On their way up to the Lucchesi apartments in the Parvenue District, Saundra asked Magdala, “Are you all right, milady?”

  “I’m fine.” Apparently neither the weariness of waking up early nor a night spent arguing with Odette about Mei’s new weapon were enough to overcome Magdala’s terror of earthhoist-powered lifts. “We’re nearly there.”

  When the lift finally stopped at the third floor, Magdala leapt off it and into a small room with a plain wooden door.

  “Doesn’t look like much.” With a hand clutching her cloak closed, Saundra joined her. “I thought you said they were rich.”

  “It’s an old building,” Magdala knocked on the door, “and the Lucchesis breed for drama.”

  A slot opened in the door.

  “Magdala!” The door opened wide, allowing Francesca’s eldest sister Esse to usher them into the entrance hall. “Lady Gallus didn’t say you were coming too.”

  Magdala froze. “Mother’s here?”

  “And who is this?” Esse whistled. “We haven’t met. I’d remember.”

  “Sergeant Saundra Taylor, ma’am.” Saundra tore her eyes away from a life-sized cameo of Francesca’s great-great grandmother and came to attention. “I’m assigned to her father the Lord Commander’s protection detail, ma’am.”

  “Ooo, a plains accent,” said Esse. “Not many of you become sailors so I don’t hear it much. Captain Alessa, by the way.” She waggled her eyebrows. “How about a transfer to ship security?”

  “No.” Magdala took Saundra by the arm. “She’s here for Francesca.”

  “Oh, is she now? In that case,” Esse pried Saundra away from Magdala, “we’ll need to do something about that hair.”

  “What? No, no, we don’t,” said Saundra.

  “I’m afraid I must insist, Sergeant. And Gallus,” Esse gestured down the hall, “you’ll find our mothers in the parlor.”

  “But I’m here to see Francesca,” said Magdala.

  “Yes, you said.” Esse pulled open the cameo of her ancestor and pushed Saundra through. “Go anyway.”

  “But-”

  The cameo closed behind captain and sergeant, leaving Magdala alone in the foyer, heart in her throat. She did not want to go into the parlor, would much rather stay out here and admire the full set of Late Amalgamation Tuquese Scale Armor. Her mother wasn’t the issue. While they hadn’t spoken since Latia, that was because her mother was tied up in daily Magisterium meetings about the incident and Dwayne’s status as Ri. Maestra Lucchesi, on the other hand, was a different story. The last time she and Francesca’s mother had spoken was at Winter Solstice, and the experience had been like getting squished by boulders.

  A throat was cleared. “Milady.”

  Alas, there was no way to avoid this. Magdala turned to the servant. “Yes?”

  The servant, probably a diVida cousin judging by the freckles, bowed. “Before you go in, would you like koti or tange pastries? The kitchen has just prepared some of both.”

  Magdala’s stomach rumbled. Recently, Rodion had been more interested in gardening than cooking. “That would be excellent.”

  “As you wish.” The servant opened the parlor door. “My lady.”

  Right. Clasping her hands to keep them still, Magdala entered.

  Where the foyer was a lavish exhibition of Lucchesi heritage and ambition, the parlor was an understatement, furnished with only ash grey couches, a circular bar, and four salamander stone braziers to warm the corners of the room. As a result, the real centerpiece of the room, a curved floor to ceiling window with a view of Sen Wallace Cathedral, the Chamber, and the Palace, stood alone. Dressed in a full-length emerald green robe, the maestra paced back and forth as Magdala’s mother in her pale blue robes of office sipped koti on a couch.

  “You.” The maestra stopped to glare at Magdala then turned to Lady Gallus. “What is she doing here? Did you summon her?”

  “My daughter makes her own decisions, Artie,” said Magdala’s mother.

  “Hmph.” The maestra faced Magdala. “What are you doing here? You cannot be here to convince me to release my evaluation of Dwayne’s performance?”

  “What? You haven’t?” asked Magdala. “His examination was weeks ago!”

  “Considering,” Magdala’s mother took a sip of koti, “that my daughter isn’t a professor, a dean or a maestra, she can’t have heard.”

  Magdala blew out a breath, calmed herself. “I didn’t come for that.” And it wasn’t important, not now. “I came to see Francesca.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Oh, good.” The maestra took a seat on the sofa. “That saves me the trouble of sending for you. You will need to find a new roommate.”

  Magdala’s mouth fell open. “Why?”

  “Franny’s returning to Adhua with me.”

  “No, she isn’t! She hasn’t graduated yet.” Magdala turned to her mother. “By Her Majesty’s Decree, don’t all mages have to graduate from the Magisterium?”

  “In special cases,” said her mother, “a Magisterium-trained tutor will do. It’s expensive, but,” she gestured at the view, “the Lucchesi can afford it.”

  “Esse finished her schooling with a tutor,” said the maestra. “Franny will do fine.”

  “Esse wanted to go to sea,” said Magdala. “All Francesca’s friends are here, and she has responsibilities here. She’s the Tower Liaison-”

  “My daughter,” the maestra rose to her feet, “has responsibilities to her family. If she wants to keep playing accountant, our company has more than enough work for her.” Her expression softened. “I know you two are deep friends, but look at it this way: she’ll have the same chance to grow that you did.”

  “When I got suspended?” was the question Magdala had to bite down on. The maestra was a boulder. You don’t confront a boulder. You had to undermine it.

  First step: buy time. “I see.” Magdala sat down. “When are you leaving?”

  The maestra tilted her head. “In five days.”

  “Before the first snows come?”

  A servant came in, bearing a cup and a plate of pastries.

  The maestra nodded. “Long before then. The stormwatchers say it’ll be a dry winter.”

  “Mother,” Magdala accepted the food and drink, “do you agree?”

  Lady Gallus cocked an eyebrow but replied, “Most of the windsong concur. The air currents coming in from the sea are-”

  Second step: call for reinforcements. Before they left, Magdala caught the servant’s elbow. “Inform Francesca that young Gallus is in the parlor.”

  “Right away, milady.”

  “-and a number of tidereaders have reported that the eastern Hulitic is unusually cold this time of year.”

  The maestra scoffed. “I don’t put stock in tidereaders or windsong. They don’t know the sea like stormwatchers do.”

  Third step: put the maestra on uncertain ground. “I agree,” said Magdala. “They specialize in weather, not only in wind. Didn’t you study with them after graduation?”

  “I did, but…” The maestra eyed Magdala. “Why are you asking?”

  “Prognostication skills are useful, right? Especially when one can anticipate the needs of the queendom.” Magdala sipped her koti. “However, it’s not for the faint-hearted.”

  “No, it’s not.” The maestra tilted her head. “What are you getting at?”

  “Why won’t you release Dwayne’s evaluation? Are you afraid?”

  The maestra went rigid. “I’m not afraid.”

  Finally, an opening. “I wonder what you wrote,” Magdala said. “It couldn’t have been equivocal: Maestra Artemisia Lucchesi doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Was it negative? No, since that would match everyone’s expectations, that Dwayne failed.” Was it good that Magdala’s mother was smiling into her cup? “It had to have been positive, probably even effusively so. So why are you afraid to release it?”

  The maestra bristled. “You come here, come into my home, and insult me?”

  But Magdala couldn’t stop. “It has to be positive because that tips the balance. Dean Laurence must have been impressed, and Professor Corn is no friend to Dwayne, making you the tiebreaker. Surely,” she tried to look innocent, “it can’t be bad for business if a Ri mage becomes a Qe master? What are you afraid of?”

  “That’s it.” The maestra pointed to the door. “Leave either on your feet or off it. Maybe I’ll let you come back in five days when-”

  “Oh, Mama,” in a flutter of pink robes, Francesca swept into the room, “aren’t we leaving in two days? Why else have I been packing so quickly?”

  The maestra winced. “Franny. Let’s not do this now. Go back to your room.”

  “I’ll not have you throwing out my dearest, oldest friend.” Francesca pulled Magdala to her feet. “Or lie to her.” Her tone turned icy. “Or are you lying to me?”

  “She wants you to stay in Adhua,” said Magdala.

  “Oh, is that so?” Francesca smiled a shark’s grin. “How about instead I winter at Sanford?”

  The maestra blanched. “You can’t! It’s not safe.”

  Oh, so that’s what the maestra was afraid of.

  “I’m not leaving my friends. Come, Mags,” Francesca towed Magdala to the door, “it looks like I need your help.”

  The maestra’s expression darkened. “Franny…”

  “Have a lovely winter, Mama.”

  “You get back-”

  Francesca shut the door.

  “She will murder me,” moaned Magdala as she let Francesca take her down the hallway.

  “She’s not mad enough to risk your mother drowning us.” Francesca stopped to sigh. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I honestly thought we were only going to be gone for the winter.”

  “It’s fine.” Magdala hugged her roommate. “Mothers are like that.”

  “I think I’d prefer suspension.” Francesca sniffed, then resumed course. “So, I heard you came here with someone? You found Mei?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Really?” Francesca opened her bedroom door. “Have you talked to…” She stopped, speaking and walking.

  Magdala peered inside and grinned. “Francesca Lucchesi, allow me to introduce you to Sergeant Saundra Taylor, most recently of the Lord Commander’s personal guard.”

  In her knee-high cavalry boots, snow-white breeches, crimson and cream waist coat, and short jacket that stopped just below her ribs, Saundra stood at ease next to the bed. Esse’s attentions had pinned up the soldier’s brown hair, leaving two long bangs to frame her face and the color on her lips. Combined with Lord Gallus’s favored fitting, the effect was stunning.

  “Miss Lucchesi, is it?” Saundra bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “Yes…it… you’re in my room,” said Francesca.

  “Yes, your, uh, Esse, said to wait for you here?”

  Francesca’s hand reached back and found Magdala’s. “Is this real?”

  Magdala couldn’t stop grinning. “Yes.”

  “I… must tidy up.” Francesca looked around for something to pick up, but she’d packed too well. “Right.”

  “Fran,” Magdala took her friend’s elbow. “Let’s lay you down. Saundra, sit at the desk.”

  That put Saundra next to the bed. “You okay, miss?” she asked.

  “Oh,” Francesca gazed at her, “I do hope so.”

  Magdala sat on the bed. “Did Mei tell you, Saundra? Fran is- ow!”

  Francesca had pinched her. “No need to share tales.”

  “Mei did write a lot about you, Miss,” said Saundra. “Though she didn’t say how pretty you are.”

  “Oh.” Francesca gazed for a long moment then turned to Magdala. “I was saying something? Before?”

  “We’re here to visit you,” said Magdala. “We have so much to talk about.”

  “Yes, but,” Francesca peeked at Saundra then looked away, “I think I must say this before my heart melts into the bedsheets. Have you talked to Charlie?”

  “Who’s Charlie?” asked Saundra.

  “Yes, who?” asked Magdala.

  “She helped him solve that ghastly murder. Clarissa!” A servant appeared at the door. “Find Scrytive Charlie Vogt and have him meet us tonight at Sanford.”

  “Right away, miss.”

  “We can just go now,” said Magdala. “The Chamber is right there.”

  “First, we’re moving me into Sanford, which we can’t do until I’m decent, which I won’t be until I’ve heard the sergeant’s,” Francesca let herself gaze at Saundra, “entire life story.”