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Was a noble, who was unable to use magic, truly a noble?
It was the third break on a flight that should only have required only one and I was immensely grateful no one had said what they were thinking. I didn’t make any excuses, I wasn’t in the habit of lying, either to myself or to others but neither did I explain anything. I merely landed my manticore whenever the burning in my stomach and the throbbing of my heart got too much.
I wasn’t in the mood for talking and while I was glad for the company, I felt uncomfortable at the prospect of sharing my thoughts and feelings at the moment.
I knew I would need to, though.
The Tristanian Academy of Magic was only a short flight away and taking another break would be too humiliating, too obvious. And I needed to know how to act, what to say and what not to say.
Clearly, I had done and said the wrong things for all my daughter’s life. For it was more than clear to me and anyone who had observed me, that while I was a good trainer and commander, I made for a terrible mother.
So, whereas on the previous breaks I had immediately stalked off, leaving it to my two subordinates to handle the manticores, this time I remained here, uncertain, not sure how to start.
I was ashamed, I was afraid, I was humiliated.
I was desperate. The Rule of Steel had no function besides concealing my thoughts and fears from others.
No, I needed to know. I could not live with myself if pride and fear destroyed my daughter upon my arrival.
“Helene,” I started, my voice even, calmer than it had any right to be, “what do I say to her?”
Helene de Langlade, fourth daughter of a minor noble family had been my second in command for over twenty years by now. She had stood beside me in every major battle I had fought, she had been present at my wedding and I at hers. She was there when all my three daughters had been born, just as I was there at the birth of her son, who by now was a proud chevalier of the Manticore Knights.
She knew me better than anyone else.
I had five people I trusted just as much as Helene but no one I trusted more.
We were bound by blood, spilled and shed, by fierce loyalty. By friendship forged in battle and beyond and above all, love.
“That you love her, unconditionally, no matter what. That’s all a mother needs to say, and all a child needs to hear.”
“I don’t think I have said that to any one until now.”
“You never needed to,” she easily replied, her gloved hands brushing her manticore’s fur. “I won’t lie to you, Karin, that it would be appreciated if you said it more often to your family, but no one had reason to doubt your affection and love.”
“Until now,” I said, my voice hoarse, my throat dry and heart beating faster than it had any right to at my age.
“Until now,” she confirmed, “Louise is a smart child, but she needs to hear it when you see her. She needs to know that her-, “here, my old friend faltered, but then stubbornly bulled through,” that her failure does not mean that you would cast her out.”
Some families might have, that was true. I couldn’t lie and say that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind as well. Wasn’t it my duty, as a noble, as an aristocrat, to cast out the person who was unable to uphold her status, her birthright?
Would I be going against Brimir if I allowed my daughter to remain a part of the family, a part of the noble cast?
Yes, those thoughts had crossed my mind, and I even had arguments to the contrary. That Louise’s explosions did mean that she could use magic. That even though she was terrible at it, she was still inherently magical and thus noble. No one could doubt her relation to me and while she resembled me far more than her father, he was still in her features for those who knew how to look. That as a parent, it was also my founder charged duty to look out for my kin, my flesh and blood and take responsibility for their shortcomings.
Above all, those were excuses for others, for those who would use this opportunity to harm my family, for the palace, for I knew that I could no more cast out my youngest daughter, then I could use Void magic.
Yet, I did consider it, and if I couldn’t be honest with Helene, who had more right to know than most others, I would be doing both of us a disservice.
“I thought about it,” I said, feeling more ashamed than I ever had in my life. I was a terrible mother.
“We think about many things, it does not mean we are likely to act upon these thoughts. For about a week now, I’ve considered burning Pascal’s dreadful beard off, and yet it remains to our chagrin.”
Sir Pascal de Langlade, Helene’s son, a young, talented water mage and the newest addition to the Manticore Knights, who until now had done his best to uncomfortably pretend he was deaf while he groomed his own manticore, shot his mother a reproachful look. He was taller than both of us, strong as well-trained young chevaliers tend to be and he would have looked dashing, if it weren’t for the unfortunate fact that without the beard, his face makes him look like a boy of sixteen.
To our distress, his blond beard, or as close as he came to growing one, transformed the handsome young man into an awkward brigand. It was uneven, and did not suit him at all.
I could understand Helene’s feelings and I had been tempted to order him to shave. It was vexing to look at, and yet young men tended to crave facial hair to make themselves appear more mature. Alas, it was not for everyone.
“I applaud your self-control,” a small smile had found its way on my lips and I was grateful for the levity, for the small distraction. Yet we had to return to the matter at hand, I had put it off long enough.
“That is all?” I asked one last time.
“That is all,” she said, her blonde locks swaying in the wind. “All she needs right now, is your love and your support.”
“She has it, she always had it.”
“Never make her doubt that, Karin. I never did, your troops never did and I dare to say, the rest of your family never did.”
I wasn’t so sure on that, but Helene was right more often than not.
A few minutes later we took off.
xxxxxx
The Tristanian Academy of Magic wasn’t prone to change and I was not surprised that it had remained virtually the same since my last visits here. I had been here as a student, then years later for the enrollment of each of my daughters and not much, if anything at all, had changed.
Except for the quality of education and teaching, apparently. As a traditional institution with the eyes of the whole continent on its walls, it remained steadfast and proud as it upheld the teachings of the Founder, in magic and nobility alike.
We had landed close to the stables for the familiars and mounts of visitors and a young page took care of our beasts, while a maid, a pretty young thing, probably no older than seventeen, lead us in. In the halls, students of various ages, all sporting the black, brown and purple robes of their corresponding years were skittering around, a few shooting curious glances towards us.
It did not surprise me that no one recognized us. None of us was wearing armor or uniform, and none of us was particularly recognizable although a few surely realized who I was, if the gasps were any indication.
I did hear a few whispers of “zero’s mother”, which concerned me.
The maid led us through the corridors, probably to the headmaster’s office. Just as well, I did have a few words I wanted to say to him. Bitter resentment churned in my stomach, wanting to blame him and his teachers for being unable to sufficiently teach one of their students, my daughter, magic.
I wasn’t sure how just such an accusation would be, not without having spoken to the headmaster and more importantly, Louise.
One of the rooms we came across, I recognized all too well. It was the spacious room in which the familiar summoning ritual was performed. All nobles in Tristain summoned their familiars in there, and so did I.
While I was reminiscing, a familiar voice reached my ears.
Turning around, I saw Colbert. I had fought beside him once, he had been my subordinate for a short time, years back. A flash of rage flooded through my veins when I saw him. How dare he not do his best to teach my daughter? How dare he allow this catastrophic disappointment happen right under his nose?
“Colbert!” I greeted him, my voice still even, without any inflection. I had always been good at hiding my feelings, whether it be amusement or anger.
I could feel Helene and Pascal positioning themselves on either side of me, just two steps behind. I did not need to turn to know that Pascal had most likely adapted the serious gaze of a chevalier on duty whereas Helene let a cold gaze wander over Colbert.
Ah, I recall her resentment at being outperformed at fire magic by the Flame Serpent. There was no shame in that, Jean Colbert had been an excellent combat mage. A prodigy, in many ways. It was, however, disappointing to see that he had been a poor teacher, especially to my child.
Then again, maybe Louise was the one case where even the best teacher wouldn’t have helped?
“Karin,” he replied, his voice wary and tired. Thankfully he didn’t ask me any inane question on how I am and the likes. “Please follow me.”
“In my short time here I already heard the words ‘zero’s mother’ more than once, what does that mean?”
“It’s just a poor jest by the children here, you know how they can be.”
I did, and the realization that my youngest daughter had, atop of all this, been mocked, is still mocked didn’t help my mood.
“Zero?” I asked, my tone sharper now. There is only so much even I can conceal.
The students around us were keeping their distance and hurrying along, most of them not really caring, but a few were shooting curious glances our way, and I had to force myself to not let my feelings appear on face.
Colbert clearly contemplated whether or not he should answer but he was wise enough to do so. Feigning ignorance would not have gone over well at this point, neither would mincing his words. So, he was honest, maybe brutally so.
“Some of the students have been calling your daughter the Zero for some time, due to, well, because she can cast zero spells, can perform zero acts of magic, has zero magical accomplishments.”
Louise the Zero. My daughter had been called the Zero to her face by her peers. I knew children could be cruel, nobles more so than others, but I personally had never been subject to open mockery to my face. I had been accomplished and skilled even as a young student, strong and no one had really dared to, even the jealous ones.
Similarly, I was reasonably certain that my two other daughters had not been mocked like this. Eléonore would not have tolerated such and while I was sad to say that she did not have my raw power and talent, she did have the ability to repel most students who dared to treat her like this. She had a good head for politics beside, and knew how to play to her strengths. Cattleya, sweet Cattleya on the other hand, had an innate charisma that drew people to her, made them like her. Only the most jealous and petty children would have dared to attack her and no doubt did she always have enough friends to defend her at any given moment.
My smallest child had neither.
For a second, I bitterly regretted that neither Helene, nor any other of my vassals had children in Louise’s age, to visit the Academy alongside her. While I would never have ordered any parent to have their children befriend and protect mine, I had no doubt that they would have stretched out a helping hand nonetheless. At the very least, I would have heard of this sooner.
Pascal was an outstanding young man, someone like him surely would have intervened in such a vicious campaign? He couldn’t be the only one of his kind, could he? Was there not a single student with pride and decency? Where were the young men and women, raised by chivalry and respect?
Colbert looked uncomfortable and nervous, and I wondered what he was thinking. Did he believe I would attack school children?
“Very well, bring me to Osmond.”
Colbert, wary, nodded, turned to maid and allowed her to leave. He then started walking to the headmaster’s office. Starting to follow him, I turned to Helene.
We reached the office and were invited in. Osmond sat in his usual chair, whereas a young woman, roughly around Pascal’s age, no doubt his secretary was standing right by his side. His annoying rat was nowhere in sight and it better remained that way.
“Duchess de La Valliére welcome back to our esteemed institution, although I wish you’d have joined us under better circumstances.”
“Explain to me how and what exactly happened!” I demanded, rudely and completely breaking protocol but I was court at the best of times and right now, I had no patience for all this, I needed to know exactly why it is that my daughter was unable to summon a familiar, was in fact unable to cast any piece of magic beyond uncontrollable explosions.
Osmond, stroking his long beard, sighed. He was no doubt used to angry parents and unreasonable nobles, but things were different when it was me who he had to deal with, I knew that. Osmond is a strong mage, always has been. No doubt, if worse came to worst, he could deal with a usual irritating noble. Most of them were useless and incompetent and even the ones who had been skilled at some point, had allowed their talents to diminish in their comfortable lifestyles of excess and debauchery.
I, however, was the strongest mage in Tristain, very few mages in all of Halkegina could stand against me. A few nobles may threaten to tear the school down but I could actually do it on the spot and neither Osmond, nor Colbert could stop me if I chose to do so.
I wouldn’t, unless they gave me a very good reason to, but the possibility was there. We all knew it.
“Throughout her stay, Miss de la Valliére has been an academically exceptional student. Her theoretic knowledge is second to none among the students and there is not one theoretic test that she hasn’t aced. However, unfortunately, that knowledge didn’t translate to the practical aspect of spellcasting. In all of her time here, Miss de la Valliére was unable to successfully cast even a single spell. All her attempts ended in more or less harmless explosions. As did her final attempt during the summoning ritual.”
“Why have I not been informed of this appalling lack of progress? Which steps were taken to remedy this problem?”
“She received tutelage, Colbert and I interviewed her twice and we even had her wand checked and replaced. There is no defect we were able to determine. Your daughter did her best, tried her hardest, but for reasons only the Founder knows, it seems she was simply born that way.” Here he paused, trying to look for the right words and Colbert took over.
“She has magic, of that we have no doubt. We want to make that clear and the whole faculty is ready to vouch for that. Miss de la Valliére is a mage and no one can take that from her. If she wasn’t, nothing would have happened. A commoner can whirl a want around all day and concentrate all he wants and nothing would happen. The explosions, unfortunate as they are, are proof of her magic.”
With a small sigh, Osmund continued, “but she will never graduate from this Academy. The most we can do for her is to offer her to withdraw from the academy on her own accord.”
It was a kindness, of sorts, but one that most likely wouldn’t matter. If anything, the perceived pity could be used for further mockery.
Not when she was next to me, of course. It would take a particularly brave or particularly stupid pest to insult my daughter in my presence.
“That’s the explanation, just a quirk of nature?”
“Duchess, no water mage or expert on magic found anything wrong with your daughter, no expert wandmaker found a flaw with her wand and other wands yielded the same results. As hard it must be as a mother to hear that, the reason seems as simple as it is cruel. For the same reason you were born with such tremendous power, for the same reason hundreds of nobles are born with mediocre power it was the same reason your daughter was born like this. I’m sorry.”
“Where is my daughter now?”
“She’s in her chambers,” his familiar, a ridiculous mouse twitching on his shoulder whimpered, “packing. There is no hurry, per se, she, and you, are more than welcome to remain as long as you like but it would be just cruel to have her linger here for longer.”
Yes, I had nearly forgotten, the other students. I was tempted to tear into him for that but I knew what children were like, especially noble ones. Barbs and insults were openly traded behind teachers backs.
“Very well, thank you for your time, Headmaster,” I said, “I’ll collect my daughter and we will depart today, there will be no need for any accommodations.” I paused, “We shall take you up on your offer to have a document officially vouching for Louise’s inherent magic, several copies, if it’s possible.”
“Of course, Duchess, you’ll receive them within the hour,” said Osmund, looking obviously relieved as he outright sank back into his chair, “my secretary will lead you Miss de la Valliere’s chambers at once.”
As if she had heard, the secretary, a green haired young woman, pretty and well dressed, entered the office.
“If you would follow me, Duchess,” she said, bowing,
I nodded, turning my back to Osmond and Colbert, following her, with Pascal and Helene one step behind me.
It didn’t take long for us to reach the door of her room. I was standing still, staring at it. Did I knock? Of course, I should. This was almost certainly harder on her than it was on me. I knew that my youngest carried high expectations for herself, expectations that I had set. She would need the few seconds to compose herself.
Yet it was as if my arm was stuck where it was, behind my back. I couldn’t raise it to knock, to open the door.
A hand grabbed my shoulder, tearing me from my thoughts. When I turned my head, I was staring into the kind eyes of Helene. The secretary was nowhere to be seen and even Pascal was standing a few feet away, his back turned to us.
“Be brave, Karin. Brave and kind.”
I wasn’t sure I could. Brave usually came easy to me. Kind, not so much. Right now, brave was the last thing I was.
I wasn’t brave, I wasn’t steel.
I was just scared and guilty and miserable.
And here I was, standing in front of the door of my suffering daughter feeling sorry for myself
No, I needed to be strong, to be her mother.
With an immense pull, I got my hand up, forced my usual, neutral expression on my face and knocked.
Once, twice, three times did my fist slam against the door with a loud thud.
It took a few seconds before I heard the muffled voice of my daughter, telling me to come in.
I shot one last glance at Helene, who nodded.
“Take your time, Karin. No one will disturb you two.”
Of that I had no doubt.
I entered and closed the door.
Louise, the long pink hair that she had inherited from me, was collected in a tight ponytail. She was no longer wearing the school uniform but a simple blue gown that I remembered Cattelaya gifting her last summer. Upon seeing me, she shot up, like a recruit at a barracks inspection.
Her eyes were wide and red from crying. Sweat was running over her face as if she had just run a marathon and she was shaking all over her body.
“Mo-, mother!” the one word was stuttered with such fear, that I think I would have felt less terrible if she had spat on me in hatred.
“Louise.” I didn’t know what to say after that. I saw my youngest child, wrecked with guilt and more terrified than a lot of enemy soldiers that I had struck down.
This wasn’t right.
“I-I-I apologize for my failure.” She managed to croak out these words that I didn’t want to her, especially not in this tone. “I brought shame and dishonor over the family name and y-”
“Louise!” I interrupted her. “Are you ready to depart?”
She bit down what she wanted to say, I could see that, and she nodded.
“I have packed, mother.” I forced my gaze away from my daughter and looked around the room. The bed was made, the desk was empty and a medium sized travel chest next to two full suitcases were lying on the floor.
“Very well, then. We’ll leave immediately. Leave your baggage here.”
No, this wasn’t the time or place for a long conversation. Not in this school. This was an issue that would need sufficient time and several long talks. Not a quick chat whilst Helene and Pascal were standing guard in front of the door.
I turned around and walked out, hearing her footsteps following me. Outside, I met the surprised face of Helene, who had obviously been assuming this would take longer. But only for a second and she understood.
She always did.
“Helene, my daughter and I are going to fly ahead. Could I impose you and Pascal one last time and ask you two to deal with the luggage and finish the bureaucratic stuff with Osmund?”
“Of course,” she said. A soft smile appeared on her face when she saw Louise. “It’s good to see you again, my dear.”
“Hello, aunty Helene.” Louise was still shaking and her voice was weak, barely audible. “I’m sorry for having inconvenienced you with my failure.”
Oh Louise.
Helene frowned. “You mustn’t say that, Louise,” she replied, her voice quiet and somber. But she remembered where we were. “But that’s a matter better discussed later. Let me just say, you’re loved, Louise.” With that said, she gave me one last nod and turned around, walking up to her son. “Son, you’ve heard the duchess. Take care of the luggage, I’ll deal with the rest.”
“Yes mother.”
With that, the Le Langlades rushed in two directions and I started too. After a second, I heard Louise’s footsteps once more, as she fell in line behind me.
It didn’t take long to reach the stables. The walk was quiet, uncomfortable and uneventful. We saw a few students but I couldn’t bring myself to look at them. If I saw smugness, glee or schadenfreude, I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t let my wand give shape to my fury at them and my presence was enough to prevent any unkind words from being voiced.
Once we had reached the stables and my manticore in particular, I faced my daughter again. She was a bit out of breath, from having to make haste to keep up with me.
It always surprised me how small my daughter still was, how young. Some cruel design of fate condemned her to lack one, very important trait for her status. Something that all the other nitwits and worthless wastes of space that called themselves the nobility of Tristain had and could lord over her.
It was such injustice, that I felt like exploding. What did those disgusting slimes have that my precious girl didn’t? Where was the justice of the Founder in this?
Louise whimpered, taking a step back. It seemed, my mood was visible on my face but Louise, lacking the necessary insight into my thoughts was thinking my anger was aimed at her.
My poor, poor Louise.
I swung myself on the saddle and reached out with my right hand. Louise, hesitantly, took it and allowed me to pull her on my familiar and I placed her right in front of me.
And then we took off.
Manticores can be fast fliers. Not the fastest animals in the sky but fast nonetheless. I had spent years on the back of familiar soaring through the skies and fighting. Louise, well, she was less used to that. I had taken her flying only a few times, when she was younger, like I had done with all of my daughters. As they grew older, the less we flew together.
And if flying had been truly part of them, they’d have summoned a manticore or a dragon or another familiar that was capable of flight. Then again, we would never know with Louise.
She was stiff, almost frozen. Her shaking had stopped but I was certain it wasn’t because of the height. Louise had squealed in joy in the earlier days during these trips, far more than either of her sister. It had filled me with hope and joy, the prospect that she would follow my footsteps had been intoxicating.
I loved all three of my daughters more than life itself but her older sisters were, in their core, very different people than I was. My oldest was a scientist at heart and Catteleya a diplomat. Both carried a power within them, a passion that would not yield but they weren’t fighters the way I was, the way I knew Louise was and that made her a bit more relatable to me.
I admit it, I dreamed of taking Louise under my wing, to teach her everything I knew, things I hadn’t even taught my troops.
Or so I thought.
Was I to blame for this? Did I see something that wasn’t there? Did I push Louise down a path she wasn’t meant for? I was strict with her, demanding, because I was so certain she would thrive. Because I wanted her to grow as I did, better than I ever was.
And now, it seemed in the arrogant and selfish pursuit for a flawed future, I had my own daughter terrified to the point that I couldn’t discard the notion that she might believe I would throw her to her death any second now.
Did I land in some field and we talked completely away from scrying eyes, even servants at home or did we talk in one of our rooms? Which one would put her more at ease?
I didn’t want my daughter cower in fear for her life from me but I also didn’t want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing like I always did.
Then I realized. I couldn’t make it worse. This was as bad as it could get. My stomach lurched and I nearly threw up.
I forced myself to focus on my surroundings, to see where we were. I didn’t care anymore, we needed to land. I needed to stop scaring my child.
So we did. I made Reynard land on some hill near an idyllic lake. Roughly 50 meters to the side, on an open field, I could see a shepherd tending to a flock of sheep, grazing. Good, he was unlikely to disturb us. I got down and helped my daughter get off Reynard as well. Louise did so hesitantly, her eyes tearing up and her lips trembled.
Once we were both on the ground I went on one knee, - she was still so very small-, and took her into a forceful hug. “I love you.” I said, “I’ve always been proud of you. Even now. Especially now. Please, please, don’t be scared. Not of me. Never of me. All who would want you harm, for whatever reason, will need to step over the corpses of their fallen men into their own death at my hand.”
“Mother.” Louise voice was a pitiful wail that stepped on my already broken heart. Her hands coiled around my torso and clutched me with such desperation and force that it surprised me. It just made me return the hug harder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she apologized over and over again.
I didn’t say anything, I just held her tighter and made humming noises that would hopefully calm her. She needed to get this out first, before we could both compose ourselves again.
She cried for twenty minutes.