She’s getting smarter, Blaise thought as mist exploded outwards from Daphne, rolling off the makeshift arena. Dame Marian, a veteran of eight battles and a knight of eighteen years, peered at the fog with fear’s better respected cousin: caution. It was the first time he’d ever seen her worried while practicing with them, as if losing—no matter how slim the chances—was now within the realm of possibility.

There were no fancy attacks this time from Daphne, no rain of ice shards or a whip of water to open with. She’d been moving away from such extravagances once an experienced warrior like Dame Marian became a pointed example of how it could go disastrously wrong for her. Daphne’s magic was largely untrained for the rigors of martial matters, and even the best knights would find winning duels using such tricks needlessly tiring. 

The fact was unless one had a signature spell to make channeling such direct magical attacks more efficient, the costs of such spells were too costly to be practical.

This new trick of his cousin’s, while still largely wasteful given it was done without a proper medium, was many times better than her previous tactics. He couldn’t even call it a faulty one considering he knew about her capabilities. With her sensing spell, Daphne could see through the mist with ease while her opponent remained blind to her. Further, his cousin had developed a taste for pankration, the Old Ilyosi style of hand-to-hand combat. She was actually good at it too, and every duel he’d lost to her was when he allowed her to get within striking distance of his face.

Daphne was being patient too. No sudden movements to give away her position, and every gust of wind Dame Marian sent to dispel the mist did not meaningfully improve her visibility. Quite a useful application of attrition, and he could see the knight becoming more nervous each second an attack did not come.

“She might actually win this one,” Blaise muttered, wiping himself down with a towel that Rhian had offered him. Broken Nose, as Daphne liked to call him. He’d sworn before the Great Pantheon and the Divine Syngian that, one day, he would kill him for the dishonor of kidnapping a Greenglade. That day had not yet come, not while Daphne still thought to use him as a penal servant, but if he knew his cousin at all, she’d tire of him eventually. 

On that day, his vow to the Great Gods Above and the Divine Syngian would be met. Perhaps after he gets the pills, Blaise thought. Rhian had returned from the nearby town just yesterday, claiming that it would take up to a week before the locals could supply him with the goods in question.

“The margravess is doing well,” Tracey said besides him, before sipping on a ladle of cool water.

“Her mother is the margravess,” Blaise said. “Daphne’s title is Lady of the House External Greenglade, if you wish to be formal.” He explained it not for her sake, but Daphne’s, for a servant was a reflection on their master. If she could not get even the simplest of these courtesies right…

“Why do you call it that?” Tracey asked. “This business about being a house external. None of the villagers near the Great Oasis call it that.”

“That’s because they’re strawborn,” Blaise said. “Margrave is an old title of the Kingdom Ever Blooming, and the Emperor has seen fit to replace it since the Reunification. Technically, there are no more margraves just as there are no more kings.” It was a title that the other eminent regions favored, and it galled a little that His Highness had imposed it on them instead of imposing their preferences on others. Were they not the true and righteous heirs to the Six Sorcerers?

There was nothing to be done, however. Lord Eminent Morgan had agreed, and there could be no dissent when the House Imperial and a house eminent were of like mind.

“If it’s an old title, then why does Lady Daphne still use it?” Tracey asked.

“Not every stoneborn house agreed to be rid of it,” Blaise said. It was a battle that they were losing, though slowly. In a hundred years, would anyone still remember these old honors and titles their family favored save for the most devout hystors? Alas, time marched onwards, heedless of mortal matters. “A word of advice—you best double your efforts in learning the courtesies.”

Tracey blinked. “Whatever for?”

“The prince is holding a masquerade ball to celebrate the harvest season,” Blaise said. “The whole school will be invited, but just because our identities will be concealed so that lessers and greaters might mingle freely does not mean you may abandon the necessary courtesies. You will just be treating us more like peers instead of peerage.”

She gave him a determined nod. “I understand, my lord. I won’t disappoint.”

“See that you don’t,” Blaise said, turning his attention back to the duel. Daphne was still waiting her opponent out, letting Dame Marian’s fear take its toll.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do we start school in the fall?” Tracey asked.

He very much did mind, but it was better she asked him her silly questions rather than embarrass them before others. “When else would it start?”

 “I just mean wouldn’t it make more sense to let us return to our homes for the harvest or even for spring’s planting? Summer is hardly the busiest season of the year.”

Blaise let out an exasperated sigh. “You,” he said, “are such a peasant. What makes you think the schedules by which the Six Schools are run on is based around farming?”

“Over half the students here are strawborn. Most strawborn are farmers,” Tracey said.

“Not all strawborn are the same,” Blaise said. “You live under thatched straw, while others live beneath spun gold. Here is where the sons and daughters of merchants and magnates gather too, that they might one day be accepted into the ranks of the stoneborn. Do you think for a second that farming is what concerns them?” Syngian save him from such nonsense.

Slowly, she shook her head.

“The likes of you,” Blaise continued, “are invited to these institutions so that the worthiest of you might be put to better use than mucking about in the soil like your ancestors have for seven generations. You are here that you might be picked out by us, or for the less fortunate, stay on with the school’s patronage to become hystors. The least of you are cast out, as you should know.”

“I’m aware.”

“You strawborn are as much a part of our experience as the gardens and classes,” Blaise said. “Do you know what it is us stoneborn do during the summer? What season it’s for? What god we worship most?”

“We worship Eirini, the god of war and peace, for it is the season of either war or peace,” Tracey said.

At least she understood that much. “When such wars are fought, it is us who must defend our keeps while our parents ride to war. That is why the Six Schools are run the way they are.”

“But surely it’s not always about war? There will be years of peace too.”

“There might be, but just because there is no war between the eminent regions does not mean conflict is at an end. There will always be disagreements somewhere between the stoneborn. Before the Emperor’s ascent, steel and sorcery were always the means of last resort,” Blaise said. “It’s what we’re bred for. It’s what will be expected of you as well, if you become oathsworn to our house.”

He left her to ponder on those lessons. Just in time too, for Daphne was finally making her move!

Out of the mist, she struck like a particularly angry goose, screaming each attack. Some habits died harder than others. Still, she put up a good fight, moving with grace around Dame Marian. It was not unlike a stream or a river—curving aside where the earth was hard, pushing at the softest spots, and always breaking through in the end. It was the same here as Daphne kept herself behind Dame Marian as much as possible, or out of her direct line-of-sight, striking at joints and weaknesses with too much intent to be the random lashings of a madwoman. 

Here and there, he could make out bits of frost sticking to Dame Marian’s clothes wherever Daphne struck with her palms. A neat trick in his opinion. It wouldn’t leave one too exhausted magically, while creating a great deal of discomfort for your opponent. If one was lucky, they might even choose to divide their attention by melting the ice off, and such distractions could be fatal in a fight.

His cousin lost in the end. Not for lack of skill, but because her body lacked the strength to truly harm a knight prepared for her. That would be rectified with time. 

More importantly, she showed great promise even to his eyes. There was a talent for violence there, a creativity that turned the simplest spells and applied them in profound ways.

Perhaps that was what Daphne meant whenever she said something was “simple, yet profound?”