Grand Magus Allegra Cedr stifled a yawn as she closed the door to her chambers behind her. Her bedroom was effectively a bastion for the mystic arts. It was filled with papers, materials, and obscure devices numbering in the thousands. Given the sheer value of the goods it contained, locking the room remained the sanest choice, but the mage didn’t bother. The kitchen was the only place where Augustus Manor knew theft.

All of the knights and soldiers that inhabited it were vetted, their backgrounds and characters meticulously inspected by the duke’s most trusted men. Outsiders, even members of Cadrian nobility, were accompanied at all times by at least two full platoons. Such precaution seemed excessive, even for a high-ranking house, but it was easily substantiated by the owner’s position. Duke Augustus stood at the top of the military. Only the crown outranked him in theory, but even that was uncertain in practice. The officers trusted Vella’s Sword far more than they did the Eleven-Horned King.

Further adding to the need for security was the manor’s secondary function. It was one of the three floating fortresses that would protect the king’s castle should Valencia ever come under siege. Each key was a veritable masterpiece. Not even Allegra could dismiss the magitech involved in its making as anything but the work of an unparalleled genius.

From her, it was high praise. As her title implied, the rabbit-eared professor was a true master of the mystic arts. There were only as many magi as there were countries to contain them, —reaching level one thousand in three distinct schools of sorcery was a nigh impossible task. And she stood above them all.

Despite their technological superiority, Cadria remained at peace. The king was well aware of their advantageous position, but his policies were driven first and foremost by an aversion to war. The conquest of Sthenia was the last official campaign in which the military had engaged, with every battle thereafter amounting to little beyond a minor skirmish or dispute.

Hailing from the tamest of the nation’s three warrior tribes, Allegra found his beliefs in line with her people’s. And soon, she was among those in his court, working to better the nation and sustain an era of peace and prosperity. But like all good things, her time by the king’s side eventually came to an end.

That wasn’t to say she was dismissed from his service. She remained as one of his closest aides. They continued exchanging letters, magical or otherwise, through which she acted as his proxy and confidant. Still, despite the importance of her role, she was not allowed to be seen in court. Relations with Fornestead were sure to sour should its sponge-fearing monarch ever catch word of her continued presence. That was why she had sought asylum with House Augustus.

As the king’s nephew, the duke was another trusted member of his counsel. But while their relationship was not by any means strained, it was also not necessarily free of grievances. They stood on opposite sides of the political spectrum, particularly when it came to subjects that took the military into account. The duke would often descend from his floating castle to file requests for war. And the king would deny him each time.

Still, even with their conflicting perspectives, Cadria maintained a state of harmony. The duke had far too much on his plate to stage anything beyond the occasional casual complaint, even if he was dissuaded from conquering the neighbouring lands.

“Excuse me, Ms. Cedr!”

One of the servants, a lovely young centaur by the name of Mariabelle Phlence, called for the magus as she approached from the opposite side of the hall.

“Yes, Marie? What is it? Has Claire done something again?”

The first thought that passed through the cottontail’s mind was that the lady-in-waiting was about to announce her retirement. She was already nineteen, not to mention the daughter of a reputable count. Like the lady of the house, Marie was overdue for marriage.

“Not this time,” said the maid with a smile. “The duke would like to see you.”

“I’ll be right with him,” said Allegra.

“He should be in his study.”

With a light curtsy, the maid excused herself, only to poke her head back around the corner almost immediately after she vanished. 

“Oh, and Amereth has baked a very nice cake with some of the fruit she purchased the other day. You may want to grab a slice before the other maids convince her to let them eat the rest.”

“Thank you, Marie.” Allegra immediately turned around and headed for the kitchen.

“You’re very welcome, Ms. Cedr."

After running off and securing a slice of dessert, the cottontail magically cleaned off her lips and made for the stairs. The lady of the house passed her along the way. Claire was normally at least courteous enough to stop and greet her tutor, but she slipped past her in a hurry. Her eyes were absent and her expression was grim. It was a devastated look that reminded the rabbit of the face she wore in the procession of her mother’s funeral. Consuming the flesh of one’s beloved was a bizarre tradition in the mage’s eyes, but the snake-tailed people begged to differ. To them, it was a sacred practice and an important duty.

Allegra was almost tempted to call out to the lady and help her through the emotional crisis, but she stopped as she recalled the probability of its falsehood. It was unlikely that the halfbreed was truly lamenting anything dire. She may as well have been practising the mask she needed to wear for the upcoming ball.

In public, Claire was known as an innocent, fair maiden that wore her ever-fluctuating emotions on her sleeves, but Allegra was well aware that her true nature was far closer to that of her father’s twisted ideal.

More importantly, she hadn’t a moment to spare. The duke was waiting. She had put his summon off for long enough, and any further delay was unlikely to be forgiven.

Despite arriving with that thought in mind, Allegra soon found her haste in vain. Cleveland, the butler standing by the entrance, delayed her for a full fifteen minutes before finally allowing her inside. Apparently, the warlord had needed a moment to himself.

The mage had assumed that the duke was simply busy, as he so often was, but entering the room, she found him sprawled out on top of his desk with his face as red as a tomato. Virillius showed not the slightest concern for the documents that he normally kept in perfect order. The pages were scattered across his room, half shredded to bits in what was likely a fit of rage.

Adding to the sense of disorder was the overwhelming stench of vekratt—aged hay liquor. The room contained seven whole barrels, with at least three of them fully drained and subsequently destroyed. Vekratt was not the sort of drink that was meant to be consumed in high quantities. A single cup was more than enough to down even a seasoned drunkard, and even those that could hold their liquor would often mix three parts water with every noxious dose.

Duke Augustus was known for his tolerance, but even the country’s greatest general was affected with three whole barrels in his gut. His eyes were hazy, his body was limp and lifeless, and his long platinum hair had run wild. At a glance, he looked more monster than man, given the sheer bulk of his heaving cervitaurian frame.

Finding the warrior in such an appalling state left Allegra at a loss for words. He was not the sort of man to fall victim to the pleasures of wine, nor the kind to lose control of his inhibitions. There had to be a reason, but she couldn’t bring herself to inquire. The miserable look on his face halted her tongue. She would have to wait until he was ready.

Wordlessly, Virillius pushed himself off the table. It was a sturdy structure, but unable to support his crushing weight, it cracked, nearly coming apart as he balled one of his massive hands into an iron fist.

A goblet containing a mouthful of vekratt came sliding across the table as soon as she was seated. The sorceress had no reason to refuse. Even if ridiculously strong and highly toxic, the alcoholic beverage was still a delicious drink. And if the labels stamped on the barrels were to be trusted, each was likely worth ten times its weight in gold.

“The Merdle Company’s brew may be expensive, but it’s worth it,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Your recommendations are as sharp as ever, Allegra.”

“I know you didn’t summon me just so that we could chat over a drink, Virillius,” said the Grand Magus. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” It took another three cups for the duke to finally continue. “I want the ritual ground prepared for the curse of the withered rose.”

The witch nodded after a brief pause. “I can do that.”

She was somewhat reluctant to carry out the ritual. The curse the duke named was a minor ailment in life, serving only to induce lethargy and mental weakness in those affected. But in death, it would bloom into an unparalleled nightmare. Any man afflicted by the rite would have his immortal soul pulled from Flux’s cycle and imprisoned within his undying flesh. He would remain conscious but incapable of influencing his actions as his body sought the blood of his most dearly beloved. Only when all he cherished was dead would he roam the lands and attack others at random. Until killed again, he would be forced to wander and continue to unlive with the atrocities he was unable to prevent, the bone-chilling sins that he was forced to watch and feel firsthand.

“Who do you want me to curse?” asked Allegra, as she adjusted her glasses.

“The Kryddarian army.”

“The entire army? That won’t be possible without a sa—” Allegra’s eyes widened. “No! Virillius!”

“There is no other choice,” said the darkhorned cervitaur.

The behemoth of a man suddenly went from drunk to sober. He righted his posture, straightened his back, and rid himself of his slur in the beat of a heart. The transition was so perfect that the bunny-eared magus found it almost impossible to discern which of the two was truly the lie.

“Kryddar has been gearing up for a war for the past year, but Ferdinand forbade me from taking action. And now, they’ve started to show signs of aggression. There aren't many ways we ca—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Virillius! She’s your daughter! Your own flesh and blood! Are you insane!?”

Virillius swivelled the hundred-eighty-proof drink around in his cup as he avoided her gaze. “I’m going to be honest with you, Allegra, I ask myself that same question every day.” He raised the cup to his lips and gulped it down before continuing. “It’s become almost impossible to tell if my instincts are driving my decisions.” He slowly looked up at the rabbit girl, his brows creased and his eyes glazed. “I know you’re on the verge of becoming an aspect like Ferdinand and I. And I know how tempting it is with celestialhood right around the corner. But you mustn't. Ascension is a mistake.”

“Does that mean the rumours House Carina spread are true? Are you really losing your mind?”

“I don’t think I am,” said the duke, as he set down his glass and frowned. “But it’s getting hard to say.”

“What should I tell His Majesty?”

“Whatever you wish.” Virillius took a breath. “We’ve already worked out a contingency.”

“But I still thin—”

“That’s enough, Allegra. Just prepare the ritual. The Langgbjerns are coming to life, the barbarians are gathering in droves, and now even the Kryddarians are mustering their forces. There will be many, many losses if they happen to act in tandem. You should know that better than anyone. Your people live near the border.”

“Surely there have to be alternatives. She’s your only daughter.”

“That’s why it has to be her.”

“Can’t you make some villages disappear instead? I’m sure you of all people would be able to pull it off. Perhaps even some traditional Cadrian diplomacy if you can’t figure out anything else.”

“Allegra.”

“Think of something, Virillius. Anything.”

“Allegra.” He repeated her name in a harsher tone.

“I know. I know, but…”

“We’ve been over this. This is her duty.”

Allegra stayed silent, biting her lip as she pulled her hat over her eyes.

“I’ve already discussed it with her. I’ve framed it as her own fault, for rejecting all of the suitors that have come her way.”

“Can you imagine how she’s feeling right now?” asked the bunny girl, her voice trembling.

“I don’t need to. I know.”

The two stared at each other, one with a teary, disgusted glare, and the other with cold, frozen eyes.

“I’ll prepare the ritual grounds.”

In the end, the magus was the first to break. She got up from her seat and exited the room without another word.

“Thank you, Allegra.”

The centaur, on the other hand, remained at his desk, a fresh barrel of verkratt already at his lips.

* * *

The two reconvened at dawn. They met at the ritual ground within the manor’s core. Wordlessly, they took their places around the circle, standing far enough from the light that their figures remained obscured. Allegra still wished to protest the duke’s choice, but refrained from making a sound. A rite before a god was a sacred event. Speaking out of turn was no better than blasphemy with its commencement already upon them.

Had the ritual been any other, there would have been lines of servants and soldiers present to bear witness. But this time, the duke and the magus were the only two gathered. Word of the curse could not be allowed to spread. The last thing Virillius needed was for his plan to go up in smoke. Not when he was already sacrificing so much.

Claire entered the room once the two observers were settled. She was wearing a simple gown, a formal dress made from fine linens. The elegant design was one crafted only for those prepared to offer themselves to the gods. The slit in the middle of the chest piece served as a guide, an indicator of where she was to strike.

Slowly, the lady walked to the center of the room and kneeled before the three objects placed within, a ceremonial dagger, a waxen candle, and a freshly picked rose.

Allegra almost couldn’t bring herself to watch as her pupil went through the Blueblooded Martyr’s Ritual. But she kept her eyes focused. Knowing the rite to be her last, Allegra silently stared as the halfbreed crafted the magic circle and withered the rose by holding it to the mystic flame. She kept watch over the entire process. But none of the words that the young ritual mage spoke so much as entered the cottontail’s ears.

The further along the ritual got, the more her heart sank. She couldn’t help but remember when she had first met the child, nor the way her eyes had sparkled when she told her that she would be made a mage. Nothing she did could suppress the various memories she had of scolding her, of acting almost as would a surrogate mother, following Lady Violet’s demise.

Allegra had watched the child grow, from a hatchling to a beautiful young lady.

She was practically her own daughter.

She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

She desperately wanted to step in and interrupt the rite.

To beg Virillius to reconsider.

To do something, anything.

But she couldn’t.

There were more lives at stake. More children to be lost should the ritual be stopped.

Allegra was so distracted that she almost failed to catch the fault. It took blinking back her tears—a brief moment of lucidity—for the Grand Magus to recognize that something had gone awry. The magical energies were out of line, far, far out of line.

The ritual was being overwritten. Another that she didn’t immediately recognize was beginning to take its place. For a moment, Allegra was at a loss. It wasn’t any of the rites she had taught, and Claire had never been the type to study on her own.

Though tempted to simply do nothing, Allegra was left with no choice but to intervene. The whole manor would be caught in the backlash if she didn’t steer the ritual back on course.

With trembling hands, she reached under her robe and produced her wand. She slowly, hesitantly raised it towards her pupil.

But Allegra found it incapable of rising beyond her waist. Looking down, she found her hand held in place by a bloody, feathered wing.

Eyes wide, she looked towards the duke, who simply shook his head as he kept his eyes forward. Stoic and empty as always. Completely devoid of the emotions that his actions betrayed.

Closing her eyes and smiling softly, the rabbit lady lowered her wand and waited for the darkness to consume her.