Igraine took both of Isabella’s hands in her own, and looked her straight into the eye.

  “This exercise is dangerous,” Igraine said. “I will be doing the best that I can as your senior, but we’ll still be utilizing forces far beyond both of our ken. If you toy around with them, they can and will escape your body violently. Do not allow your intrusive thoughts to win, elsewise you might have a hole in your body somewhere.

  Isabella considered the danger for a few moments, then gave a decisive nod.

  “Good,” Igraine continued. “The exercise is simple. I’m going to pour magic into your right hand. I will unleash it of my will, allowing it to permeate you. Your duty is to route it through your entire body, and deposit it back through your left hand. This may seem a pointless exercise, but the ability to route magic through your body is paramount.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, ma’am,” Isabella said with commitment.

  Igraine closed her eyes, prompting Isabella to do the same despite her misgivings. Thereafter, she felt the poking form of magic introduced to her right hand. Unlike when Arthur had instructed her to demonstrate the fact that she was capable of forming a mana lock, Igraine’s will had no solid control over what flowed outward.

  Isabella seized the magic with her will, and began drawing it inward. At first, it obeyed as it always did. But as the metaphorical rope of magic was drawn thinner, it snapped. She felt a heat in her hand and wrenched it away. When she looked at her palm, a few new wounds had opened up. They were small, but bled slightly.

  “Now, perhaps, you see what I mean,” Igraine said sternly. “If you had failed at the final juncture, the reaction would’ve been infinitely more violent. Now, having seen that firsthand… are you certain that you want to continue?”

  Isabella looked at her hand. After only a few seconds, the magic had been able to open several cuts in her hand. She opened and closed her palm, considering what might happen if she routed the magic across her body only to lose control at the final juncture. Many more wounds other than a mere cut on the hand might manifest. But…

  Isabella embraced serenity, and looked back at Igraine. “Once more,” she said.

  Without words, Igraine took both of Isabella’s hands. Once more, that volatile energy rushed into her right hand, both incredibly powerful and fragile in one. It was something that had the power to do many things far beyond her imagination… but at the same time, it needed to be handled with the utmost care, like the most fragile of porcelain.

  Isabella had failed to use her will alone to manipulate it. Instead of repeating the same thing with slight modifications, she elected to wait, watch, and observe. It was a constant flow, almost like a force rather than a thing. She felt it in her hand, slowly pooling out. She thought of the way it had dispersed. She thought of all other comparable things in her life, trying to find an angle at which to approach it.

  In the end… Isabella’s mind went to water.

  If she tried to grasp water, it would spill from her hand. With a vessel, she could carry and contain it—the mana lock was that vessel for magic. Something to keep it trapped and contained, even as it tried to separate deliberately. When dealing with vast quantities of water… when trying to employ water toward one’s own end…

  Canals, aqueducts, and other irrigation methods accepted what water was, and how it behaved. Rather than trying to fight it and cajole it forcibly, they accepted and exploited the mechanics of waterflow.

  Isabella did the same. Rather than pull on the magic forcibly, she began to formulate her will into a passageway, a canal, that restricted the direction which it could flow. Blocked off like that, it began to move into her wrist. That tingling volatility traced her arm, heading to her elbow, where it pooled. She waited for more and more to pool, knowing that the magic would eventually rise given time. And it did—it rose up her arm, where it reached her shoulder.

  Thereafter, the magic cascaded into the rest of her body like a great waterfall. She could feel it permeate her torso and her legs, clashing about in violent yet controlled droplets. While Isabella might simply wait for the metaphorical water level to rise… instead, she began to use her will to build a bridge, from shoulder to shoulder. The constant flow of the magic was diverted to bridge from one shoulder to another.

  From there, the magic flowed into her left arm, routed naturally by the confines of her flesh. She allowed it to go forward calmly, not rushing it in the slightest—merely guiding it, directing it, with her will. And finally… it touched a body not her own. Igraine accepted back the magic that she delivered.

  Isabella opened her eyes, smiling widely with pride. Igraine stared back at her, a strange look on her face. Then… all of the magic that the sorceress had sent forth stopped moving. Igraine seized it, recalling it back within herself.

  “Hmm.” Igraine said ponderously.

  “Did I make an error?” Isabella asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Igraine said. “You merely completed the test in a way that I wasn’t expecting. May I hear your thought process, Your Highness?”

  Isabella put her hands in front of her. “I… I tried to think of magic as a volatile, sometimes powerful, but nevertheless fleeting and powerful force. Water came to mind—it slips away from your hands, but floods can wipe away entire towns. Consequently, I decided to move it as water is moved throughout the kingdom. The way that farmers irrigate the land, or engineers build canals and aqueducts.

  Igraine smiled widely. “Princess… you are beyond expectation.”

  Isabella felt intense satisfaction at those words, but asked calmly, “In what way?”

  “That was a test of patience,” Igraine said. “You were meant to allow my magic to slowly permeate the whole of your being. The addition of a time limit was meant to distract from that fact, inspire urgency. Magic is an art only for the patient—that is the lesson I hoped to impart.” The old woman leaned back in her chair calmly. “I cannot say whether you passed the test of patience… but you’ve most certainly earned the right to my unadulterated help.”

  Isabella closed her eyes, feeling a deep sense of triumph and satisfaction.

  “But I’m afraid I kept you for too long,” Igraine said. “Your two hours passed thirty minutes ago.”

  “What?” Isabella rose to her feet, shocked. “That… I need to…”

  Igraine smiled. “I’m only joking, dear.”

  The old woman started laughing, and Isabella sat back down, trying to work through the adrenaline that had just surged into her moments ago. When it had, she tried to look at the old woman angrily, but she simply couldn’t muster indignance in the wake of the playful smile she sported. Before too long, Isabella was laughing too.

  “I hope that you can muster the same ingenuity when it comes to forming the mana lock in your mind,” Igraine said in a more serious tone once their mirth died down. “I took this opportunity to examine what potential you had. You will have to climb the most precipitous of walls, Your Highness, for even the smallest hope of practicing magic in this life. Even if you do, you will struggle against spellcasters the same age as you, most likely.”

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  Isabella was slightly dispirited to hear that.

  “But… you’ve inspired me,” Igraine said, rising to her feet. “As recompense, I will expend some of my own personal supply in ensuring that you have the best possible circumstances to form your mana lock.”

  Isabella looked up at her, then also stood. “Thank you, Igraine.”

  “You’ll receive another letter when I’ve gathered my things,” she explained. “And on a more personal note… forgive my boy for troubling you. This court… it’s nasty business. No place to raise a child, certainly.”

  Isabella placed her hands before her politely, but didn’t say anything.

  “Until next time, take care,” Igraine said. She walked away, but when she passed by a pillar in the pavilion they’d been sitting under, she simply vanished. Isabella looked around for anything, but the woman had well and truly disappeared.

  ***

  “Your Highness…” Alice said as she helped her get ready to go out with Duke Valerio. “Do you remember when you asked me to see if I could find out who was trying to spy on you? How I could try and get them to reveal who they were spying for.”

  “You requested,” Isabella reminded her. “And I’m still worried about that.”

  Alice smiled as she helped prepare her things. “It’s actually been very nice, knowing that I can be of help to you in some ways. And…” she discreetly pulled out a paper. “I’ve got a list of people.”

  Isabella glanced at the paper, and then at her maid. “Alice… you didn’t make any enemies, did you? Did anyone give you trouble?”

  “Of course not.” Alice shook her head. “I just did what you told me, and it went pretty much exactly as you said it would! Besides, we’re in the royal palace. This is one of the safest places in the world, isn’t it? At worst, I could get reassigned.”

  Isabella didn’t know whether to smile at or reprimand her naivete. Still, she gratefully took the note, scanning over the names. It didn’t take her long to recognize some of the people involved. Most prominently…

  A lot of these men report to Archduke Felix, Isabella realized. I’d always known that he had a large hand in the royal palace… but I didn’t think it was to this extent just yet. He was one of the best collectors of information in my past life. A master of espionage. She scanned more names. And a lot of others… they work for Duke Albert.

  She wasn’t surprised, but she was uneasy. It was like knowing that there was a spider in the room, even if she couldn’t see it. It would make it a little difficult to sleep at night. Not that sleep came easily to her, anyway.

  “There was one man who claimed to work for Duke of the Isles,” Alice said a little fiercely. “He had the gall to say that he wanted to help protect you. A pirate, protecting.” She scoffed. “Imagine that. Still, he wasn’t asking about all of the other stuff.”

  Isabella looked at the notepad, and then at Alice. “Duke Valerio… isn’t a bad person,” she said.

  Alice looked at her curiously. “Princess?”

  “He’s done a lot for me,” Isabella continued. “Even when it didn’t benefit him.”

  Alice seemed to digest that. “Well… I didn’t know that, Your Highness. But still, many men are wolves. Unrepentant wolves. Especially nobles.”

  “Valerio only recently became a noble,” she pointed out neutrally. “But… perhaps you’re right.”

  Alice sighed. “I apologize for speaking out of turn. I just… think you deserve a good person.”

  Isabella studied Alice as she worked. “We haven’t known one another for long.”

  “And in that brief time, you’ve been better than just about everyone else I’ve worked for… though, please don’t tell anyone I said that,” Alice said sheepishly. “It’s normal to want good things to happen to other people.”

  “Is it?” Isabella asked.

  “I think so,” Alice said. “And do…” she trailed off, perhaps thinking she might be overstepping.

  “I do,” Isabella anticipated the question. “I do want good things to happen to you.”

  Alice smiled. “See what I mean? Now… let’s get everything perfect for your outing.”

  ***

  Isabella stepped out of Valerio’s carriage and alighted onto the streets of the capital. Without fail, Valerio had been around to pick her up from the royal palace every day and deliver her to Randolph. The duke claimed that it wasn’t such an imposition, but time was still time. After their conversation at the patissier’s establishment, she earnestly didn’t know how to behave around him.

  Valerio got off the carriage just after her. They had chosen a discreet alley meet up with her condottiere. Even in the day, it was dark here.

  “I’d invite you to do something again today, but I have some things to take care of. I’ll still be able to take you back, though,” he assured, adjusting his sleeves as he looked at her.

  Isabella looked up at him. “Would you…” she trailed off.

  “Would I…?” he encouraged.

  Isabella had intended on asking him whether or not he’d be willing to attend Abigail’s debutante ball as her partner. She gathered her courage, then opened her mouth to ask.

  “There’s a very high-publicity event that’s going to be coming up in about a week,” Isabella said. “It’s where I intend on declaring war against Duke Albert, so to speak.”

  “Hold a moment,” Valerio interrupted. “You’re taking him on yourself? Isabella…”

  “It has to be done,” she said firmly. “If Edgar were to die soon, the new king’s allies might… purge me, thinking me a loyalist of his. This is the best way to cement myself as an independent fixture of the court.” She kneaded her palm with her thumb nervously. “Would you attend as my partner?”

  Valerio nodded. “Of course I will.”

  Isabella let out a breath of relief. “That’s good. I’m thankful.”

  “I’ll prepare some finer clothes,” Valerio said.

  “That isn’t necessary. You look handsome in what you generally wear,” she said earnestly.

  Valerio smiled widely, holding her stare without a word. His grin made her look away after a few moments, reflecting on what she’d said somewhat bashfully. She’d only said what she thought, but…

  “We seem to regard one another similarly,” the duke finally said. “That being the case, why don’t we arrange complementary ensembles?”

  Isabella nodded in surprise. “Certainly.”

  “Excellent.” Valerio climbed back aboard the carriage. “I’ll reserve a tailor.”

  Isabella blinked, having thought that they’d merely pick out from the outfits they’d already owned. Before she could mention that fact, Valerio had shut the carriage door. Isabella shook her head and turned. Randolph stared at her.

  “You should really stay away from him,” her condottiere said. “I know he’s the Duke of the Isles—put together the pieces. You might not have much say in the matter, but you seem to be getting on decently. I’d advise against that.”

  Isabella didn’t say anything, but didn’t ignore Randolph, either.

  “Man had ten daggers on him, you know,” Randolph continued. “The one on his waist that everyone can see, and nine others hidden away. He’s got one in each boot—ah, and his boots have sharpened points behind the leather, as well. Three strapped to his waist, and two more in each sleeve.”

  “I saw some of them,” Isabella said with a curt nod.

  “You haven’t heard the stories from the condottieri I worked with,” the man continued. “The man specializes in brutality. There’s enough blood on those hands of his to fill a small village. Someone like that… they can’t just change overnight. If he was truly as docile as he acts around you, I wouldn’t be contemplating whether I have heartburn or impending vomit.”

  Isabella contemplated his words, then looked at Randolph firmly. “Let’s pick up where we left off yesterday. I want to have every art exhibit ready for Archduke Felix.”

  Randolph nodded. “Fine. Just don’t say you weren’t warned.”