§120 The Other Princess (Patreon)

Princess Mariella — Imperial Palace, Avimore

Summoning Miss Wibbles required a short song and a lot of shiny glitter, produced through non-systematized magic. Miss Wibbles didn't use to require so much ceremony when Mariella first summoned her, but then came a day when the slime delivered shocking news.

"The other spirits make fun of me," she wrote in loopy script. Miss Wibbles had to write because she had no mouth to talk with. That was one of many challenges to being a slime. "You don't use an invocation when you call. Even Dux Twilight uses invocations. I don't care. Not really. But you won't get any more summons if you get a bad reputation, and I wouldn't want that to happen."

Accordingly, for the last few weeks, Mariella had performed the summons and then appended a glittery song at the end of it, so as not to harm Miss Wibbles' reputation or her own. Spirits had their own sense of values, and Mariella wasn't so arrogant as to tell them they were wrong. Besides, a touch of glitter now and then was a fine thing.

Wibbles appeared as she always did: instantly. She greeted Mariella with a perky bounce and a jiggle, and then they got to work mastering a new effect. It was only a minor mending, something Mariella could perform easily if she used a spell. But their goal was to perform the magic without the use of a spell, praxis, circle, or any other aid. To most magicians, it would seem like wasted effort. Why go to the trouble of controlling every minute detail of magic on one's own when there was a spell to do the same task with a tenth of the effort? It was as senseless as a carpenter building his own tools from scratch, all so he could erect a small shack.

Mariella saw it differently. Others used magic; She was learning to master it. For every spell she learned to duplicate from raw mana and first principles, she comprehended more of how spells worked. All her magic became more effective. And, the process itself was getting easier. Miss Wibbles insisted that, instead of learning more powerful effects of the same type, Mariella should first learn as wide a range as possible. Higher-order spells engaged multiple techniques, so she would require a wide foundation to support her ambitions.

When Mariella was tired enough, Wibbles put a stop to the lesson. The day being quite windy, they had tea indoors and watched the greenery bend and rustle through her parlor window. Trusty Eterine stood nearby, ready with a teapot or a dagger as the situation required.

"Here are the remaining techniques you should learn," wrote Miss Wibbles with her finely inscribed quill, "and minor spells that make use of them. Once you can duplicate these effects reliably, pursue whatever path seems best to you." That announcement was followed by a half dozen terms, each with one or two spells listed next to it.

Mariella's cup trembled so, she had to put it down. "Are you going somewhere, Miss Wibbles?" 

"I had thought we would be afforded more time, you and I, but events in my own life have overtaken me." 

Tears welled in Mariella's eyes, very un-princess-like. "It's very cruel of you to leave me so suddenly. Truly. I confess I am surprised."

"Curiosity prompted me to answer your call." Miss Wibbles continued, "I never intended to return. But you are a gratifying student to teach, and you use your gifts nobly. So I stayed. You now have the method to pursue any magic you desire. I am proud of that. My only regret is that I must go so suddenly. I would have warned you, had I known."

Miss Wibbles bounded onto the table, rolled to be near her, and extended a pseudopod to pat her on the cheek. Mariella felt warmth through their bond. She took the round slime into her lap and held it for a minute, stroked the smooth exterior, and tried not to weep.

"Will we see each other again?"

Possibly, she understood through their link. Someday, not soon.

Miss Wibbles made a chiming noise, the only type of sound she could make without magic, and it seemed to Mariella to be sad, regretful, even. She had never fully answered any of Mariella's questions about herself, in part because there was some grand injunction against mortals knowing too much about the world that spirits came from. But she had learned enough to know that spirits had lives and drama of their own, and their summoners were only one part of that.

Too, her father had warned her this might happen in one of their recent, and very rare, conversations. Miss Wibbles was an extraordinary teacher, and when such people dropped into the palace unexpectedly, they seldom remained for long. Osmund had had his own such encounter, and it had left quite the impression on him.

The slime rolled away from her. Goodbye, princess. She felt those words quite distinctly through their link. Expect gifts. 

Then her teacher was gone, as quickly and silently as a soap bubble popping out of existence. Mariella felt the changes in her class seconds before the notification arrived.

[Miss Wibbles] has been removed from your roster.

Eterine did not tell her to halt her tears or that she must maintain decorum even while alone. This was not a broken dish or an insult designed to wound. It wasn't due to petty conflict among the emperor's brood of children, nieces, and nephews. This was a loss of someone she thought of as an earnest if somewhat demanding companion who had bolstered both her confidence and magical ability.

And it happened so close on the heels of losing her half-sister Rebecca.

But was that comparison apt, after all? She and Rebecca had been thrown together often because of their age and relation to the emperor, and so they bumped along their mutual road. They hadn't chosen each other so much as they chosen to get along. That only lasted until Rebecca got her Noble class and became a roving terror in the palace. Her flame-haired half-sister had burned with an uncontrolled ambition, and it was Mariella's word that had delivered her into the hands of Emperor Osmund's justice.

For her crimes – which were many and severe – Rebecca was stripped of her class, stricken from the rolls of the imperial family, and sent to "live on a distant farm." That was the euphemism currently in use for those whom the Emperor passed judgment on and then made to disappear. For all Mariella knew, she really was on a farm. It was just as likely that she was in an unmarked grave.

Losing Rebecca hurt much less than Mariella expected, while suddenly losing Miss Wibbles hurt more, even though they had known each other for a short period of time. The difference came, Mariella supposed, in that they had chosen each other.

Father summoned her that very evening. Her weeping was done by then, and a simple healing spell took the redness from her eyes. The maids had to rush to affix her "princess face" on short notice, using the many creams, brushes, and powders that were the tools of their trade. They draped her in a good frock and decorated her tastefully with jewelry bearing the imperial crest. The jewels, the dress, the maids – none of it was hers. They were signs and costumes belonging to the imperium, much as she herself belonged to it. The princess sighed: It was a day for large events on short notice.

She presented herself precisely on time for a meal with her father, Osmund, Emperor of the Gordian Empire. It was an intimate meal, with only a minister and the lead court magician at the table with them. The foursome was guarded and serviced by twenty of the palace's most trusted denizens, all of them wearing the emperor's household seal. To coerce, bribe, or harm any one of them was a crime punishable by death. Such was the curtain of protection he drew around his immediate person.

They talked of nothing over dinner. The minister told a funny story about his daughter getting a new pet, and the head wizard spoke of his collection of pre-Dorian porcelain and opined on why certain shades of green hadn't been made in centuries. For once, Mariella was impassive in the company of such great persons, much like the princess she was supposed to be.

When the plates were cleared, and sweet port was poured into tiny glasses, Osmund placed a rectangular wooden box on the table, finely made and polished to a soft shine. "This arrived for you, from Miss Wibbles, through the hand of Dux Twilight." Recently, the palace had taken to calling Taylor by his more public title, Dux Twilight. It was easier than whispering around his more guarded title, Divine Envoy.

Her heart lurched, but her tears did not return. Her hands accepted the box and, after a bit of exploration, discovered how to open it. The top third slid aside smoothly to reveal dark velvet within, and six identical cabochons larger than her thumb. They were a deep red and relatively flat. She touched one and immediately knew them for what they were: mana stones of startling capacity. Their translucent depths drew the eye, decorative but not overly precious. She could mount them on a belt or other accessory and have ready access to a large store of mana. Miss Wibbles had told her repeatedly to draw down her mana every night, but hadn't believed Mariella when she complained she had nowhere to put it all unless she rained attack spells into the garden.

Mana storage was no longer a problem.

The head magician spoke. "They are a tad on the soft side, less sturdy than most high-quality mana stones. But we have never seen such capacity, no matter how much a stone is refined. There is a theory running in the Imperial Circle that the Dux makes them. Have you ever heard your tutor remark on them?"

"She never spoke of him, except to say they had acquaintances in common. It is very like her to leave me with such a gift," she told her father. "Did you know she left me today?" At Osmund's denial, she related their final meeting.

"It is precisely as you said, Father. The best ones are only with us for a little while. I find it eases me a little, knowing she left me with a study guide and new tools."

"Perhaps this will cheer you up. Dux Twilight sent a gift of his own, in gratitude for your warning and what it cost you to speak against a sister."

Expect Gifts. Miss Wibbles had known.

A second box found its way to the table and into the princess's hands. This one was cubical with a hinge on one side: an obvious ring box. Its edges were gently rounded, and a leaf design in silver filigree decorated the top, hinting at something valuable within. It was good that she was warned, for what lay inside was a shock. Her first impression was that it looked like nothing so much as a Ring of Proposal from a love story. Rings were old-fashioned: people typically gave bracelets or necklaces, larger pieces with more space to embellish signs of their affection. But did the young man she met for dinner one night know that?

"The gemstone is absolutely perfect," said the minister, who was known for his appreciation of fine things, "and the craftsmanship is remarkable. Altogether it is an exquisite piece…," he quoted.

"… pretending to be plain wear for tea," Mariella finished for him. It was a line from a comedic play. "What is that boy thinking?"

"That is the question of the hour," the minister replied. "His Majesty has agreed you may accept the ring without concern. The Dux's sense of proportion may be slightly skewed, but according to his letter, his only intent is to display gratitude for your warning. As he sees it, you saved a member of his family. There are no enchantments on the piece, nor is it responsive to magic. It is exactly what it appears to be."

"A message within the message?" she asked.

"If it is, then it could mean 'stop trying to read too much into it.'"

Mariella laughed, the gentle titter she'd been taught, with a touch of genuine mirth. She took the box and placed it in one of her dress's hidden pockets, followed by the box of mana stones.

"The matter is settled," said Father. "Have you thought about your future? The last time I asked, you lacked an answer."

"I have, Father." It was a question she had prepared herself to answer. "I have no intention of competing for the imperial throne, nor do I aspire to a high ministerial position. At least some of the imperial family should work near the people, or we risk blinding ourselves to the empire's condition. Neither is it enough to follow the Healer's path to the exclusion of all else. I can't foresee what challenges we will face, but I wish to be better prepared. With your permission, I will continue my studies as a Healer, and also pursue a governance certification."

To her relief, her father looked pleased. "That may be more challenging than you realize. But, by all means, you should try. Have you considered which academy to attend? Moyalwande will let you make better connections, but you must wait until next year to attend, as our family has used its quota for this year." Moyalwande was home to the Imperial Academy, where the most talented and ambitious pursued their education. "On the other hand, Celosia has the best healer program in the empire and a very good governance course. You could start there in a matter of weeks."

"Celosia, Father." Having a choice was a huge relief. Mariella didn't want the pressures of the Imperial Academy when she had no intention of serving in high office.

"Consider it done." Father smiled. It was a genuine and full of familial affection. For days after, she would wonder what she had done to deserve it.

Emperor Osmund

It was good to discover offspring who were dutiful, decent, and talented. The girl had taken a pair of hard blows, but came out the other side with a firm resolve to be a productive member of the imperial family, and not to become her sister. 

Poor Rebecca. Osmund always feared she would end badly. The girl was naturally reckless, and her mother filled her head with baseless pride until she thought she walked on the moon. He separated them and forbade the mother from visiting the palace. He paired Rebecca with the steadier Mariella. He let the red-haired girl fail in painful ways to teach her hard lessons. Nothing worked. The damage had already been done.

Rebecca's "distant farm" was an unmarked plot of land, three feet wide and eight feet long, near others of her kind. He could have spared her if her stunt had ended harmlessly and sent her to an actual farm.  Instead, the mercenaries she hired were responsible for dozens of deaths. Rebecca's mother had supplied both the money and the mercenaries' contact information, with full knowledge and support for the girl's foolish plan. The mother's distant farm was next to the daughter's.

"Your Majesty, it's not too late to make a place for Princess Mariella at Moyalwande."

"True," agreed the emperor, "but Dux Twilight will attend school in Celosia."