“First lesson,” Countess Amalia said as she smacked the riding crop into her gloved hand. “You are an illegitimate child of Marquis Inistor. Furthermore, you are a girl. The world is much more vicious to girls than they are to boys. Every eye will be on you, waiting for you to make a mistake. Every breath will be bated, every person will eye you as though you were naked in the market with marks on your backside. They are like sharks in the water. They want your blood.”

Sometimes, Tinea wondered if it was all a sense of misplaced love from Countess Amalia Gratia. That this was how she showed she cared. Sometimes, she wondered if she was just being magnanimous, or if she was truly simply manipulative. And, sometimes, she wondered if there was even a difference.

Probably not.

“Now,” Countess Amalia said, “we will be going over tea time. Light tea, imperial tea, afternoon tea, and the proper etiquette of each.”

Tinea studied her in silence, taking in her ringlet curls and perfectly sweet face. It was from Countess Amalia that Tinea learned to not trust people by their face alone. There was something disarming about her, and Tinea had long since learned her lesson about that. She reported everything back to the dregs of high society, Hillia. Who was a vicious gossip and a cunt, by the way. Everyone that knew someone knew Hillia Trenton, and Hillia was a nightmare to deal with.

“A light tea is served with nothing but finger sandwiches,” Countess Amalia continued airily, as if the threat of the riding crop wasn’t looming. “An afternoon tea features a three course meal, and an imperial tea is much the same, but also includes alcoholic beverages, which you won’t have to worry about until you’re fifteen. Repeat that back to me.”

Tinea thought about refusing, but she held her tongue.

“A light tea is served with finger sandwiches, afternoon tea is a three course meal, and an imperial tea has alcoholic beverages,” Tinea said, and wondered what her mother would say if she could see her in these clothes. She would probably be disappointed. Tinea always ran around in pants and shirts, like a little boy. She missed those days.

“Correct,” Countess Amalia said. “Now, as for the basics. You must never make a sound. No audible sipping, no clattering your teaspoon against your teacup, not a sound when you lay down your spoon. The spoon must always be set to the right of the saucer, and must never enter your mouth.”

Tinea was quiet, and Countess Amalia snapped her riding crop.

“Repeat all of that back to me,” she demanded, and Tinea took a small breath in.

“Never make a sound. The spoon goes to the right of the saucer, and never enters my mouth,” Tinea said, and Countess Amalia nodded.

“That is correct. Now, onto the rest of our studies…”

From there, she launched into a tirade about the proper etiquette of tea, never lifting a pinkie, eating delicately, all of that, and Tinea listened in silence. She knew all of this, but now that she was on her fifth life, she cared less and less about it. Honestly, the rules of etiquette were vast and overly complicated. Nobility loved to overcomplicate things, and Tinea was tired of it.

She was interrupted from her musings by a stinging smack on her shins, and she blinked, having it long since beaten out of her to jump.

“What was that for?” she asked, and Countess Amalia frowned at her.

“You aren’t paying attention,” she said, and Tinea pursed her lips. “Is this really so boring to you?”

“I don’t think etiquette is interesting to anyone,” Tinea deadpanned, and Countess Amalia frowned even deeper.

“This etiquette is more than just boring lessons. It is your armor,” she said, and Tinea studied her in silence. “Your wit and tongue are your sword and spear, but it is your etiquette that allows you to get away with it. You cannot go into society unarmored. They will nitpick every single thing you do. Nothing you do will be good enough for them. Frankly, it’s a miracle your father even added you to the family registry. No one will understand why he made that decision, so you have to prove why you are here.”

Tinea was sick of proving herself to people. She was sick of this same song and dance, every time, without fail. She was tired of it, and she wanted a break from it all. The magic tower was looking more and more tantalizing with every moment she spent with this woman.

“What if I don’t want to play the game?” Tinea asked, and Countess Amalia stared at her.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean, the game?” she asked, and Tinea tilted her head.

“Is this not a game of chess? Different pawns, different toys, different powers,” Tinea said. “What if I don’t want to play the game?”

“You’ll play the game whether you want to or not. You’re on the family register now,” Countess Amalia said, and then she leaned forward. “Do you want to be a pawn, or do you want to be a queen?”

Tinea was silent. She would have to survive to be a queen, and as of yet, she didn’t see that happening. She was dead in the water. There was no going up against an Oracle, who could see her every plot, her every decision. The Oracle was the great power of the empire, and it was the Oracle that decided the outcome of everything. There was no fighting her. If she wanted Tinea dead, well, then, Tinea would just have to be dead.

There was no way around that.

“I don’t want to play the game,” Tinea said lowly, and there was a stinging slap to her shins.

“That’s too bad,” Countess Amalia cooed. “Your fiance has already been decided for you. You’re already on the board.”

Her fiance. Adrius. The miserable lout of a future marquis, who would probably run the name of Dundlan into the ground with his ineptitude. Honestly, Tinea was probably the only thing that could have saved him. But, it was fine. It was fine. She wasn’t going to uselessly fight over a man with the Oracle when she could be free and out of the game.

The game… She wished this game would end, but she didn’t know what she had to do to end it. She had no clue.

“He’s probably a useless man that will only drag me down,” Tinea said, and Countess Amalia lifted her eyebrows.

“So, you do understand how the world works,” she cooed, and Tinea twitched. “The mark of a great woman is one that doesn’t let a useless man sully her skirts.”

“I’d rather not let a man near my skirts,” Tinea said, and Countess Amalia laughed.

“That’s the life of a woman, child,” she said, like she knew more than Tinea. “Whether you like it or not, you have to choose a man, or have one chosen for you. What you choose to do with him is what makes you powerful.”

It seemed bleak to Tinea. It seemed very bleak, and she wondered what awaited her if she did survive. It would be hard to get her engaged again after she broke off the first engagement, but she was still the daughter of Marquis Inistor. He would make sure it happened. She may get a better man in the end, but she would rather not. She would rather be alone, at the magic tower.

Maybe that was what she should aim for.

Master of the magic tower. No one would be able to question her if she was master of the magic tower. No one would dare.

Well, it didn’t matter, anyway. She was going to die when she turned eighteen. Because of that damned Oracle. And then she would have to rebuild her rings again. Honestly, that was the most annoying part of all of this. Rebuilding the rings, over and over again, starting over from scratch over and over again, watching the people she loved die again and again. There was no way out. She was doomed from the start.

Idly, she wondered if Delfina went through this same song and dance. If she was trapped in the same loop. Surely not. No one was that petty, to kill the same person two times for no reason. There was no way she was clinging to Tinea’s first offense. Though… If she did remember…

Tinea thought back to her last life and paled.

Oh, gods. What if she remembered?

“You’ve gone pale,” Countess Amalia said and leaned back. “I see you’re thinking about it. I believe class should be concluded at this point.”

Tinea nodded and stood, and Countess Amalia swept for the door.

“Tomorrow, we will have tea to review what you’ve learned,” she said grandly as she opened the door. “That is all.”

Tinea made her way out the door and down the hall, her legs still throbbing in pain. She walked up the stairs back to her room, where a novel was waiting for her, and pushed open the door. Next week, her tutor would show up, and she was tentatively looking forward to that. Of course, she still knew everything, but Liam Magistro had always been sweet and kind. He was patient, understanding, and never hit her. He had survived for all the years of her education, every time, and she was looking forward to being his student again.

He would be a welcome reprieve from Countess Amalia.

Tinea opened the door to her room and made a beeline for her bed, collapsing on it face down and groaning into the pillow. Countess Amalia could not be offed soon enough. Tinea was sick of her hitting her. After four lifetimes, she never learned her lesson. It was the most frustrating thing about her. She was a menace. She was cruel. She liked having power over Tinea, and it was nauseating. Tinea wanted her gone.

A thought occurred to her, and she sat up and stared at the ceiling.

“Are you listening?” she asked, and then she paused. “I’m not playing this stupid game with you this time.”

There was no response, not that there was going to be one, and Tinea collapsed back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. The mural of the forest nymphs was drawn out in delicate lines, and she studied each twist and turn of them. It seemed a little inappropriate for a child’s room, but what did she know?

The door opened, and she looked up as Fran came in with a jar of ointment.

“Hello, my lady,” she said kindly, and Tinea sat up and started pulling down her stockings. Fran sat down on the bed and started massaging in the ointment that smelled like rosemary, and Tinea watched her work it into the welts raised up on her flesh.

“Do you ever feel like you’re going in circles?” Tinea asked, and Fran glanced at her.

“What do you mean, my lady?” she asked, and Tinea collapsed back on the bed and stared at the nymphs.

“Never mind,” Tinea mumbled and threw her arm over her eyes. “I think I’m going to take a nap.”

“Shall I get you your nightgown?” Fran asked, and Tinea nodded. Fran finished rubbing in the ointment and put the lid back on before she made her way to the wardrobe, pulling out a fresh nightie and holding it up. “Come, my lady. I’ll help you get changed.”

Tinea got up and let Fran strip her, and then she pulled on the nightie and kicked off her stockings. She walked towards the bed and climbed into it, and Fran pulled the curtains shut.

“I’ll be back in two hours to wake you up for lunch, my lady,” Fran said and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her, and Tinea waited until her footsteps faded away before she sat up and opened her hand. Sparklers danced up, bright and cheerful, simple bright lights in a variety of colors, dancing in her palm, and she watched them carefully.

Magic was a complicated thing. In order to advance to the next level, or ring, you had to burn through all of your mana on the ring you were on. It could take months, but it often took years. There was a lot of mana, mana in excess, and each ring granted you even more mana. What Tinea needed was a ring that sucked out all of her mana, but that was cheating. And expensive. And it typically ended up that you had a lot of mana and no knowledge of how to use it. No, it was better to level up the old fashioned way, and so, here she was.

Casting low level magic to burn away her mana reserves. She needed to work on concentration spells. She knew her brother, at eighteen, could cast two or three at once, which was unheard of. She was more of a master of instant spells, and could cast a variety of them at once at the height of her power, but that was then, and this was now.

A moth landed on her wrist, peering curiously at the sparklers in her hand, and she let it investigate. Spirit animals were separate from magic, the sign of nobility. Not every member of nobility had them, and her family had hidden the fact that she had a spirit animal for fear of her being drafted to serve in the army as a Spirit Master should there be a war. It was one of the few good things they had done for her, not that she was all that grateful for it.

The problem with her spirit animals was that they were startlingly overpowered. They could eat just about anything. In fact, she had never run into a situation where they couldn’t eat something. She could take out a whole army on her own, and her father hadn’t wanted her to become a weapon when he could have her for a political marriage.

She might have been happier had she served, she thought bitterly. But, whatever. If she joined the magic tower, it would be the same result. Mages were drafted in the war all the time. But, they had faced peace for two hundred years now, thanks to the Oracles, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. No one dared to question them.

Really, it was unfair that the Oracles existed in the first place.

It was really unfair, she thought sourly as the sparklers fizzed and spat on her fingertips. She wasn’t particularly patriotic. The emperor had ordered her death too many times for that. So, maybe she was in a unique position to recognize that the gods were really playing favorites with the existence of Oracles in the empire. Let someone else win for a change, gods.

The moth got a bit too close to the sparklers, and she hissed at it. It backed up, and she continued spitting them out. She would do this for an hour before she took a break and actually take a nap. Holding an instant spell like this was difficult. It would do good to train her concentration.

With a sigh, she flopped back in her pillows and stared at the sparklers.

This was going to take a while.