learn? Anything jump out at you?”
Bette unravelled the scroll to find her notes.
“Mana in the physical plane primarily comes in four different types: earth, wind, fire, and air,” she read. “And like mana, people can have types or affinities for those elements. In order to manipulate mana through magic, mages must be able to channel mana through tools like sigils or wands or through their own bodies to shape spells. Spells are complex formulations of mana designed to enact a change in reality that is otherwise impossible without the use of mana.”
“And was that new information to you?” He asked.
“No,” she told him, disgruntled.
“Ahh, and did you learn anything by reading?”
“No,” she told him again, a hint of frustration showing on her face. “I just have more questions!”
“I thought you might,” he grinned, and gestured for her to continue.
“Firstly, the author uses the word ‘primarily’ to describe the types of mana on the physical plane. Does that mean there are other, less common types?”
“Well… it depends.”
She gazed at him, expectant.
He smiled.
Finally she gave in and asked: “On what?”
“As with many aspects of mana study, the answer to that question is uncertain!”
She scowled at him. Even the most basic question she had didn’t have a known answer? Was this what school children felt when major discoveries were just being published? Irritated that adults were trying to tell them how things worked when they clearly didn’t know any better than their pupils?
He laughed at her expression, and it soured further.
“Come on, Betsy, don’t look at me like that! I could have lied and told you I knew the answer but it was too soon for you to know!”
That was true. As much as she hated the uncertainty, she would have hated being lied to even more. She grudgingly nodded.
“Consensus is that there are other mana types out there, but we can’t be certain,” he told her. “Mana can’t be observed directly. What we know about it is mostly guesswork based on patchwork observation. It’s hard to study a type of mana we can’t sense. There’s so much we don’t know! Is the Light of the Empress’s line a type of mana? Or is it a special kind of magic talent they’re born with?”
She perked up at that. The question of the light ‘element’ and where it fit into the schema was one she had as well.
“What do you think?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Without studying the imperial family, we can’t say.”
Bette tried to imagine her uncle requesting to borrow one of the Empress’s beloved children for testing. She shuddered.
“There are other creatures who use magic in this world to do things we cannot. Is it because they’re using a different kind of mana that we can’t sense? We just don’t know.”
Bette huffed, looking down at her notes. “What is the point, then, of study when I can be sure of nothing? I hate this! I’d almost rather learn nothing at all.”
She was being rude, she knew. This was Lysander’s life’s work. Instead of coddling her with easy answers, he was introducing her to the real uncertainty of the world and trusting that she would understand. It was more than she could have hoped for, but here she was, irritated by the truth.
It was frustrating, and she was irritated with herself for being frustrated, which made her temper all the shorter.
“I’ll let you in on a secret, darling,” Lysander murmured, gently patting her shoulder. “I hate not knowing just as much as you do.”
Bette squinted at him, suspicious.
“Honest! It’s why I became a master mage in the first place! So I can share my discoveries with others, and learn what they know in turn,” he said. He leaned toward her and offered her his hand. “I promise, if you stick with me, I’ll tell you everything I learn. We’ll work together to solve those frustrating mysteries, okay?”
Bette considered for a moment, but eventually she took his hand as best as she could and shook it firmly.
“You have a deal,” she told him. “No more books that tell me nothing, though! My time is precious.”
“Alright, alright,” he relented. Then he asked, “Do you know what your mana affinity is, Lisbette?”
“I… do not.” She hoped her worries didn’t show on her face. Was there some kind of test? What would it say about her?
“You haven’t an inkling of it?” Has asked, surprised. “You were capable of manipulating your internal mana, weren’t you? You didn’t feel a tug in any direction? Nothing lit up around you?”
Lit up?
“I mostly felt pain,” she deadpanned, “as my mana surged. Or have you forgotten the reason for our lessons?”
Lysander laughed. “I can’t get over it! You’re so much like Big Sister that it’s scary!”
Bette gave a little ‘hmph’ and turned her head. She’d take that as a compliment.
“Alright. Here’s your homework for next time—“ Bette opened her mouth to protest, “—and no, it’s not another book. I want you to spend some time in the bath and in the garden, and when you’re outside, I want you to focus on the wind and the sun. Really focus on how the energy inside you reacts to the world around you. Take notes! A smart kid like you will figure out your affinity quickly, I bet!”
Oh, Uncle, she thought, gambling isn’t good for you. You’ve picked a lame horse. I can feel the energy around me; it just doesn’t tell me anything!
“Okay? We’ve got some time left—so let’s talk about those magic tools, eh? What does the author say about them? Do you agree?”
Bette sighed. She was going to have to mentally prepare herself every time she came to a lesson with Lysander, wasn’t she?
Later that night, Bette sat at her little writing desk, pen nib dripping over her inkwell as she considered what to write.
Lysander had asked her to feel the mana of the world and find out which one it was that called for her. As he’d said, most people had an affinity for one element or the other. Occasionally, some would have two affinities. Any normal mage could feel out only their own affinity and found it easiest to manipulate mana aligned with it.
Lisbette was discovering that she was far from normal, however. Her ability to sense mana had always been a background buzz to her. The world was alive with energy, like the humming of voltaic lights in Liz’s lifetime. For as long as she’d existed in this world, she’d assumed that this was the default—that it was normal.
What she had read contradicted everything she thought she knew. Now she was left with a choice: tell Lysander about the unusual state of her magic, or lie.
She found the idea of telling someone about her… abnormalities to be repugnant, more so because she couldn’t begin to guess what the cause was. She didn’t know what her ability to sense mana really meant—it could have been an indication of her mana affinity, or it could’ve been something to do with the state of her soul. It could be either, or it could be none of the above.
It might mean nothing more than it was. It might mean there was something deeply wrong with her. The divergence scared her. Being identified as a mana-well had already changed her life in many ways. She didn’t trust that this wouldn’t cause more drastic effects. She couldn’t afford to naïvely hope that she would agree with those changes and be able to keep up with the effects.
She couldn’t understand Lysander, and she didn’t entirely trust him yet. It was one thing when he was an uncle who visited sometimes. It was another when he was to be her magic instructor and could tell Lycrarose if he found her unsuitable. If she was somehow damaged beyond repair, would she even be able to keep her position as the Crown Royale? As unlikely as it seemed, if it turned out she was unable to fulfill her duties, Lysander would be the next in the line of succession.
I don’t think he wants to rule the Duchy, she thought, but that might not matter. It is his duty to report on my progress to the Duchess. His feelings are irrelevant.
She considered. If she lied about her affinity and said she had one or the other, it could come out to be something she actually couldn’t manipulate. Then Lysander would know that she’d lied about being able to sense it. She didn’t want to get caught in a web of her own making.
She could delay the decision, if she told him that she was having trouble understanding what her mana senses were telling her. It wouldn’t even be a lie, because she truly couldn’t explain what she was sensing. Perhaps if she redirected and asked about his affinity, she could buy herself more time.
With that in mind, she began to write.