“No, you’re doing it wrong. Lady Vivi’s Haldr has more of a curve and swoop on the left. Like this.”

  Isabella’s brow furrowed as she watched Saffra paint Haldr onto the air in front of them, then erase and do it again two more times. There were clear differences in each variation, but that was only to be expected. The Sorceress might have taken Saffra as her apprentice, but the legendary figure hadn’t somehow bestowed her phenomenal abilities upon the girl. Mana was outrageously difficult to control, and a talented third-year was just a talented third-year.

  The two of them were out in the White Glove Academy’s training yard, which had all the amenities one would expect of a premier educational institution. The enchantments layered into the training dummies and the field could probably hold up to an archmage’s assault. There were even dispersion arrays for miscast spells so that a mage wouldn’t have to constantly pull their mana back into themselves if they failed to reach invocation. As far as Isabella knew, White Gloves only had martial classes, not magical, but they also trained against mages frequently, and the training yard had apparently been fitted to support them as well.

  She and Saffra weren’t alone. Several White Glove students were in the training yard too, working to meet the no doubt brutal graduation requirements. A White Glove was also posted nearby, watching over them, but the servants were so unobtrusive Isabella frequently forgot they were even there, to the extent she sometimes startled when she glanced up and saw them. She did find it rather silly that they were being guarded in the middle of the Academy. Vivisari Vexaria’s personal estate likely had more powerful defenses than the High King’s Palace. Nobody here was in danger of anything short of a Cataclysm.

  “More of a curve and swoop,” Isabella murmured to herself as she tried tracing out her own copy of one small portion of the ridiculously complex design. “Really, she let you choose any spell you wanted, and you picked a fifth-tier one? Start simple. Especially when you’re still learning her style.”

  Spell architecture came with plenty of logic and theory, in the same way art did—certain colors meshed well and some didn’t, there were reliable methods to form appealing compositions, and so on. But there was also a flair to creation, a style unique to the artist, and Lady Vivisari’s was, unsurprisingly, archaic, eccentric, and genius. An extremely difficult set of qualities to imitate.

  “[Flash Freeze] was the obvious next choice to round out my repertoire,” Saffra defended herself. “And it’s one tier higher than my standard, but it was simple compared to the rest. You should try sifting through that ridiculous book and finding something that won’t take six years to learn. I’d have to learn a whole new discipline for nine-tenths of what I saw.”

  “And now she’s complaining about getting to look through the Sorceress’s grimoire,” Isabella muttered to herself. “How difficult your life has become, Saffra.”

  Saffra’s cheeks colored. “You’re just mad I’m doing it better than you.” She clumped the mana back into a ball, then painted Haldr out again.

  Isabella referenced the hand-drawn symbol and reluctantly conceded that Saffra’s was closer than her own best attempts. Face scrunching in concentration, she redoubled her efforts to copy the rune as closely as she could. Part of the reason she and Saffra had been the two students at the top of their class was how much they disliked losing to each other. Competition in general was an excellent motivator; most institutions employed it between their students in one way or another, and for whatever reason, Isabella had always found herself especially determined to come out on top over Saffra.

  Finished, Isabella frowned at the result. The rune clearly wasn’t as clean or accurate as her opponent’s. That was only to be expected when Saffra had a head start on both this design in particular and the Sorceress’s style more generally, but it was grating nevertheless… yet it would also be unbecoming of someone of her status to make excuses, so she grudgingly accepted defeat.

  Though, I suppose I don’t have much status at all, these days.

  She’d heard no news on the topic whatsoever, but she knew that after what her father had done, the Caldimores had to be one of the most disgraced families in the mortal kingdoms. She had the opposite of status now. There were people who would want her dead just for the name she bore. The many betrayed members of the Wardens who had lost decades if not centuries of their adventuring gear, to name the most obvious.

  “Why elemental spells, anyway?” Isabella asked, not letting her thoughts linger on that topic. “You could pick a whole new specialization if you wanted. I realize you’ve already laid the foundation to become an elementalist, but you’re no longer working under the same restrictions. The Sorceress knows everything. Illusions, druidism, mind magic, divination, gravity, temporal magic, probably stuff we’ve never even heard of.” Even Isabella was a little envious. Having open access to the Sorceress’s grimoire, not to mention tutelage from the woman, was an opportunity many mages would kill for, quite literally. And it had been dropped in Saffra’s lap. Yet she was continuing down an elementalist path?

  “Elementalism is a solid, practical specialization, especially for adventuring,” Saffra said defensively. “And besides, I shouldn’t count on always having her there to help. This way, if something happens, I can keep doing what I was doing, rather than getting stuck down some path of magic I could never walk myself.”

  Isabella frowned at the girl, and Saffra pointedly ignored the look. Isabella understood the logic and couldn’t even disagree with it, but neither did she agree. “You shouldn’t let what might happen decide everything for you. If you want to change specializations, you should seize the opportunity. She’ll help you do it; you know she would.”

  Saffra crossed her arms. “Why are you talking about my future when you refuse to talk about yours?”

  Saffra had her there, unfortunately. Isabella pursed her lips. The beastkin had been pestering her constantly over the past day, obviously with an agenda. Isabella suspected Lady Vivisari had put her up to it. Saffra was many things, but subtle was not one; she couldn’t hide such obvious motivations, especially from a duke’s daughter.

  “Fine,” Isabella said. “If I answer, then I want you to answer—or at least to consider the idea more, without stubbornly going ‘but something might happen, so I should play it safe.’”

  “But something could happen. I don’t care if she’s the Sorceress.”

  Isabella raised an eyebrow, and the catgirl huffed. A red tail swished in agitation.

  “At the very least,” Isabella said, “come up with a specialization you would want, assuming there was hypothetically some guarantee that you could see it through to completion.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Hypothetically?” Saffra asked skeptically.

  Well, no. Isabella would tattle to Lady Vivisari at the very next opportunity. Since Saffra refused to advocate for herself, the task fell on Isabella. It was the least she could do, considering everything.

  Isabella waited patiently.

  “Fine,” Saffra said. “Now answer. What do you want, going forward?”

  Unfortunately, the bargain meant Isabella had to scrape together an answer for something she simply wasn’t sure about. Saffra would have pestered her until she’d given one anyway, though, and Isabella was getting tired of the constant insistence. At least this way she got something in return.

  Everything that had happened still felt so surreal. A week ago, she’d been resigned to a worse fate than death, and in a way, had been grateful it was finally happening—that it was coming to an end, however horrible. Now, she apparently had the personal protection of the Sorceress herself, and nearly all the problems in her life had been magically solved. Many new ones introduced, but she was fine with that.

  “Do you want to go back to the Institute?” Saffra pressed. “Stay here for a while? A long while, even?” She hesitated. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Lady Vivi agreed to teach you, honestly.”

  Even if Saffra hadn’t phrased it with any sort of guarantee, Isabella gave her a dubious look. “I don’t know about that, Saffra.”

  “She took me as an apprentice.”

  “And I’m not you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You do realize the Sorceress, like any person, has reasons for what she does?”

  “And?”

  Isabella pinched the bridge of her nose. “You haven’t told me exactly what happened that led to your arrangement, but knowing you and knowing her—if just by reputation—I can guess the shape of it. You did something that she found admirable.”

  Saffra’s ears flattened down and her shoulders hunched, which was why Isabella hadn’t ever pushed this topic. “I didn’t do anything,” Saffra said harshly. “It was stupid luck.”

  “Essentially all opportunities are luck, to some degree. Almost no one gets what they deserve, in both a good and bad sense.” Isabella sighed. “I’m not saying you’re the only person in the world fit to be the Sorceress’s apprentice. But you’re one of them, and no”—she held a hand up to silence the girl—“I’m not arguing about this. Be quiet. I’m answering your question.”

  Saffra reluctantly obeyed, and Isabella organized her thoughts.

  “I’m not you,” Isabella said. “I find it difficult to believe that the Sorceress would take me on as an apprentice, but for the sake of the argument, I’m not sure I would want that to happen anyway. I don’t have the same drive as you. You’re a little crazy, Saffra, in the same way the Sorceress is. And in a way that I’m definitely not.” She rubbed her face. “I’ve had… enough excitement. I don’t want to deal with insane rituals and the end of the world. I’m not sure I want to deal with adventuring at all. I don’t have the instincts for it, for one. Definitely not the stomach. The only reason the idea appealed to me in the first place was because of how much you went on about it, about helping people and seeing the world, and that made me think I would like to do that too.” Especially with a friend by her side, the first Isabella had found, even if that friendship had been a little nonstandard. “Your earnestness can be a bit… infectious.”

  Saffra blinked rapidly, and Isabella’s cheeks colored as she realized she’d been a little more frank than she’d intended. She lifted her chin and continued.

  “So. Even if she was willing, and as much of a miracle opportunity as it would be, I just don’t see that in my future.”

  “And what do you want, then?”

  “For things to go back to normal.” Isabella had been mostly happy a year ago. Father hadn’t been pleasant to deal with, but she’d only seen him rarely, a few times a year. But then he’d taken special interest in ‘correcting her,’ which had started the nightmare. “I liked the Institute. I liked learning magic. It’s one of the only things I’m decent at.”

  “You’re more than decent at it,” Saffra said. “And plenty of other things too.”

  Isabella rolled her eyes. “Hush. I’m not being mean to myself. But I’m never going to reach the rank of archmage.”

  “You might,” Saffra said stubbornly. “I don’t see why you couldn’t. But, whatever. So ‘back to normal’ means the Institute?”

  Isabella had said she would answer honestly, and ‘back to normal’ in her head didn’t just mean returning to the Institute and her daily routine, but also having a certain friend back in class with her. It would be cruel to clarify that, though, since Saffra was clearly on another path. The Institute had always been a means to an end for Saffra—improving her spellcasting so she could venture out and help people like one of the Heroes of old… or present, Isabella supposed—and now Saffra had a significantly better way to make that happen. So Isabella instead responded, “Yes, I suppose.”

  “That’s not the full answer,” Saffra said, seeing through her in an instant.

  Isabella huffed. She looked away and took a long moment to work up the nerve to finish the thought. Saffra returning to the Institute might not be possible, but there was a realistic request Isabella could make. “I also don’t want you to disappear again.” She raised her chin and sniffed haughtily. “It’s good motivation having a rival.”

  Even with the sarcastic bit appended, Saffra looked bewildered by the words. Enough that Isabella couldn’t help but grow irritated. She leaned forward and flicked the girl on the forehead.

  “Hey! What was that for?”

  “You’re an idiot,” Isabella told her. “Plus, I owed you one.”

  Saffra huffed, rubbing at the spot. “I’m not going to disappear. Lady Vivi’s said about a hundred times that it’s only half an apprenticeship. She’s the Sorceress. Even if she’s willing to drag me around sometimes, she’s got the world to save, and all of that ridiculous stuff. She wouldn’t even bring me into the portal to come and find you.”

  Isabella tried not to reel at the revelation that Saffra had attempted to join in on that suicidal mission. Though she supposed she really shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “So there’s going to be plenty of times like this,” Saffra continued, oblivious, waving around at the room. “When she’s doing her own thing, and I’m left behind to study and practice. So we can see each other and practice together. When you don’t have classes, at least.”

  That… cheered Isabella up rather considerably, even if she found it embarrassing to admit. She hadn’t really thought about the situation from that perspective. She’d imagined that after this short reprieve, Saffra would be gallivanting off and leaving her behind. But that wasn’t what would happen, was it? Not entirely. Not even distance was a limitation; the Sorceress could teleport.

  There were still some ideas that sat uneasily with her, like how quickly Saffra would outpace her—Isabella couldn’t imagine what kind of apprenticeship bonus came with being the sole student of the Sorceress—so their ‘rivalry’ wouldn’t last long. But that was such a comically small problem compared to the ones that had kept her awake the past year that she felt silly thinking about it.

  Isabella would just have to focus on keeping up to the best of her ability—she did have a head start, and wasn’t considerably less talented than Saffra—and then, when Saffra grossly surpassed her in level, it wasn’t like mages of various ranks were somehow incapable of being friends. Or discussing theory and practicing together. A mismatch in ability would have appeared sooner or later; everyone diverged in progress eventually. It would just happen faster for them than most.

  “Well,” Isabella said. “All right then. That’s what I want. Now you have to give me your answer.”

  Saffra scrunched her nose. “I haven’t thought about it enough, but I will. There really isn’t anything wrong with elementalism though. Just because it’s common doesn’t mean it’s a bad choice. Even Lady Vivi uses that branch of magic all the time. Just… higher-tier versions of it.”

  Isabella snorted. “Higher-tier,” she repeated. A hilarious understatement, but not wrong, she supposed. Isabella’s own first meeting with the Sorceress had featured a gigantic column of fire that had erased a void beast in the blink of an eye. “Okay, well, you forced a real answer out of me, so I want one from you. Give it real thought.”

  Saffra nodded, and, satisfied, Isabella refocused on the task at hand—[Flash Freeze]. The reminder that Saffra would quickly outpace her stoked both her competitive drive and determination to stretch out the length of time in which they remained peers.

  This spell, at least, she would reach invocation first. If nothing else, she would have one last victory to gloat about.