I have an unusual problem as a sorceress: I don't have enough mana.

  Lately I've been dabbling in fashion design. So right now, I'm conjuring flax, cotton, leather, silk, wool, silver, gold, opal, corundum, madder, tansy, and oak. The oak is for a dress-form dummy, which is wearing all the rest of it. And now I can't move any of it.

  I wanted to stamp my foot. I paced around the thing, and had to adjust it with my hands, which are far less certain and selective than my magic. If I could curve the cotton, I could re-shape the transition from skirt to chemise, but now I'm tapped out. Twelve essences conjured, and I'm tapped out. All my mana is tied up with that. So now I'm either going to have to vanish the cotton portion out and try to reconjure it, and hope that I can integrate it into the existing pattern, or I'll have to- I don't know, learn to sew or something. Pick up a whole new skill just to make up for a single point of mana.

  "Normal sorcerers don't have to put up with this shit," I said to myself. It took a long time for me to get into the habit of talking to myself, during long days alone. "Normal sorcerers have more than enough mana for all their needs. They can channel, conjure and curve all their essences and have juice left over."

  I was gonna try it. Carefully I started dispelling the cotton, right around the seams.

  "Granted," I admitted, "that's because those sorcerers are nowhere near as amazing as I am. They're lucky to have two essences when they manifest powers, and if they've got decent connections they'll get two or three more during their career. So if they just have a normal Intellect score, by second level they can hold six spells at the same time. At fifth level, nine spells. They always level up faster than they learn new affinities, so they can just turn everything on and never worry about it. But me? Dozens of essences! Scores even! I could be level one-hundred and still have to make tough calls about what to activate and what to leave at home!"

  I used my hands to stretch the dress over the wooden dressform, hoping to get it fixed tightly in place so when the cotton panel was recreated it would find the seams I needed.

  The thing was beautiful. Rich reds, whites and orange fabric, a variety of rose colors that faded in ombre pattern from light to dark. The fashionable puffy sleeves, the delicately-embroidered bodice... accents of gemstones and precious metals, fading dark to light in opposite sequence from the fabric, a lovely contrast. But because there was a tiny flaw, I was struggling not to lose my shit. The cotton did not fuse in, and the seams were loose now. I got rid of the panel, and now the neighboring sections looked bad too. I was going to have to undo them and redo.

  But there was no way that this would work out better than the first attempt.

  With a scream of frustration, I dismantled the whole dress, leaving the dummy-mannequin blank and naked. I kicked at it and it toppled over, bonked and bounced, and rocked to a stop. I grabbed it and thrashed it against the ground, but with only my own strength I could not even dent it. I conjured an axe, but there was no steel. I conjured a silver axe head, and then swung at the mannequin. It barely bit in at all. I could not even break a dummy. I threw the axe at the far wall, but discorporated it before it struck, fading away to nothing.

  Six weeks since I sent my last letter to him. Six weeks of silence.

  And being mad at him wasn't good enough, I also had to be mad at myself. I was losing my shit because my brother wasn't returning my texts. Just a brother, this isn't even about a guy I like. It's just, you know, the only connection to my own life. Correspondence from Mother and Father was out of the question- I would get replies only from their attorneys, who had advised them not to contact me until after I was officially free again. It's not a good look for a duke to have a daughter in prison for spree-killing, but it's a worse look for him to be in close contact with that spree-killing daughter. So to minimize scandal, the only one I could talk to at all was my brother, my twin, who was leaving me on read!

  And my own goddamn frustration with this is also frustrating to me! I'm running around like goddamn Yheta here. I'm not obsessed, but Taeril and Geland don't visit often, and Yheta is no better company now than he ever was. So every time that I try to reach out to the only chance I've got I feel like I'm pathetically stalking my own brother and Jesus Christ the implications of that!

  For the first few months I was doing all right. Even made it through the first year and a half without reacting too badly.

  But it's getting to me. It's pushing at me. And even just a minor hiccup making an overly-fancy dress is making me flip out. I should be better than this but I'm not. What's wrong with me?

  I'm not going to be okay when I leave here. Three years is going to be too long.

  I invited everyone. Father and Mother, just in case their attorneys decided to make an exception for the occasion. Nathan, again. Just in case he felt scorned about not getting a formal invitation last year. Yheta, Filly, Taeril, Geland, Papholy, everyone from my old social circles in Meadowtam. I invited Baroness Grancine but I was confident she would not accept because she sleeps all through Sevendays, every time. Sir Maspers, even the minstrel-man and the House Pinking representative that sometimes comes around asking about future knowledge.

  I got "regret to inform you" letters from my parents' attorneys. Geland's letter went to the wrong address and did not route to his current home until too late. Sir Maspers was attending a wedding.

  Every denial felt like it was a punch in the gut. Rejection letters stacked up like a firing squad. Nathan's hurt the worst. He was hosting his own birthday party, at the castle of course. I'm not the only one turning fourteen. He can't ignore his own birthday just to celebrate mine. He's in the world, I'm in a box. And knowing that it makes sense, and that it's totally reasonable, does not help it not hurt. It only helps me to not blame him for hurting me. But that does not leave me many people to blame.

  Sitting quietly, silently, unmoving in isolation sounded fine to me when I was a comet trying not to destroy his mind and his will and his future. But now I'm prepared to thank that goddess for taking the trouble to fish me out and give me my own life here. Imprisonment is not as easy as it sounds. After two years.. if I'd gotten my wish, fourteen years ago, if I'd stayed locked in his subconscious, I would be fourteen years into my self-imposed sentence by now.

  The door opened for Gedes and I leaped to my feet, the ombre dress rustling around me. He stepped out of the doorway and bowed, waving through the visitors.

  "Natalie!" Taeril beamed, waving to me. Yheta was behind her, smirking. He took a lot of pride in being the one that never turned away from me. And behind him, Papholy of all people.

  "Hi!" I squealed back, excited past the point of hiding it. "You all came! Thank you!"

  Papholy stood back, staring. "Oh my gods, that dress!"

  "Like it?" I asked, "I've been working on it for a month. It's gone through a lot of iterations."

  Yheta was staring openly, and it was even a little creepier than usual. I didn't have much of a figure, I was very much on the lanky side, but the dress emphasized what I did have as much as could be. I think the most flattering description of my shape is "coltish", with a deposit down on an upgrade to "willowy". In a couple years I'm due to fill out, my mother's family are all very much of a type, but that's still unrealized potential. And yet you'd never know it from the way that Yheta's eyes tried to devour me.

  Even in the culture of this YA novel, it's a little creepy. He's sixteen now. He is almost done with his first year as a student at the Academy, I'm just a kid stretched out a bit. People here were acting like this was almost okay, but I'm still very much of the mindset that this is straight-up predator behavior.

  Papholy was staring at the dress, not at me, and it was easy to see the difference. Honestly, having him here really helped identify exactly how creepy Yheta was being.

  "So, this is your new hobby?" Taeril asked, pulling out a seat.

  "Well, this and obsessively studying the Fissuring," I said. "I think that's the next thing I want to be a world-renowned expert at."

  Yheta and Taeril laughed. Gedes stood at the back of the room and clearly communicated with his stony silence that he genuinely believed I was telling all of the truth with that statement, that I just decide to become world-class expert at certain subjects to entertain myself.

  Papholy leaned against the glass, getting a better look. "Taeril told me that you use magic to bolster your garments, is that what you've done here?"

  "More like manufactured entirely," I said. "I'm wearing something slimline underneath, just in case, but this is conjured from sorcery."

  I'd learned a lesson when I fell off my treadmill. And I want as much clothes on as possible if Yheta's around.

  Papholy's eyes widened. "Wait, is that cloth-of-gold? And silver-thread embroidery?"

  Taeril's breath caught. "Natalie, can you conjure gold?"

  "For a limited time," I said. "It's not the best accessory for these outfits, too heavy and ductile, but it is a wonderful accent in small quantities."

  Papholy's eyes were not any less widened by this. "You can't conjure gold!" he hissed. Not like "you can't lasso the clouds", but like "you can't throw glass bottles at children". Not like can't but can't.

  I held up a hand to forestall objections. "It's only illegal if I use it to falsify coinage, or if I try to sell the conjured pieces," I said, soothing his concerns. "And I'm not going to do those. The main reason sorcerers shouldn't learn affinities for gold is not about conjuring, it's about channeling. Taking essence of gold into yourself can get addictive, it feels very good."

  "Clarify?" Taeril prompted me.

  "How do you think gold feels about itself, when it's allowed to feel things?" I asked.

  She blinked rapidly, sitting back. "Blowing my mind with these philosophies, Natalie."

  I had to laugh. "Well, it's an interesting exercise in metaphor and metaphysics for you, esoteric philosophy maybe. But it's literally one of the bedrocks of my magic. And gold, when it can feel, feels very good about itself. All the pride, validation, self-worth that you could imagine. Gold really likes being gold. Silver is happier, but in a more balanced and wholesome way. It doesn't sink into itself the same way."

  "What does silk feel like?" Papholy asked, staring at the dress still.

  "Silk is always watching you when you look at it," I told him. "Silk likes to feel appreciated, and it knows when someone's paying attention."

  "And I thought that my sorcerer classmates were bad," Taeril said, laughing ruefully. "Always going on about how amazing their powers are, how great it is to master roses or shadows or acid or glass."

  I groaned, rolling my head back to glare at the ceiling accusingly. "Ugh. What I'd give for roses!" Once again I cursed the limitations of my magic.

  "What?" she said, quite confused now.

  "Oh. I have an easier time with some affinities than others. And roses give me fits. Just can't get more than the smallest fraction of it. That and fire."

  Yheta nodded as if this made sense. "Ah. Of course. If you can't use fire magic, might as well go in for dressmaking. If you could conjure and control fire, you'd probably never use it for anything else."

  "I want to accuse you of projecting your own point of view onto me," I sighed, "except that you're likely correct. Fire affinity would be amazing."

  "Oh right," Taeril remembered. "Waitlisted." She remembered that conversation, years ago. I needed to wait for an appointment to visit the temple of fire and earn my affinity there.

  I groaned and slouched. "Ugh. Yes. All right, can you all stand by a minute? I wanted to show off the dress, but I'm gonna go get changed before Gedes brings out the cake."

  "One candle," Yheta reminded me.

  Yep. Only one candle. Counting down. Just another whole year. Twelve more months. Almost nine thousand hours, that's all. Sure, easy, no sweat. A year of captivity, after the last two. I pressed my hands together to quell the shaking.

  I smiled instead of screaming, and I went to my bedroom to put on something less... conjured.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  It's been a long time. Months since I've seen them. The time feels hollow and unreal. It feels like my fourteenth birthday was just last week. I could still see Papholy admiring the dress. I'm becoming numb to time. It's been months since that cake, since that candle. I'm counting down days until release.

  I've been following the news, of course. The trade war between Meadowtam and the competing Houses. Snairlin has recruited support from the Dominionist faction, which brings a lot of resources. Financially, my family is taking a beating right now, trying to break the monopolies on markets. And to keep the caravans running with the guards needed, Harigold House is not able to reinvest into the people and land of Meadowtam, so the whole region's economy has been slowing down for years. In turn this drives up the prices of Meadowtam exports, which decreases the pressure to break those monopolies. In short, we're not winning this.

  In letters from Madame Cushnere, I've learned that the family has been drastically downscaling the household staff. No longer a plethora of well-paid maids and valets doing the minimal work to care for the house and the duke's affairs, there is now a small and overworked crew that is trying to keep up with a huge drafty castle that was abandoned for a hundred years. There's only one wing of the castle inhabited, because the rest is still being cleared and secured room by room whenever someone has the time to work at that project. With no tapestries or rugs, the whole area is bleak gray stone, cold and dull and ominous.

  The lost ledgers contained detailed records of debts and balances, and without that as surety lots of the region's economy is in chaos still. Merchants arguing over whether payment was made on certain deals or not, which tax burdens were deferred and which ones were paid in trade or produce rather than coin. Some landowners, panicked at possibly losing out on money owed, have been shutting down farms and evicting tenants. When that happens, the best outcome is that the disgruntled family moves to some other duchy and begins from scratch there. All too often, they become bandits to try to earn the coin to buy their land back.

  With the roads less safe to travel, they're also less safe to maintain - the whole region is starting to slide into disrepair. The people of the capitol have always had a certain disdain for Meadowtam, but now it's starting to be a less unreasonable disdain. If Father does not end his battle against the monopolists and profiteers, and his challenge to the throne's new tax plan, Harigold might become known as the family that ruined Meadowtam.

  Dark days and tragedy.

  I wrote to Nathan, offering my support and condolences. How sorry I was that he had to see this. My assurance that things were going to get better. I sent him my letters to tell him that the Harigold pride and honor do not draw from the wealth of the region but the honor in our principles.

  He sent back five words. "You should have been here".

  I know that there was never anything I could do to stop this. Even if I had the sort of magic that could solve all these problems, I would not be able to use it. This part of the story is set. At the beginning of the Academy's session, Nathan is a figure of tragic pride, bittersweet nobility. A legacy of strong character and great deeds, fallen onto hard times from treacherous enemies. And over the next three years, Nathan is able to restore the family wealth, break up the enemy conspiracy, stop their plans and more. He is able to bring back prosperity and bright days, even while he fends off the new tragedies and trials of the future.

  The Rapier Revolt. The Upheaval. The War Against The Blind. And more.

  That's the script. The game. But I can help against those. I can be there for that part.

  But the opening of the game, that's a fixed point. I cannot change that without derailing everything. Even if i had the power, I would not invoke those consequences. So I know why I wasn't there. I know why my name is used to embarrass the family, and why I'm not there to help out, to fix things, to lend support. I know why the warm yellow wood of Harigold Manor is replaced by the mortared gray stones of Meadwhite Castle.

  It still hurts to read that short, sharp letter.

  If I could make him understand, I wouldn't be the [ Rival ].

  I've been watching his progress. I have collected rumors from the minstrels that walk the southern farmlands. Nathan is quite tall now, and is known to be strikingly handsome. He has been helping Father in all things, traveling the lands and pushing back against the influences of Snairlin and their network of business partners. He speaks well and is charismatic, able to convince the people he meets to support him and his House. He is known to be sharply perceptive, well-rounded and well-read, skilled to some degree in all trades.

  A first-rate Level-1 Spy, for sure. I can tell him that I'm proud of him but I can't force him to believe it. The longer we are apart, the less faith he has in me.

  Now that three years are coming to a close, suddenly the time has flown right by. All those hours that were each an eternity are all vanishing behind me like footsteps in sand. The days spent raging at my fate are gone. The weeks spent burying myself in books, never happened. A long and terrible road use to stretch out before me, but now at the end I look back onto a short and empty path. The last three years are a hollow space inside of me, a shell that time was supposed to fill. My memories feel like illusions and I'm terrified that I'll wake up and realize that I've imagined two years, that I'm still in early days and still have long months left to sit in here.

  Gedes is becoming sentimental. Grancine is making arrangements to conclude our business. I'm nearly out of songs to share, anyway. Tarratan is swelling ascendant, nearly strong enough to challenge Eyellon, and that's all she wanted from me. The minstrels and I are closer than ever- there's a new guildmaster, and apparently I remind him of his daughter in many ways. Taeril has moved back to Meadowtam, Geland is busy all the time with work. Yheta works for his uncle, just like he was always supposed to, learning the trade to take over his uncle's position. There's a new magic shop in Hearstcliff, Brandyblack's Enchantments. Cosher from Zhudten has died, drowned in the lake; I don't know his replacement, it's just a name in the letters, but he answers to me as the Lady Protector of that region. And, something is spoiling the berry harvest in Meadowtam.

  It's nearly my birthday.

  The stage is nearly set.